I generally take a dim view of expats that try to recreate home life in their chosen country of work, teaching the staff to cook shepherd’s pie, asking the driver to wear a cap and blazer, QBP (the Queen’s birthday party) that sort of thing. But this weekend I gave in. I downloaded some sort of IT trickery that means I can “tunnel in” to a server in the UK, allowing me to watch British telly online.
Ostensibly, I signed up so that I could watch my various sporting teams lose in their chosen fields of expertise. But, as we all know, British TV is the finest in the world. So it was with some delight that I settled down to engage my brain in the sort of stimulating entertainment that conquered the world and made the BBC the envy of colonial broadcasters.
But quite what Lord Reith would have made of Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents is anyone’s guess. The only conclusion I could possibly draw is that most things in Britain look better from far away. Although I can now at least watch the rugby