sacre bleu

Despite the obvious attractions of other programmes on offer this evening I have been once again captivated, nay gripped, by the genius that is The Restaurant.

Thus after a prolonged bloggage absence I bring you...

Reasons why The Restaurant is the best thing on television:

Raymond Blanc's voice. His unique intonation and strange emphases are an aural delight.

The spin-off show on BBC8 (or whatever) is called The Restaurant: You're Fried.

Did you hear that? You're Fried. Do you see what they did there.

The "plucky northerners" (aka Martin and Emma). Yes, I know they got knocked out last week. And they were really, really rubbish. He was a prison chef, she was from a bingo hall. They never quite got it together. But they had ambition and, yes, pluck and I admire that in a person.

Raymond Blanc calling said northerners, "two of the most wonderful people I have ever met" and seeming close to tears on closing their restaurant.

No, really. You're Fried. It'll never stop being funny.

The game of Divorce Roulette being played out. Which of the fragile couples will fail to make it to the end of the process without ripping each other's eyes out? Will it be the obvious dramatics of Sam and Jacqui (saved by being ejected early), the imbalance of talent between Lloyd and Adwoa (she a fabulous cook with wonderful instincts, he a bumbling fool) or the sub-dom undercurrent of Jeremy and Jane (what does she see in the cruel, arrogant but slightly hot man who makes her cry all the time?)?

Sorry, still giggling at You're Fried. As if the whole format were not already a blatant rip-off from Mr Sugar...

The completely unnecessary earpieces worn by the courtiers/lackeys/bodyguards who summon and escort each couple to their weekly audience with Mr Blanc (cf previous point).

The terrifying dynamic of the mother-son duo, Tom and Nicole. Surely there's something a bit wrong about that. Watching Tom have to tell his mum that her cooking wasn't good enough was worth a couple of licence fees though.

Raymond Blanc's inability to pronounce the word Households without it sounding like he is saying Arseholes. Snigger.

The fact that Mr Blanc would have put the emphasis on the first syllable of "pronounce" in the above sentence.

Jess and Laura, the utterly wonderful, tall, blonde, enchanting, posh twins (see, now you wish you'd been watching it) who will probably not win but deserve only nice things and have won my esteem and admiration week-on-week for their intelligence, humour and imagination. To me they are the nation's anti-Samanda.

You're Fried, though. Now there's funny.

Raymond Blanc saying "bloody".

Alex Jennings's baffling random-pause-filled... delivery of the narration. Lovely man, but the new Gielgud? What a load of cock. Gielgud wouldn't do this shit.

Raymond Blanc, though. You've got to love that man. I don't fancy him, before you start getting any ideas, but I kind of wish he were my dad. Or maybe a friend of my dad who I get to go and do work experience with.

Hmm, I might have thought that bit through a bit too much.

Did I mention the spin-off post-mortem show? Oh, I did. Did I tell you what it was called?

Er... Did I mention Raymond Blanc?

Well, it's bloody good anyway. You probably don't need to watch it now as I've kind of given you all the highlights but if you feel like adding some unnecessary drama and emotion to your evening, tune in for the last couple of weeks.

I have to confess that since I started writing this, a political programme (This Week) has started and is featuring as guests Peter Stringfellow and Brian Blessed. The former with some kind of tenuous "polls/poles" link and the latter to discuss whether appearances matter. Diane Abbott and Michael Portillo appear to be drunk and/or fighting some monstrous sexual tension. It is making for compelling viewing and is almost as painful and glorious as The Restaurant. But on balance I feel that, as with the Conservative Party, it will take more than a few gimmicks to win me over.