Barry's Beef

Having taken the relatively strange decision of taking a week off work to watch football, I can safely say it is immensely enjoyable. Apart from those horrible times of the day - primarily the 9am-2pm death spot of TV - where there is no football on. And the prime reason of my anguish? Antique-related programmes. Cash in the Attic? Rubbish. Flog It! Fuck it!
Shows totally bereft of emotion. "Oh this? Yes, my grandfather gave it to me on his death bed. It means so much to me." "In an auction it could get between £15-£30! And that means £15-£30 closer to your target of £3000 to crazy pave your house and get a water feature in the garden". "Well gramps would have wanted me to be happy."
Got anything in your house that you like? Flog it for hard cash. Just flog what you got. Table? Who neeeds it? We can eat off our laps. Elderly Auntie? Flog her, you know it makes sense.
You could go through life without spending anything. Ever. "Daddy, Fido needs a transplant." (Or whatever dogs need that costs money) "OK we'll sell the Grand Piano."And who has these antiquities in their house? Someone finds a Faberge egg in a drawer: "Oh that! I totally forgot about it tucked away in there." And too many people wearing bow-ties. Very rum and, to my mind at least, disconcerting.