SHOKKIN' APO A SPITTLE!

It's not often I find myself drawn to proceedings on the Review Show, which is the slot on BBC2 which follows Newsnight, round about 11pm on a Friday. Indeed the only reason it was on in my studio was that I had been working on my computer and had neglected to switch over or off when Newsnight had finished. This programme normally takes the form of a discussion between four critics on some of the week's events in the arts world, and it is normally chaired by a TV broadcasting luminary such as Kirsty Wark or Martha Carney.

The voluble but largely inconsequential effervescence of this noble gathering of blabbermouths, along with the apparently unlimited funds available to certain "art" collectors, forms a large tract of the territory in which the chancers and charlatans among "art" producers live, move and have their being. However, on this occasion, the panel consisted of three comedians including Rhona Cameron and another (male) from the Glasgow region, the third being English (I didn't notice from which area). The fourth member of the panel was a professor, who looked completely bemused by the company and situation in which he found himself.

Under discussion were Peter Hall's production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, which had opened I know not where, as I hadn't been paying attention at the stage at which this had been announced, and the latest offering of offal (in one case literally!) at some gallery or other, possibly the Tate Modern. Now, as the male Glasgow comic hadn't either seen the production of Twelfth Night or read the bard's tragicomedy, and the other comedians' understanding of the production was limited, this had all the makings of an excellent impromptu modern comedy programme, and it didn't disappoint. The male Glasgow comedian's comment on the gallery exhibition, which included a glass case containing fly-infested offal (sic!), was "I just like looking at things!" How refreshingly honest!

Shortly after the start of the programme, poor Martha Carney suffered a temporary blockage of her respiritory system ("she shokkit' on a spittle!", as we say in Shetland!), and spent some time coughing and trying to restore order to her oesophagus and the programme. The professor was clearly wishing he was somewhere else, and I had lost all interest in what I had been doing on the computer. I hope Martha has since recovered.

Bravo, BBC! I have seldom enjoyed a programme more than this fine spontaneous example of live television, which was much better than the pathetic rubbish which passes as comedy nowadays. I want more soon!