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GETTYCast of Breaking Bad which topped the list for most lied about programme
Even as that person is enthusing and smiling you feel your heels digging in to the ground, your fingers blocking your ears and your eyes glazing over. It shouldn't be that way but it is.
That's why I didn't read Gillian Flynn's thriller Gone Girl until everyone else in the world had read the book and seen the film as well. It was only when I was stuck with nothing to read (a dull weekend) that I reluctantly opened someone else's copy and was of course hooked from page one.
Meanwhile a survey in the Radio Times finds that four out of 10 television viewers lie about the shows they watch. Breaking Bad topped the list of the most liedabout programmes with 13 per cent fibbing about having seen it, followed by a mendacious 11 per cent who claimed to watch Game Of Thrones.
I won't lie to you though – I haven't seen either. (And please don't tell me I should for the reasons stated above).
The editor of Radio Times Tim Glanfield said: "With so many channels plus on–demand options, keeping up to date with it all can be tough."
There's some truth in that of course. Nobody wants to look as though they're out of the loop. But I'm sure most of us lie about what we've seen and read to deflect the tedious gushing of the overeager fan.
I'm certainly guilty as charged. When some avid culture vulture demands to know if I've seen a particularly important film or thing on TV I have, on occasions, told a porkie. Why?
Not because I want to look more highbrow than I am but because I can't face a lengthy lecture about the film's merits, the brilliance of the direction, the script, the performances and so on. I'd rather hear about your summer holidays or your children's accomplishments (on reflection… um… maybe not).
Far simpler to say untruthfully "Yes, it was marvellous" and then hope we can change the subject before I have to discuss that amazing scene where such–andsuch happens which of course I haven't seen.
For some reason it's more difficult to lie about reading a book unless you say that you read it a long time ago and can therefore remember nothing about it whatsoever. Actually that's often true which is a little disturbing in itself.
The fact is there really is too much to keep up with, new trends, new appliances, new apps, new this and that. Was there always so much cultural point scoring? For instance all those pompous asses who post articles on Twitter labelled "essential reading" really needn't bother because they ain't essential to me.
However can I urge you to read Gone Girl? I'm more than happy to tell you why if you have a couple of hours to spare…
BBCLeading lights Anna Chancellor, Steve Pemberton and Miranda Richardson
I'm sure most of us lie about what we've seen and read to deflect the tedious gushing of the overeager fan
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IT'S difficult to imagine that anyone under 40 watched the three–part Mapp And Lucia on BBC1 yet even so the series topped the ratings (apart from the usual soaps) with an audience of nearly four million last Monday.
That could Based on the books by EF Benson, it starred Anna Chancellor and Miranda Richardson in this acid comedy of manners beautifully filmed in Rye (standing in for fictional Tilling).
What was so charming is that far from being prissy and clutching at their pearls – as one might expect in a period piece – the residents were (though crashing snobs) entirely unshockable. So we had the wig–wearing Georgie ("not the marrying kind"), the Eton–cropped and frisky lesbian artist, the yoga "guru"... nobody fazed anybody. If only we were still so unjudgmental.
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WE WERE seven miles down the road on a 40-mile journey when a little nagging worry in the back of my mind refused to go away.
"Did I turn the coffee machine off?" I mumbled. The temperature in the car turned frosty. We drove another half mile in reproachful silence. "We'd better go back," said my husband in what I think of as his wife-murderer voice.
Now of course everything that Brussels comes up with is pants and though the EU's new rule about appliances turning themselves off is an outrage and rightly savaged by m'colleague James Delingpole I would - secretly - be quite grateful if my espresso machine was obliging enough to cancel itself when I forget.
And since you ask, yes I had remembered to turn it off on that occasion. Typical.
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THE idea of waiting until Twelfth Night to tear down the Christmas decorations is unbearable. Mine are long gone including the Christmas cards, most of which featured pictures of robins – at least 80 per cent. I've nothing against robins but why so many? Odd.
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WE sometimes think of the United States as being much the same as Britain but with bigger fridges. But then two stories make you sit up. You hear of the two–year–old who plucked his mother's handgun from her handbag in the supermarket, killed her and will live with the trauma for ever.
That makes you realise how extraordinarily different American society is because of its dangerous, ineradicable belief in the right to bear arms. And the day after that you hear of the British couple whose baby was born prematurely in the US and now face a huge bill if the insurance won't pay up. And you think, thank goodness for the NHS for all its faults and careless generosity to all–comers.
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IT'S going to be a magnificent year for rumbling armchair generals what with the 75th anniversary of the Battle of Britain, the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo and the 600th anniversary of the Battle of Agincourt.
But sorry, the looming 800th anniversary of Magna Carta does not fill me with excitement.
It's terribly important of course, our national freedoms enshrined... we take them for granted at our peril... etc etc. And there will be no end of opportunistic politicians telling us so wearing their most serious faces.
But at school... I dunno... it never grabbed me. Taught history the old-fashioned way - kings, battles, dungeons and thumbscrews - this uncharacteristically polite get-together at Runnymede sounded more like one of my dad's golf club socials than an epoch-making moment in history.
Nobody, as they say, died so I'm afraid the birth of democracy in Thames-side Surrey was poor entertainment indeed compared with the grislier details of bad King John's fascinating depravity.
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FIONA WOOLF was made a dame in the New Year's Honours list. She was the second public figure to step down as head of the inquiry into historical sex abuse when it was found she was on going-to-dinner terms with Lord Brittan and therefore a dyed-in-the-wool member of the Establishment she would have been investigating.
"Why was she made a dame?" brayed the mob. Well on numerous occasions the press (not this newspaper) described her as Lady Woolf or Baroness Woolf or Dame Fiona Woolf under the impression that such a posh "Establishment" figure couldn't possibly be plain "Mrs". Which she was.
Somehow the phrase "hoisted by their own petard" comes to mind. She was doubtless given a damehood simply to avoid any further confusion.
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LIKE half the population I've been vaguely ill for weeks. The latest cold left me with one of those coughs that lingers and lingers. I've lost track of the number of well-meaning people who have interrupted my hideous hacking and spluttering to observe sagely: "That's a nasty cough." So now I'm working on my easy-on-the-ear nice cough. Promise.
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