I'm A Casualty, Get Me Dancing Out of Here!

Dulux tops ratings again: emulsioned wall new star of prime time TV: gloss spin-offs promised. Critics say it is the finest performance they have ever seen-watching paint dry has never been so exciting!

Well thankfully, the topics in Media Guardian Unlimited, of which I am a keen daily on-line reader, have not quite descended to this level, but it can't be long, I fear. This last fortnight has seen more shameless saturation by the new breed of money-grabbers at ITV plc with the phenomenon which is "I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here". The proverbial wild horses would not normally get me to watch such drivel, and yet millions still do it seems. Goodness knows why, but it's a ratings banker though I think it's plain bonkers.

However, tonight by circumstances more bizarre than anything seen in reality TV, I effectively had to endure the eye candy of a late night episode of IAC,GMOOH in surroundings I would normally have less desire to be in than an Australian jungle. After enjoying a great afternoon visit from my Mum and brother, down for the day from Feltham, they were both about to leave after an enjoyable and dramatic episode of Casualty, the Beeb's own ratings banker for 18 years now, and guaranteed to garner the viewers of a Saturday evening whatever the antics the other lot dare to trot out.

STRICTLY DUMB PRANCING
Trotting is maybe an appropriate choice of phrase, as our other favourite viewing had been the semi-final of Strictly Come Dancing, the surprise hit of 2004 for the corporation. My heading for this paragraph is my nickname for it, but it's not appropriate really as it's a far from dumb show and actually enormously enjoyable. This is the kind of reality TV I DO like. These celebrities have all shown genuine commitment and a real growth in their dancing abilities since the show started over two months ago, and have provided the best "must see" family viewing for nearly a decade. Everyone has their favourite, and I'm still rooting for Denise Lewis, former Olympic heptathlete, as I have since day one. She's a lovely mover! However, it is hard to choose: equally fine performances tonight were put in by the quaintly-named East Enders star Jill Halfpenny (pronounced Half rather than Hay- I think), the more camp than Butlins Julian Clary, and the eternally Snowman-bound Aled Jones.

On tonight's performances, my view was that surely Julian would go out, as indeed it was of all the show judges. And yet, the viewers thought differently: much to my amazement and disappointment Aled was ditched so does not make it to the final. I think my brother Matthew's theory that it is all a fix may have something to it: Aled currently has a punishing schedule with a concert tour also taking place at the moment, and I can't help feeling that, secretly at least, he couldn't face another week of hitting the high notes one minute and the high kicks the next. So we're left with just three next week's final from Blackpool-but my money is still on Denise!

TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION
Anyway, after the results came Casualty, with a story which was a mixture of humour and pathos and yet assumedly, until now, bearing some relation to reality. New paramedic fails to show; department overwhelmed by work as American paediatric reg. is forced to return to US (no doubt for a guest spot in ER!). 14-year old girl bought in, condition rapidly deteriorates and found to be suffering from toxic shock syndrome bought on by old wive's tale surrounding "precautions".
Meanwhile, Sid Abbot's wife from the still fondly-remembered "Bless This House", played by the ever lovely Diana Coupland, turns out to be a desperate ailurophile (cat lover) who by smuggling in an orphaned kitten from Spain risks rabies and fears felonious consequences. Popular male psychiatric nurse plans marriage of convenience to scheming Eastern European nurse (to give her residency entitlement), much to the chagrin of her sister. Widowed bigamous wife of popular murdered paramedic discovers beloved husband's love child supported by monthly money transfer from their joint account, leading to "real" wife demanding her rights to his flat and thus rendering Comfort, the innocent party, homeless.

Finally, errant para-medic discovered locked in kinky sauna romp by married love interest and passes out after being rescued by his new colleagues, we later discover. Leads to severe ticking off for frivolous behaviour from paramedic boss Josh before it emerges that said rooky paramedic's Mum is Josh's former love interest and also an NHS staffer herself.

