British TV of the 1970s and '80s, particularly comedy, occupies a warm, unconflicted nook in my mind.
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It's a happy place to which I suspect many of my ilk retreat when, to quote Willie Nelson, "the world seems to be spinnin' hopelessly out of control".
For me, there is perhaps no more soothing childhood memory than that of being sprawled, phocine and untroubled, on the lounge room floor, surrounded by family, peering up at Ronnie Corbett midway through one of his rambling monologues.
Seated in a swivel chair and sheathed sensibly in slacks, wide-collared shirt and a golfing jumper, Corbett would deliver the verbal equivalent of a bucolic Sunday drive.
No bells, no whistles, no swearing or put-downs, just an entertaining yarn.
"This evening, I'd like, if I may, to tell you a story about a chap cast away on a desert island ..."
You certainly may, Ronald, after which I shall be visiting Mr Attenborough as he reclines with a band of gorillas.
Corbett and on-screen partner Ronnie Barker were responsible for some brilliant sketch comedy, often based around wordplay.
F.U.N.E.X? (Have you any eggs?)
S.V.F.X (Yes, we have eggs)
F.U.N.E.M? (Have you any ham?)
9 (No)
I loved The Two Ronnies, the same way I Ioved The Good Life, Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em, To the Manor Born, Man About the House and its spin-offs Robin's Nest and George and Mildred.
Mercifully, the chances of any of these poorly aged programs being reconstituted for the 21st century are slim because the majority of the protagonists are dead.
Not so, John Cleese, who, it was revealed this week, is rebooting Fawlty Towers.
The British comedy legend has announced he and his daughter will be making a sequel to the celebrated series 40-odd years after the last episode went to air.
There may be an impassioned debate going on in some corners of the internet right now about whether this is a bold act of third-age creativity or an act of betrayal, but, really, let's be honest, we all know in our bones it's a terrible idea.
Yes, American director Rob Reiner is on board, which adds some serious comedic pedigree to the Castle Rock project, but Reiner's also doing a sequel to This Is Spinal Tap, so his judgment on these matters is officially cloudy.
And just to be clear, these men, some would say these geniuses, can do what they want with their own works. They've both done the hard yards and achieved great things in the most gruelling of performative arenas and despite what any disenfranchised, irrelevant fan boy or girl in front of a glowing rainbow keyboard may think, Cleese and Reiner are in charge.
But there's a pretty basic reason why a Fawlty Towers sans Sybil (presumably, Prunella Scales is 90) is an even worse idea than a Sex and the City sans Samantha and it has nothing to do with Cleese's less-than-pristine motives for resurfacing over the decades (complaining about your exes is seldom endearing, no matter how extensive your catalogue of silly walks may be) nor has it anything to with the fact reboots seldom work (ie: That 90s Show).
Simply, by producing a belated sequel to Fawlty Towers in the streaming age with its bolus of undigestible, often indistinguishable content will likely turn what was once a comedy unicorn into a comedy ass.
A reboot runs the very real risk of robbing the original series of its mystique, a quality generated by its famous brevity and Cleese's steadfast refusal to embellish.
When the COVID clamps began to lift, our local club was visited by a Dimboola-esque Fawlty Towers comedy troupe. They travel the country aping Basil, Sybil and Manuel while paying guests eat dinner and laugh at bits about not mentioning the war and Waldorf salads.
I didn't go, of course, because I'm not that desperate for entertainment, but seeing their ad in the paper reminded me of how extraordinary it was a TV show remained so revered that people would put up with a silly, ersatz version between mouthfuls of schnitzel just to have a bit of it back in their lives.
Maybe, as opposed to the Twitterati, they're the real fans and maybe they're the ones Cleese had in mind when he decided to head back to the hotel caper.
It can't just be for the money, surely?
