Here comes the sun

Phew what a scorcher! Helen Parton is momentarily distracted from what’s on the box.

Has anyone seen that brilliant advert for Boots, where everyone’s running for the beach, slathering themselves in sun cream, painting their toenails on-the-go at the first ray of summer sunshine? Well, it’s genius and that was the weekend that just was, that is. What I’m trying to say is that anyone who stayed in and watched television last Saturday and Sunday was an idiot. With one notable exception – to check the Weather Forecasts (All Channels, All Times of the Day) of course! I still can’t get used to the BBC’s move-y round-y map thing, and I must say it makes me quite nauseous watching it. Possibly more so than when enduring the predictable schmaltzy endings of every single sodding episode of Grey’s Anatomy (Thursdays, 10pm, Five) … and then everything’s alright and they’ve all learnt something about themselves and each other in a horrible hybrid of Dawson’s Creek/Ally McBeal. Ugh, don’t get me started. Where was I? Oh yes, weather. I don’t think we need all this high tech jiggery pokery do we? We’re only a small island. Please stop swooooooshing down to Cornwall and then up to the Isle of Mull and just give the presenters those funny little weather symbols to slap on the patently non-adhesive map. Where will the need to fit in to modern times end? Next, they’ll be asking the reassuringly mumsy-figured, Bhs-attired presenters to go all Paris Hilton. I can’t watch ITV weather either, because Sian Lloyd freaks me out with her all pervading smile, which seems to grow as the rest of her body shrinks. I fear one day she’ll be the like that bit in Alice in Wonderland where the only part of the Cheshire Cat that remained was his grin. Scary. Speaking of bits of the body you can’t keep your eyes off, I’ve become mesmerised by Russell Brand’s beard in Big Brother’s Big Mouth (Friday, 11:55, Channel 4). It looks like he’s waxed off his pubes and stuck them onto various areas of his visage in yet another demonstration of his virility. As if we needed one. Hats off to the little tinker though – come rain or shine (see what I did there, linking beginning to end of article fans) he seems to go through north London blondes the way most men go through man size tissues. Blinding!