BBC 2
Imagine: The Company Of Elders
BBC 1
“Have our traditional high streets reached the end of the road?” demanded Mary Portas, striding past the boarded-up shop-fronts of a recession-struck Tewkesbury. This raised a question of my own about Mary Portas: Save Our Shops. Had television’s favourite retail guru finally found a problem she couldn’t fix in the shopping woes of an entire town? So annoyed have I become by her hectoring style that part of me almost hoped she had.
For me, the final straw was Portas’ recent series on “revamping” charity shops. Her confident assumption that most of us have (like her) cupboards full of redundant designer gear to donate and that shoppers who rely on charity shops can afford £200 for a discounted designer handbag really got my goat. For someone who prides herself on living in the real world, she seemed to have moved to fairyland.
Tewkesbury, on the other hand, is now more ghost town than fairyland – cue UB40 on the soundtrack and the sight of Portas pretending to be humble by cycling along the kerb, flaming locks fluttering in the breeze. This being an edition of The Money Programme, she hit us with the statistics first – 100 shops closing down every day across the land, 67,000 redundancies in retail since the end of last year. High streets in Middle England have been hit the worst, with places such as Harwich and Dunstable losing between 20 and 50 per cent of their shops. Even supermarkets and pound shops have pulled down the shutters and done a bunk, leaving small independent shopkeepers battling on alone.
So what could Portas do to save the beleaguered emporia of Tewkesbury? As it turned out, not a lot. She called a meeting in the town hall, she passed on advice from famous London stores about discounts, service and whipping up free publicity. She brought a TV crew to film the market stalls at their summer fete. But you got the distinct impression that she had met her match in taking on their collective struggle. Her “the market knows best” philosophy seemed to have nothing to offer. “Keep your chin up”, was apparently all she could tell them, before peddalling back to the world of wealth as fast as her bike could carry her.
Someone else who looked like he’d met his Waterloo was choreographer Richard Alston, working with an assortment of senior citizens in Imagine: The Company Of Elders. At times his efforts to organise this OAP dance troupe resembled the herding of cats. Some dancers simply had not mastered their steps and he was forced to give them all a good telling-off.
However, before making any assumptions about the ability of the dancers – average age 79 – remember that this classic scene would be equally familiar to dancers in their 20s. What was obvious about this amateur company, based at the Sadlers Wells Theatre in north London, was how passionate and committed were its members. Some hid it well beneath the diffidence of age or class but they pulled it out of the bag on opening night, confounding ageists everywhere.
The only odd note was struck by Alan Yentob and his devil’s advocate presentation, keeping a distance between his own grey hairs and theirs. “How old are you?” he quizzed. “Will you be twisting, turning and lunging on the stage?”
Yentob reeled out a catalogue of the dancers’ ailments, from bunions to cancer via double hip replacement. “Some of these people are old enough to be my parents”, he assured us. But the elders were not convinced. “Come and join us, Alan,” they cried, backstage after their graceful and affecting performance. But answer came there none. l
Helen Chappell
Mary Portas: Save Our Shops
BBC 2
Imagine: The Company Of Elders
BBC 1
“Have our traditional high streets reached the end of the road?” demanded Mary Portas, striding past the boarded-up shop-fronts of a recession-struck Tewkesbury. This raised a question of my own about Mary Portas: Save Our Shops. Had television’s favourite retail guru finally found a problem she couldn’t fix in the shopping woes of an entire town? So annoyed have I become by her hectoring style that part of me almost hoped she had.
For me, the final straw was Portas’ recent series on “revamping” charity shops. Her confident assumption that most of us have (like her) cupboards full of redundant designer gear to donate and that shoppers who rely on charity shops can afford £200 for a discounted designer handbag really got my goat. For someone who prides herself on living in the real world, she seemed to have moved to fairyland.
Tewkesbury, on the other hand, is now more ghost town than fairyland – cue UB40 on the soundtrack and the sight of Portas pretending to be humble by cycling along the kerb, flaming locks fluttering in the breeze. This being an edition of The Money Programme, she hit us with the statistics first – 100 shops closing down every day across the land, 67,000 redundancies in retail since the end of last year. High streets in Middle England have been hit the worst, with places such as Harwich and Dunstable losing between 20 and 50 per cent of their shops. Even supermarkets and pound shops have pulled down the shutters and done a bunk, leaving small independent shopkeepers battling on alone.
So what could Portas do to save the beleaguered emporia of Tewkesbury? As it turned out, not a lot. She called a meeting in the town hall, she passed on advice from famous London stores about discounts, service and whipping up free publicity. She brought a TV crew to film the market stalls at their summer fete. But you got the distinct impression that she had met her match in taking on their collective struggle. Her “the market knows best” philosophy seemed to have nothing to offer. “Keep your chin up”, was apparently all she could tell them, before peddalling back to the world of wealth as fast as her bike could carry her.
Someone else who looked like he’d met his Waterloo was choreographer Richard Alston, working with an assortment of senior citizens in Imagine: The Company Of Elders. At times his efforts to organise this OAP dance troupe resembled the herding of cats. Some dancers simply had not mastered their steps and he was forced to give them all a good telling-off.
However, before making any assumptions about the ability of the dancers – average age 79 – remember that this classic scene would be equally familiar to dancers in their 20s. What was obvious about this amateur company, based at the Sadlers Wells Theatre in north London, was how passionate and committed were its members. Some hid it well beneath the diffidence of age or class but they pulled it out of the bag on opening night, confounding ageists everywhere.
The only odd note was struck by Alan Yentob and his devil’s advocate presentation, keeping a distance between his own grey hairs and theirs. “How old are you?” he quizzed. “Will you be twisting, turning and lunging on the stage?”
Yentob reeled out a catalogue of the dancers’ ailments, from bunions to cancer via double hip replacement. “Some of these people are old enough to be my parents”, he assured us. But the elders were not convinced. “Come and join us, Alan,” they cried, backstage after their graceful and affecting performance. But answer came there none.
Helen Chappell
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