All in a day's work for the tireless staff of Holby City Hospital's Emergency Department, it seems. One of their biggest problems though seems to be that their hospitals is suffering from land-creep. Starting off in Bristol, the accents now clearly seem to be mainly South Waleian. Did someone shift the Severn (or the Wyvern in the case of the fictional series) without telling us? The end credits too always proudly show the contribution of the Wiltshire ambulance service and medical advisers, but in reality I suspect there was more like a month's worth of "action" in a real Emergency Unit than appeared in one day's storyline tonight- as we were to discover less than half an hour later with delicious though unwelcome irony.

It's sad to see my dear Mum so frail and struggling with her mobility these days, although she is nearly eighty. However, she still has so much to give and I believe if she could only get her confidence back, she could enjoy life so much more despite several troubles in recent years. Tonight, another one presented itself, but proved mercifully brief and as I type it would seem that no lasting damage has been done. Mum fell over in my bathroom and cut her head; when Matthew and I noticed blood behind her, we knew the only sensible thing to do would be to call an ambulance. This arrived fairly quickly, and the ambulance men did their stuff, and despite some mishaps got Mum to the DGH in King's Drive very quickly.

I half expected to see the veteran head of nursing of Cas, Charlie Fairhead, making a triumphant appearance in Eastbourne, but the reality was rather more down to earth but just as impressive and even more abundantly caring than any dramatic scenario on a TV plotline. Mum was taken excellent care of, given a good checking over, and had three stitches when it emerged that medical "Superglue" would not be sufficient to repair this particular wound. I never knew such stuff existed til watching a similar procedure done on a forehead wound on "Cas" tonight- though as Mum was being prepared, I remembered that the famous salvers of Germolene also used to make something called "liquid skin" which did a similar job.

Although we were at the hospital for four hours, this was certainly not idle waiting time for the patient patient. She had an ECG, a blood test, the usual checks and an infection and anti-biotic cure all sorted by the superb team of nurses and doctors, most notably "Jill", who do this day after day for not nearly enough reward still, I suspect. The NHS is so much-maligned, and so often with negative effect but unjustly so. OK, so we did spend time standing around the cubicles, punctuated by sitting in the waiting area where the torture of ...Celebrity... was playing unloved on the screen, hardly surprising considering the utter drivel being largely bleeped or hidden from view for legal reasons. Nevertheless, everything was handled in a thoroughly efficient, professional, thorough manner. Though I hope never to have cause to visit this department again, it is of course for the best of reasons! After the 21st-century Nightingales had done their stuff, Mum was patched up and chauffeured back to Feltham by my dear sibling, but not before we gave her a look at the lights that she would have had around 9.30 had things gone as they should.

So, all's well that ends well. Maybe life and drama are not so very far apart after all. However, you wouldn't catch me scraping around for Bush Tucker, so back to my very welcome early morning linctus of Old Speckled Hen bitter. Now that's one real-aleity celebrity I'm happy to drink at any hour, and I hope it will send me off to a long overdue slumber as soon as I know Mum and Matthew are safely back to base.

LET ME ENTERTAIN YOU
I nearly forgot to mention the main attraction in Eastbourne today which prompted Matthew's visit. It wasn't in the first instance my mince pies, or my cooking, or the desire to welcome my kith and kin on one of their rare trips to the Sussex Seaside. It was Eastbourne's Christmas Magic, an event organised by a partnership of town and pound each year-council and traders- to add a little extra to the Christmas shopping proceedings. I've already mentioned that the lights this year are not bad, but it's a pity a little more light was not thrown on the stage which saw an upright feline, a Lord Mayor in waiting and a cook in drag introduce a brilliant firework climax this evening, which both Matthew and I walked down to Sussex Gardens to watch.

The assorted personnel mentioned above were actually a selection of the cast from Dick Whittington and his Cat (of course), this year's main attraction pantomime here. Enjoyable though the fireworks definitely were-very cleverly mixing the Celtic charms of Clannad, for instance, with green rockets, I felt that the pre-show build up left a lot to be desired. So, it would seem, did many others, as the crowds in the town centre were not nearly as numerous as I had imagined they would be. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable diversion-as was a pint of the newly-discovered Harveys IPA in the Terminus pub. Oh dear, there I go mentioning beer again, though not the Brakspears for which I am infamous. With the traditional three-ring signal from Matt now assuring me of safe homecoming, I think for me it is time for safe bedcoming, perchance to dream.