The Substack is Active Again

A couple of years back, I launched a Substack account for Curious British Telly, a sort of digital attic where I could squirrel away peculiar odds and ends of vintage British television - those charming little curios which didn’t quite fit in with the deeper dives of the main site. Think of it as a scrapbook, with all manner of fascinating cuttings pasted in.

Now, I’ll admit, it fell into a bit of a slump last year, like a forgotten Betamax tape gathering dust up on a shelf. But recently, I’ve started filling it again with gleaming little gems and nuggets of interest for you to digest and ponder over. I've even covered a fascinating blouse work by a Central Television continuity announcer, and if that doesn't tickle your fancy, I don't know what will.

So, if you'd like to receive these musings delivered free to your inbox, just head over to https://curiousbritishtelly.substack.com/

The Sky-Fi Music Show

It never ceases to astonish me that, in Britain during the mid-1980s, you weren’t strictly stuck with just BBC1, BBC2, ITV and Channel 4 for your viewing options. While most of the country soldiered on with this scant selection, pockets of progression were sprouting elsewhere. Cable television was slowly unspooling its coaxial veins in certain enclaves of the country, bringing with it a whole new world of programming.

Enter Sky Channel. Launched in January 1984, it was one of the poster boys of this brave new era. Cable television, mind you, had long been a humble affair - all shoestring budgets and community goodwill. But now it was now time for professional broadcasters to throw their hats into the ring, ready to expand the RGB horizons of British living rooms.

Variety and quality, though, weren't the best terms to describe the early days of Sky Channel. Providing a diet heavy on American reruns such as Starsky and Hutch and Fantasy Island, viewers in search of something new and exciting were left hungry. Nonetheless, in amongst all this trash, a spark of originality emerged: The Sky-Fi Music Show.

Friday People

The unstoppable rise of social media, paired with the bloated growth of British television to just shy of three million channels, has meant celebrities are now ten a penny. Once upon a time, celebrities were rare creatures, glimpsed only by the lucky few, radiating a star power that approached the divine. And it took talent to be a celebrity, not merely a willingness to humiliate yourself in public for a pittance of retweets or the crumbs of a YouTube revenue payout.

Simpler times, us elders lament, as we pour scorn on this modern obsession with celebrity. Yet the truth is, when youth was on our side, we were just as guilty. We too dreamed of this glittering prize, of fame poured down our parched throats like the first sip of a Pimm's on a blistering summer’s day. And while we may not have had social media, we were just as ravenous as today's masses when it came to devouring every last tidbit about our idols. To prove this point, let's head back in time to 1985 for a peep at Friday People.

Secrets Out

As a child, my hobbies were far from eccentric. I whiled away the hours collecting coins, obsessing about Doctor Who and engaging in spirited wrestling matches with myself in the privacy of my bedroom - all perfectly legitimate for a young pup. My more peculiar fascinations - delving through the forgotten vaults of British television, hoarding vintage crisp packets, and chasing the alchemy of the perfect cup of coffee - came later, when age and money allowed for wilful indulgence.

But if Secrets Out is anything to go by, some children managed to occupy themselves with far more niche and bewildering pastimes than I could ever dream of, even as an adult.