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Last night was much fun. My favourite London-based pop band and ace art historians Saint Etienne presented the fifth Turntable Cafe event at London’s South Bank Centre. As part of their year-long stint as artists in residence, the monthly-themed events are held at various venues across the site. Past subjects have included the Festival of Britain, a screening of Patrick Keiller’s Dilapidated Dwelling film, a night with the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, and the band’s very own Christmas Party.

The subject of last night’s cultural highlight? The BBC’s highly-regarded Watch with Mother series from the late 1960s and early 1970s.

The promise of screenings of Bod and Fingerbobs episodes (as well as curiosity about the 1966 series Joe) was too much for Nik and I, and so we found ourselves enjoying a pre-screening gin and tonic at the National Film Theatre. The evening’s programme consisted of two episodes of Joe, swiftly followed by one each of Bod and Fingerbobs.

These were then supplemented by chat with a panel of guests; Joe creators Joan Hickson (illustrator) and Alison Prince (writer) fielded questions on the series about the young boy, while Alan Rogers (who was one of the original Bod animators) commented on the adventures of the small animated child and his friends. Emily Firmin meanwhile, spoke of her father’s and Oliver Postgate’s creations, including of course, Bagpuss (yes, that Emily). A final episode of Joe rounded off the event.

The Fingerbobs episode was truly a highlight; I’d forgotten just how basic it was, and although it had charm, it all looks terribly simple now.

But, it really was fascinating to learn how two single mothers (Hickson and Prince) devised the Joe series; how they fitted in bringing the storyboards to life inbetween bed and bath times; how, because the episodes were recorded onto then-new videotape, they had to be recorded live, complete with orchestra and narrator. And, how pressure from womens’ viewer groups uprooted the young boy and his family from the transport cafe where they lived and worked (and where Joe played a little too often in the lorry park), to a seaside boarding house.

Watching all of the featured programmes on a large screen in the wonderful wooden-panelled Purcell room, with it’s Eames-like leather theatre seats, brought the modern production techniques – which are often taken for granted – into stark relief. Life really was so much simpler forty years ago; not only in terms of the forms of animation which brought these iconic characters to life, but also in what was permitted to be broadcast in the days before political correctness.

It’s not until you watch or listen to these programmes many years later after their original broadcasts, that these two issues contrast how different the modern world in which we now live, is.

Prince also let slip that she worked on that other children’s TV perennial, Trumpton (though sadly not the earlier Camberwick Green or later Chigley), and that it was she who came up with the infamous fireman rollcall of ‘Pugh! Pugh! Barney McGrew! Cuthbert! Dibble! and Grub!’ Genius.

So, an evening of culture then, which was rounded off by a delightful moonlit walk along the South Bank, taking in the city views, listening to the soft lapping of the Thames’ waves, and the peaceful calm of the traffic some distance away. Stopping for a first-time bite to eat at Nando’s, we rushed for the last train home. Even with arriving back just after 1am, it really was a very enjoyable evening.

My kitchen radiator, that is. After all, it is next to one of the kitchen table chairs. My flat was built in the late 1930s, and so was initially fitted with an avantgarde hot-air heating system, which was at the time, no doubt a very new-fangled way to generate warmth in the home. If you look around the skirting boards of the two bedrooms, you can still see paddle-shaped wooden ‘caps’, which I should imagine cover up the old intakes where the hot air used to be channelled in.

I sometimes wonder if the old system was somewhat more efficient than the one I have now. With the British weather seemingly not able to make its mind up what it’s doing, I can turn the heating off when it’s mild, then get hit by a cold snap, turn it back on again, and, guess what? Nothing seems to happen for a minimum of two days, and the flat is plunged into what feel like Arctic (or at the very least Siberian) temperatures.

The warmth is currently generated by a fancy-sounding wireless system, which, sounds grander than it is. A thermostat in the hallway sends a signal to the control unit in the pantry, which in turn regulates the supply of hot water to the somewhat newer radiators. Once these get to the predetermined wireless thermostat temperature, the pantry control unit stops the flow of hot water to the radiators, and all is well.

Well, that’s the theory. When it works well, it is very clever and the flat is toasty warm. But, when it gets caught out, the layering of clothes is one key to keeping warm. I seem to recall stating that I would replace it last summer, when the weather was warmer, but obviously never got around it.

Anyhow, the kitchen radiator. It’s the first in the chain and the nearest to the pantry control unit, so, when the heating’s on, it does get very hot. And, it ticks. Tick, tick, tick. Similar to when a car engine is first turned off, and all of the hot oil is dripping back into the sump. Tick, tick, tick. It literally drives you mad. Especially late at night, when you’re in bed, can’t get off to sleep, and the normally busy main road outside is still and quiet.

Thankfully, most nights the heating is on timed, so, just after bedtime, it turns itself off anyway. Maybe it needs bleeding (again), as it has trapped air in it. But, the danger with that is, unless you put a bowl or cloths down, your tiled kitchen floor starts to resemble Hanningfield reservoir. As I really don’t want to be mopping up lots of smelly and mucky water, I think I’ll put up with it ticking for now.

It’ll soon be spring. And, much warmer.

Modern technology. Is it all it seems? I was looking forward to the return of Top Gear tonight, and set up my not yet year-old DVD recorder to write the first episode of the postponed series to disc. All seemed to be going well, until the recording finished. Numerous disconcerting noises and churning resulted in the programme not being recorded, the disc not being read, and ultimately, disappointment. Boo. It’s a good job that the show is being repeated on Wednesday evening.

So, in its place, was today’s episode of the ‘teen soap’, The OC. Now, I’m not professing for one minute to be the target audience for this glossy, nonsensical series set in the well-healed and glamourous suburbs of Orange County, but it does generally give you a generous dose of the feel-good factor. But, now it’s been cancelled, so this is the last series. Ever.

Anyhow, tonight, the show took the viewer on a journey from sadness to joy, with a good side order of schmaltz tagging along for company. Although not as good as the first and second seasons, this fourth and final series is still enjoyable, and one of my favourite viewing pleasures. Because of other commitments, it was recorded on good-old fashioned videotape. And, the result? It was picture perfect. Old technology triumphs over new.

Hmmm…

Other technological developments this weekend include the purchase of a new wireless keyboard and mouse, to protect and safeguard the future of my back. It now means I can sit back fully in my chair with the laptop screen in some distance in front of me, and type away with no leaning forward whatsoever. I’m still getting used to the keyboard though, so if the typing and spelling in this entry isn’t quite as it should be, then that’s the reason why.

So, modern technology. It’s not that it’s rubbish, but, maybe the jury’s still out.