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| Of course I’m hot – for the return of wrestling and an EastEnders legend | Of course I’m hot – for the return of wrestling and an EastEnders legend |
| (2 months later) | |
| In my corner of south-eastern Ireland, even a comparatively modest heatwave has been taking its toll. “We’re just not made for this weather,” said the woman at the petrol station. “It has to end soon.” And, indeed, it did, the rain spilling down that very evening. But though it brought relief to our yellowed fields and gardens, we didn’t need the downpour to grant us a return of sanity – because, unlike the UK, we hadn’t lost our marbles in the first place. | In my corner of south-eastern Ireland, even a comparatively modest heatwave has been taking its toll. “We’re just not made for this weather,” said the woman at the petrol station. “It has to end soon.” And, indeed, it did, the rain spilling down that very evening. But though it brought relief to our yellowed fields and gardens, we didn’t need the downpour to grant us a return of sanity – because, unlike the UK, we hadn’t lost our marbles in the first place. |
| It’s a strange thing to look at your nearest neighbour, until a few weeks ago your home, and wonder if it’s losing it. To look at its leaders and movers and shakers and think: “Are they high?” Last week’s corker: stockpiling food on the outside chance that the catastrophically hobbled Brexit talks do not suddenly surge forwards and yield a happy ending. I’ve found myself humming The Quartermaster’s Song (“There are mice, mice, mice/ Running through the rice, at the Quartermaster’s store”) as I think of Dominic Raab counting in the boxes of hardtack and pemmican, growing ever more furious as the supermarket top brass ring to tell him they haven’t any shelf space left. | It’s a strange thing to look at your nearest neighbour, until a few weeks ago your home, and wonder if it’s losing it. To look at its leaders and movers and shakers and think: “Are they high?” Last week’s corker: stockpiling food on the outside chance that the catastrophically hobbled Brexit talks do not suddenly surge forwards and yield a happy ending. I’ve found myself humming The Quartermaster’s Song (“There are mice, mice, mice/ Running through the rice, at the Quartermaster’s store”) as I think of Dominic Raab counting in the boxes of hardtack and pemmican, growing ever more furious as the supermarket top brass ring to tell him they haven’t any shelf space left. |
| It is, of course, not funny. We can safely assume that taking back control was never supposed to mean growing our own onions in a window box and bartering scraps of ham on street corners and yet here we seem to be. Add in the latest headlines – health chiefs warning of outbreaks of super-gonorrhoea – and you begin to think that things might be going slightly awry. Ah, a nation of hungry, sun-stroked belligerents with the clap. | It is, of course, not funny. We can safely assume that taking back control was never supposed to mean growing our own onions in a window box and bartering scraps of ham on street corners and yet here we seem to be. Add in the latest headlines – health chiefs warning of outbreaks of super-gonorrhoea – and you begin to think that things might be going slightly awry. Ah, a nation of hungry, sun-stroked belligerents with the clap. |
| In all this disarray, a truly delightful moment. EastEnders residents are about to see the return of the beloved Dr Legg | In all this disarray, a truly delightful moment. EastEnders residents are about to see the return of the beloved Dr Legg |
| Meanwhile, two developments of a more cheering, but nonetheless mildly puzzling, nature. Those of a certain vintage will recall Saturday afternoons round at your nana’s watching wrestling on the telly – Mick McManus, Jackie Pallo, Kendo Nagasaki (real name: Peter Thornley), Giant Haystacks (Martin Ruane) and Big Daddy (Shirley Crabtree). These guys had it all: the names, the costumes, the bizarre rituals (Catweazle licking a lucky toad between rounds). They were who we watched when we weren’t watching Leonard Sachs barking up the acts on The Good Old Days and the snooker programme Pot Black, even if you didn’t have a colour set. This was a time when truly sophisticated television – by which I mean Bergerac – was a rare and carefully husbanded treat. | Meanwhile, two developments of a more cheering, but nonetheless mildly puzzling, nature. Those of a certain vintage will recall Saturday afternoons round at your nana’s watching wrestling on the telly – Mick McManus, Jackie Pallo, Kendo Nagasaki (real name: Peter Thornley), Giant Haystacks (Martin Ruane) and Big Daddy (Shirley Crabtree). These guys had it all: the names, the costumes, the bizarre rituals (Catweazle licking a lucky toad between rounds). They were who we watched when we weren’t watching Leonard Sachs barking up the acts on The Good Old Days and the snooker programme Pot Black, even if you didn’t have a colour set. This was a time when truly sophisticated television – by which I mean Bergerac – was a rare and carefully husbanded treat. |
