Tag Archives: Sanjeev Kohli

Holby City: A touch of the Beauchamps

(Series 14, Ep.30)  What do we think of Serena Campbell, then? It’s clear what we’re supposed to think of her. The hallowed names of Anton Meyer, Dan Clifford and, particularly, the goddess Connie Beauchamp were invoked enough times for us to realise that the new consultant on Darwin was being lined up as a legend in the making. Whether she’ll actually live up to her billing remains to be seen, of course, but for now I have to say I rather like her. She’s well named, being in possession of an assured serenity that infuriates everyone around her. Such fun.

It was an amusing episode, what with Serena and her 3D stack (it’s some kind of camera thing that turns surgery into a video game. Malick loves it) locking horns with Ric Griffin and his traditional way of doing things (ie not with a 3D stack). And we also had the fun of Jac Naylor being horrible to an F1 (Tara Lo – or, as Jac calls her, “F1”). I know a lot of people say Jac goes too far in her horribleness, but I’m endlessly amused by it. “Why do you always have to be so unpleasant?” Elliott asked her at one point. “I like to be consistent,” she replied. She certainly does.   Continue reading

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Fags, Mags and Bags: OMG!

Photo from the BBC

I was hanging up the washing, as you do, or maybe you don’t, in which case give me a ring and I’ll do it for you, I love hanging washing, you can keep your hoovering but give me a basket full of wet linen and a sunny day and I couldn’t be happier. I had a couple of pegs in my mouth as the Radio 4 announcer said, ‘And now comedy with Fags, Mags and Bags,’ and I thought, oh lordie, another Radio 4 alleged comedy with a terrible title. But I’ll go to the foot of my stairs if in just a few moments I hadn’t spat the pegs onto the patio because I was laughing, properly laughing at the sharp witty writing, the cracking use of language and the Wall of Crisps. The episode centered around the shopkeeper trying to invent a new sweetie, and I don’t think I’d be over-stating if I said it was the funniest thing I’d heard on radio since Graeme Garden sang Kung Fu Fighting to the tune of Greensleeves.

I was riveted, I tell you, riveted for the whole half hour and as soon as it was over I rushed to my trusty steed Google thinking, I must tell the world about this tiny unknown programme, only to discover I’d arrived rather late to the party. I mean all wine gone even the Romanian stuff only dust in the twiglets bowl late. It was series four I’d stumbled upon and it turns out Fags, Mags and Bags has deservedly won awards and a cult following. Still, I never mind jumping onto a bandwagon, long as someone in the back has a flask of tea, and at least I have proved you can join in at any time.

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