If Bill & Ben met Pablo Escobar


Box sets are a relatively new phenomenon.

And Netflix doesn’t mean curtain twitching.

Until 1967, when BBC2 began broadcasting, the choice on your TV was threefold: BBC, ITV or OFF.   No video was connected; DVD sounded a bit like something you caught off a stranger’s toilet and satellite was what Russians had launched into space a decade earlier to spy on other countries rather than broadcast Home and Away.

In the 60s the only box you had was one to keep jewellery in – or a hamster if you were a boy. And binge watching didn’t exist unless that’s what you called viewing Coronation Street twice a week.

In the 60s there were no devices for recording, so if you missed an episode of a favourite programme, you’d be reliant at school/work the next day to be told loosely and inaccurately what Meg Richardson had been up to – without sounding too much like Benny.

I wonder what it might have been like in the 60s if box sets had been available?

Could you have watched Emergency, Ward 10 for five hours at a stretch? (that’s an awful lot of catheters).

And what if the Flowerpot Men’s garden had been set in Medellin, Colombia and Weed really was weed?

And rather than watching both series of The Crown back-to-back, the only time you actually saw the Queen was on Christmas Day – although if she’d have discovered how to make crystal meth before Prince Charles was sent to Gordonstoun, you could have merged several series into one and saved valuable viewing time.

I started watching The Wire, but gave up when I discovered it wasn’t about an electrician.


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