Big TVs on January 23rd

Today I have mostly been scared of my new 40 inch TV. Inspector Morse is massive. Like having the real John Thaw solving crime in the corner of the living room. And it's faulty, which makes the characters' faces quiver ever so slightly, almost like they're leering. We're sending it back and getting a smaller one. A 40 inch Simon Cowell, false teeth the size of marble tomb stones, is too horrifying a prospect. Annoying really, especially as this TV was supposed to be A Treat. My husband and I have been struggling with our massive ten-year-old box for about a million years and we had, up until last week, resisted the urge to get a brand new sparkling flat screen. Even when the 'on' switch broke, rather than replace the TV, we invented a contraption to jam the button in. So what if you had to grab the Bible, wedge an old crutch against it on the carpet and balance the other end on the broken switch to hold it in place? It only took ten minutes to set up. When Curry's come to collect the faulty flat screen, we'll have to go back to the old wind up one for a while. Hope the NHS can spare the crutch for a few more weeks.