We don't have a telly. This is a) to give us a self-righteous, warm, tingly feeling inside and b) because it's really expensive. There is cable or satellite or nothing, and the cheapo deal only gives you BBC Prime which means Eastenders (good!) without the Ferreiras (very good!) but also wall-to-wall gardening / decorating programmes: these make me want to run to the bath with the nearest electrical appliance. So, tellylessness it is. In our free evenings, then, have we completed the entire Linguaphone French course and mastered the harpsichord or have we had dinner and collapsed into bed at 9pm? Hmmm?
Hallelujah for UK radio. Jonathan Ross (Hi, Jonathan, hi! We're not friends yet, but anything is possible with the Internet!) Saturdays, Radio 2, never miss it. And increasingly, Steve Wright's Sunday Love Songs. I'm not ashamed. The only thing that works in the kitchen is World Radio Geneva, Everything And More! Every day it turns me from a rational sort of girl into a tub-thumping, ranting harpy with its daft presenters and mediocre content. What really gets me is
native English speakers using the bad English translation from the French e.g. "Well, folks, Kylie Minogue is having a birthday today" instead of "It's Kylie Minogue's birthday today." My dog could broadcast better than this! etc.
Our newspaper is the Weekly Telegraph (thanks, bro!) The local press just has supermarket, car crash and animal stories.