Poor Chris, he can’t stick me when I have “the com”. Poor me, I can’t stick watching certain television programmes (recorded, by necessity) unless I have “the com”. And if you’re not one hundred percent sure what “the com” is, well, neither am I but they used the expression quite a lot in Crimson Tide, the 1995 film (starring Denzel Washington and Gene Hackman) about a mutiny on an American nuclear submarine, during which “the com” was frequently passed (or taken by force). Speaking of which, we nearly had a mutiny in our lounge room last night. I’ll let you guess what programme we were watching… and no, don’t jump the gun (or nuclear missile), it wasn’t Crimson Tide.
I have the com. Fast forward (at top speed) five minutes of glitzy razzle-dazzle cavorting; slow down fast forward a tad in order to see in a brunette wearing black (the viewing public objects to her wearing any other colour) and a blonde in a white evening dress – they are being escorted down the steps on either side of the stage; slow down to normal speed to watch the blonde simper into the camera and the brunette crack a pre-prepared joke; fast forward (top speed), ah, wrong button – missed a whole chapter – good, the contestants have made their entrances. On normal speed, three men and a woman appear – they are twirling, extending, hip-wiggling and preening their way to the judges station.
“Oh no!” I exclaim, “Why do the judges have to do that?” (They used not to.)
Fast forward rapido for one minute, miss the first bit and go back, ah – the golden ball! The celebrity rapper doing ballroom (or is he a DJ?). Remarkable performance, so remarkable that the entire audience is on its feet.
“Look at them all on their feet,” remarks the blonde, waving her hand…
Fast forward to judges remarks:
“Marvellous”, “Marvellous”, “Try holding your little finger up a bit..”
“Boo, boo, boo,” the audience booms.
Fast forward to the scores – a seven (dagger looks from another of the judges and boos from the audience), an eight from daggers, and so on… Thank goodness I have the com. Fast forward to the Cha Cha Cha (or is it the Samba?).
“Just look at the audience on their feet for you,” commiserates the blonde, putting her arm around the morning television presenter.
“How ridiculous, she’s going to cry again!” I can’t hold back, even though I know Chris hates my commentary.
I can sense Chris wincing.
“You were fantastic, but there wasn’t an awful lot of Cha Cha Cha,” says one of the judges.
“Yes you were fantastic,” gushes the blonde, practically hugging the morning television presenter, “aah, are you crying?”
“There you are. She is crying!” I turn to Chris.
He says nothing.
Need I add more? They swanned and they gushed, and that was just the judges; the celebrity contestants were talented, wonderful and perfectly precious. I imagine you get the picture, which is more than poor Chris does when I have the com. I was fast forwarding through the fourth lots of tears (from one of the male contestants on this occasion) after twenty-thousand standing ovations and fifty thousand fulsome compliments, and, admittedly, I may have cursed or sneered for the umpteenth time, when Chris grabbed the com from out of my hands.
“Why do you bother to watch it at all if you hate it so much?” Chris asked in a raised voice and added, “I’ll switch it off!”
“I can’t help it if I’m more discerning than you,” I grabbed back the com.
I fast forwarded, rather adeptly, I might add, until the end of the final dance, when I willingly relinquished the com and asked Chris to turn off the recording (I don’t know how to turn off our modern television). The control room had been a rather frosty place after the attempted mutiny but with the cheesy grin show over, and the com on the coffee table, there was nothing more to be miffed about. Luckily neither of us went ballistic.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to play a few games of Backgammon before going to bed?” Chris inquired by way of an olive branch.
The cold war was definitely over.
And incidentally, I still want to watch the final next week, but you know – I must have the com.