|Written by Murphy Simmonds|
WHAT's the one thing your garden is lacking? Whatever Sanyo thinks, it's definitely not a television.
Everybody likes gardens. Festooned with bright flowers, soft grass, twittering birds and cat poo, these lush wonderlands provide a perfect sanctuary from the hubbub of modern life. Overwhelmed by the sheer, endless drudgery of it all? Simply open the door, step outside and warm your empty heart with the caring embrace of Mother Nature. Gaze at the daisies. Hark at the bumblebees. Get rained on. Go back inside.
Yes, it's all very well having a portal to paradise at the back of your house, but it’s no more than sporadically useful when the English climate is as non-committal as a jury at a Jackson trial. Wind shearing your skin, rain soaking your soul, icy cold that threatens to shatter you, T1000-style, into a million pieces. Even the Sun’s a nuisance, pumping its carcinogenic laser rays directly into your warts. And to top it all off, the whole garden goes completely dark for eight hours every day. The useless grass bastard."It’s the same reason we’re so good at office jobs, queuing and missionary sex"
But adversity begets strength. And so, out of the muddy, tangled mess of the nation’s collective garden has risen a powerful force: the British Barbecue Spirit. This grim determination, a close cousin of our famous stiff upper lip, keeps us charring chunks of pig in all but the most life threatening of downpours. Borne of the desire to salvage situations right-thinking people would abandon quicker than a bag of wolves, it’s a “chin up” mentality that blinds us to the sheer unpleasantness of our lot on the terribly mistaken basis that what we’re doing is a good idea, or even actual fun. It’s the same reason we’re so good at office jobs, queuing and missionary sex.
These, then, are fertile shores for Sanyo’s latest box of tricks: the waterproof television. As if a 52 inch, 1080p HD screen wasn’t enough, this LCD behemoth also boasts resistance to rain, sub zero temperatures and even hot weather. What better way to distract yourself from the unrelenting drizzle of a Sunday in the garden than Pat Butcher gurning out at you in high definition?
So flick the channel as you flick your burgers, letting the sweet moving images tease your mind away from the smoke and the paralysing cold and into the happy mental hug of the TV. Glossy teen dramas. Home makeover shows. Cosmetics commercials.Debt ads. The news. A ceaseless torrent of bombings, nose jobs and crushed dreams, of pre-packaged beauty poured directly into your eyes, whittling away your self-esteem until the only way out is to give in, grasp their solution, buy their cars and their diet bars and their dandruff shampoo in a desperate bid to escape the ugly, squalid tedium of simply being you.
Hang on. Weren’t we in the garden to get away from all of this? You can stick your TV, Sanyo. Anyway, the sausages are done.