Snippet for Sandradelete

[louiselux]

sandradelete wanted Aziraphale and the Antiques Roadshow. I hope that the British TV references translate. For those who don't know, Thora Hird was sort of a National Grandma. A much beloved, kindly figure who appeared to be going to live forever.




Aziraphale loved the Antiques Roadshow with a passion that flirted, in Crowley's opinion, with lunacy. Not only flirted with, but sometimes took out for a four course meal. It was one of the few television programmes Aziraphale approved of. That, or anything with David Attenborough in it, who Aziraphale also loved with a passion, one that Crowley secretly thought bordered on stalkerish. Aziraphale had been distraught at his funeral, maundering drunkenly on about man's moral obligation to save the world to anyone who'd listen, which by the end had been no one, not even the Director of Greenpeace. He was also very attached to Songs of Praise, which had been a capitulation on Crowley's part in the early 1960's, over Dr Who. Aziraphale had loathed the Daleks, especially Davros. He'd never been able to watch them when alone, something that made Crowley very happy.

'It's come to the end of its natural life,' the Head of BBC Programming explained, with more than touch of desperation. 'Viewers are starting to complain about the presenters. They're ... very, very old. The programmes are starting to lack variety. In fact, I can't think why it's still running.' She sounded genuinely puzzled. 'I'm afraid it's got to go.'

Crowley nodded.

'At least let him die,' Crowley implored. It was later that day and they were in Aziraphale's cramped sitting room. He pointed at the television, at the wizened, gummy smile of Michael Aspel, who had just staggered into the frame. With arthritic fingers, he was demonstrating the intricate catch mechanism on a small silver box. 'And I wouldn't mind but it's never anything but snuff boxes.'

'That's not true. They have other things too, sometimes.' Recently Aziraphale had conceived a liking for Clarice Cliff pottery. This was hot on the heels of his Sevres figurine craze. Crowley stood up, knocking a porcelain shepherdess to the floor.

'You should really think about getting rid of some of this stuff. It's far too cluttered,' he said, mending the statue with a glare. He picked his way carefully through the riot of antiques that Aziraphale had crammed onto his numerous side tables.

'I'm beginning to think you don't like my knick-knacks, Crowley,' Aziraphale said mildly.

'No, the antiques are great, really great,' Crowley said unconvincingly. 'Aziraphale. It's the show - it's frightening the viewers. It frightens me,' he muttered. 'The BBC aren't happy. I just don’t know how long I can keep them from pulling it. I warned you this would happen.'

'I'm sorry, but if you're going to keep World's Deadliest Swarms, and your tacky late night erotic thrillers I can’t see why I shouldn't have my favourite programmes too.' Aziraphale smiled. 'Unless you really want to argue about it.'

The room darkened ominously. The television picture collapsed into rows of static. The collection of frolicking porcelain shepherdesses and their sheep trembled. Oh dear. Crowley hoped that things wouldn't get as bad as they did when Coronation Street was taken off the air. That had been a terrible year. He thought quickly. Drastic measures were called for. 'What if I resurrected Thora Hird instead? You always liked her,' he said encouragingly.

Aziraphale considered the offer. 'And get rid of Prince Edward's chat show?'

'All right, all right. That too.'

'I'll think about it ... '

'Excellent.'

' ... if you promise me one more thing.'

Crowley's shoulders sagged.

Aziraphale smiled kindly at him. 'Those adverts on the BBC. I've never liked them. They've got to go.'

'But it took me years to get rid of the license fee!'

Aziraphale ignored him, turning his attention back to the ancient shambling figures on the screen. 'Oooh, Clarice Cliff. £15,000? For that teapot? I'd never have guessed it would be that much, would you Crowley? Fascinating. I could watch this for ever.'

*

A few days later Aziraphale received a large brown paper envelope. Inside was that week's copy of the Radio Times. It contained a loving and rather eager tribute to the Antiques Roadshow, which was going off the air after 58 long, very long, years, together with the shock news that Prince Edward's TV company had gone bankrupt (again). Then there was the discovery that Thora Hird had only been sleeping after all. She was back on Songs of Praise.

In his excitement he failed to notice a new series called Live Shark Attack, or that Celebrity Prison Break was now on five nights a week. Or that the BBC had decided to show the complete run of Dr Who, right from the beginning, including the final controversial series where Dr Who was played entirely by an actor wearing sunglasses.

Comments

[louiselux.livejournal.com]

Sacrilege!

Aziraphale sat aghast, staring at the television screen, his mouth hanging open in shock. Wetherfield had been struck by an earthquake. He watched as the entire street shook and rumbled, a fiery black chasm splitting it in two. The houses, shop and pub sank slowly into a pit of flame, the inhabitants screaming in terror. His stunned gaze shifted to Crowley, who cleared his throat and looked away.

'It had to end somehow,' he said.

[yonmei.livejournal.com]

Oooh, yes!