Esther's grin

Way back in the 70's and probably some distance into the 80's too there was this evening BBC television show, I think it was a Sunday evening thing but I'm not sure, it could've been Friday. That's Life it was called, a magazine show hosted by various inconspicuous male presenters but chiefly by Esther Rantzen and interspersed with skits and whimsical items, like dogs that could speak and hilarious clippings from the classifieds of local newspapers. In fact my local rag would feature regularly, the proprietor of a local second hand car dealer had a habit of including a candid description of one of his less desirable offerings. I think we would call 'em basket cases these days, honesty, it seems, is sufficiently amusing to warrant inclusion in such a context.

It wasn't all fun and games though, not by a long shot, the show was concerned itself rather earnestly with the malfeasance and shady practises of the commercial world: misleading adverts in the Sundays that promised a silver tea service for £5, dodgy bucket shops that ripped off unwary travellers, that kind of thing. Rooting out perfidy in the cause of the consumer, seems a great idea until you realise that the unforgiving nature of television scheduling demands that suitable candidates be offered up for the tumbrel according to a strict time table, which is where Esther, her show and I crossed paths, albeit indirectly.

I didn't watch the show myself, I'd given up watching most weekend telly by that time but I did form a picture of the kind article it was, that concerned itself with the issue in question, through vicarious means. Some clipping from the classifieds in London's Evening News probably and maybe a few interviews with disgruntled members of the public, who'd been, ripped off by unscrupulous traders. I learnt about this particular scandal as I sounded out a prospective venture with some associates, we were about to make a pick up as we embarked on a trip to London. Tea chests from the factory just outside town, unfortuantly when we arrived to make the pick up, we found the asking price for the merchandise had risen by 500%. You've guessed it, Esther had concerned herself with the shocking price asked for tea chests in London's classifieds. Unfortuantly the practical upshot was that although we did manage to offload this consignment at an inflated price, it barely covered the cost of the diesel and it certainly wasn't worth making a trip for it. It also put the kybosh on the business venture, without the profit from the tea chests to mitigate the risks it wasn't worth taking on. I'm not sure what they did with the tea chests at the factory after that, I think they burnt them in the boiler room. It was an interesting lesson in the power of the media, I spoke to a number of people who'd seen the item on tea chests and they were all, without exception, absolutely convinced that the price of tea chests was a criminal disgrace. The realities of costs like transport and mark ups levied by middle men, seemed to completely escape them. I wonder if those people in London moving house, who had fork out for crates or the ludicrous prices charged for corrugated card gave much thought to those realities afterwards?