I've mentioned before that I'm
not fond of Thursdays, partly because Thursday is not Friday and partly because it's - well, Thursday. I also think the BBC is to blame for my aversion as, when I was a child, the
Watch with Mother schedule ran thus: Mondays -
Picture Book, which was sometimes interesting; Tuesdays -
Andy Pandy, which at least had the virtue of a loveable teddy bear; Wednesdays -
The Flower Pot Men, which only children could understand; Thursdays -
Rag, Tag and Bobtail, a hedgehog, a mouse and a rabbit who were as dull as can be; and Friday -
The Woodentops, which I loved, mainly because the programme featured "the very biggest spotty dog you ever did see." So there you have it -
Rag, Tag and Bobtail spoiled Thursdays for me for evermore and the only duller thing I've seen on television was the much hyped live announcement of the winner of last week's
Masterchef Italia final - also on a Thursday.
As regular readers will know, Masterchef Italia has, for three years, been a programme which I have followed avidly and there were some great episodes in this third series. Rachida from Morocco and lovely 67-year-old Alberto from Cremona were eliminated a couple of weeks ago and the semi-finalists were the worthy and non-temperamental Enrica, Almo of the glowing shoes - I have several times had to put my sunglasses on when there have been full-length shots of Almo - and Federico, an analytical and serious torinese doctor, who deservedly won the title.
It has been fun, too, watching the three judges -
Carlo Cracco the "sexy chef" [who actually writes extremely good cookbooks],
Bruno Barbieri, whose jackets and glasses stunned viewers week after week, and the entertaining and unpredictable
Joe Bastianich, whose best trick was to throw dishes he disapproved of across the studio. Fun, that is, until the final went live when, awaiting Almo and Federico in a packed studio, the three were obviously at a loss as to how to fill the agonisingly long minutes. As one tweeter pointed out, they are, after all, chefs rather than professional anchormen and it was all a bit much for them. Even when the two finalists arrived, Cracco played the suspense for all it was worth and, along with several million others, I had started to wonder if he'd ever put us out of our misery by reading out the name. "Please don't go live again!" begged tweeters all over Italy and eventually
Sky Uno staff had to admit that the idea had been a mistake.
But now it is all over and here I am on Thursday evening wondering what to do with myself:
Junior Masterchef Italia starts tonight and two of the judges are Bruno Barbieri and Joe's mum
Lidia Bastianich. [Presumably the producers believe that the audience would not tolerate Joe chucking around dishes created by children.] However, I'm not sure I'm up to the rigours of following such a contest, so roll on,
Masterchef Italia 4 and the return of chef Cracco - on Thursdays again if you can manage it, please, Sky.
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