| But now, wrestling is back! As of teatime yesterday, you can watch Dave Mastiff (aka Human Hate Machine) and Grado (The Chubby Wee) slugging it out, with the addition of two female wrestlers, nicknamed Lilith and Viper. And while Mastiff’s declaration that this new incarnation of British wrestling is “like the punk rock scene used to be” might not bear close examination, I’m willing to get with the 1976 vibe. “Greetings, grapple fans!” | But now, wrestling is back! As of teatime yesterday, you can watch Dave Mastiff (aka Human Hate Machine) and Grado (The Chubby Wee) slugging it out, with the addition of two female wrestlers, nicknamed Lilith and Viper. And while Mastiff’s declaration that this new incarnation of British wrestling is “like the punk rock scene used to be” might not bear close examination, I’m willing to get with the 1976 vibe. “Greetings, grapple fans!” |
| And today’s political scene is agreeably amenable to the retro-feel. Young people are declaring themselves communists and free-floating liberals are plotting new parties. Jeremy Corbyn, 40-odd years ago a Haringey councillor calling for free dentistry and the national ownership of everything, hasn’t even had to change his Donovan hat. On the other side of the house, Jacob Rees-Mogg looks like he’s stepped off the front page of the Daily Sketch, where he jumps out of his Triumph Stag to rail against union leaders meeting behind closed Downing Street doors for beer and sandwiches. | And today’s political scene is agreeably amenable to the retro-feel. Young people are declaring themselves communists and free-floating liberals are plotting new parties. Jeremy Corbyn, 40-odd years ago a Haringey councillor calling for free dentistry and the national ownership of everything, hasn’t even had to change his Donovan hat. On the other side of the house, Jacob Rees-Mogg looks like he’s stepped off the front page of the Daily Sketch, where he jumps out of his Triumph Stag to rail against union leaders meeting behind closed Downing Street doors for beer and sandwiches. |
| But in all this disarray, a truly delightful moment, this time courtesy of the 1980s. In Albert Square, Walford, the home of the BBC soap opera EastEnders, residents are about to see a long-lost face, that of Dr Harold Legg, beloved GP and community stalwart. Dr Legg, who appeared in the very first episode, and who subsequently found himself at the heart of several major storylines, many of them also featuring Ethel Skinner and Dot Cotton. | But in all this disarray, a truly delightful moment, this time courtesy of the 1980s. In Albert Square, Walford, the home of the BBC soap opera EastEnders, residents are about to see a long-lost face, that of Dr Harold Legg, beloved GP and community stalwart. Dr Legg, who appeared in the very first episode, and who subsequently found himself at the heart of several major storylines, many of them also featuring Ethel Skinner and Dot Cotton. |
| What could be more bolstering than the revival of a treasured doctor? One whose fictional back story – his Jewish family driven from the East End during the rise of Oswald Mosley and the British Union of Fascists, but who himself returned to serve and nurture the community – hardly seems out of kilter with the times. The actor who plays Dr Legg, Leonard Fenton, is now 92, and has a career that encompasses such TV series as Secret Army and Shine on Harvey Moon. What a swansong. | What could be more bolstering than the revival of a treasured doctor? One whose fictional back story – his Jewish family driven from the East End during the rise of Oswald Mosley and the British Union of Fascists, but who himself returned to serve and nurture the community – hardly seems out of kilter with the times. The actor who plays Dr Legg, Leonard Fenton, is now 92, and has a career that encompasses such TV series as Secret Army and Shine on Harvey Moon. What a swansong. |
| But nostalgia, as we know, is dangerous, and although these cultural throwbacks and revivals are pleasant, they can’t displace the depth of our current troubles. As numerous experts, including the food writer Jack Monroe and the botanist James Wong, are in the process of pointing out, the potential shortage of food and medicines will have a disproportionately grave effect on those least equipped to withstand them, and even the apprehension of the instability and duress they will cause is damaging. | But nostalgia, as we know, is dangerous, and although these cultural throwbacks and revivals are pleasant, they can’t displace the depth of our current troubles. As numerous experts, including the food writer Jack Monroe and the botanist James Wong, are in the process of pointing out, the potential shortage of food and medicines will have a disproportionately grave effect on those least equipped to withstand them, and even the apprehension of the instability and duress they will cause is damaging. |
| In the heat of the last few weeks, it seems as though people were losing their minds and were driven to ever more ingenious ways of keeping cool. One such was the idea of drenching a sheet in cold water, then wrapping it around oneself before attempting to sleep. But as the mercury dips – for now at least – the country and those gifted its governance need to be careful that a cooling swathe of linen doesn’t become a winding sheet.Put more simply: it’s time to get a grip. | In the heat of the last few weeks, it seems as though people were losing their minds and were driven to ever more ingenious ways of keeping cool. One such was the idea of drenching a sheet in cold water, then wrapping it around oneself before attempting to sleep. But as the mercury dips – for now at least – the country and those gifted its governance need to be careful that a cooling swathe of linen doesn’t become a winding sheet.Put more simply: it’s time to get a grip. |
| • Alex Clark is an Observer columnist | • Alex Clark is an Observer columnist |
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