Munching through my WheetyBangs this morning, I was getting my one shot of caffeine into my system whilst trying to focus on a story on the breakfast news.
The unforgettable Floella Benjamin was being interviewed, along with some other worthies, about the apparently parlous state of children's TV.
(And, by the way - a quick search on Wikipedia tells us the aforementioned Ms B was born in 1949. No. Fricken. Way.)
Anyway. Apparently, people are getting all steamed up about the fact that British kids these days see too much imported (mainly American) programmes and cartoons. There are fewer British programmes, by all accounts. And this could lead to all sorts of problems.
There was a golden age of programming in the seventies, goes the logic, where we all watched finely-crafted shows made in the UK that showcased homegrown talent and yet helped us to develop into younger adults, fully aware of our national identities.
I remember it well. In fact - I can recount from memory the opening lines of my favourite show. It made me the man I am today:
"Who is this Superhero?"
"Rosemary, the telephone operator?"
"Penry, the mild mannered janitor?"
"Hong Kong Phooey, number one super guy."
"Hong Kong Phooey, quicker than the human eye."
"He's got style, a groovy style,
and a car that just won't stop."
"When the going gets rough, he's super tough,
with a Hong Kong Phooey chop."