I have always been inept when it comes to televisual distraction.
My first television belonged to my girlfriend. I gradually moved in to her place and began a semi-serious relationship with the television.
This was in the days when there were four channels to choose from. We could only get two.
The choice of channel depended on the lottery of me climbing up on the roof and pointing the aerial this way and that like a demonic wizard in the rain and starlight until my girlfriend shouted 'okay'.
Inevitably, the picture would be lost by the time I'd put down the aerial and shimmied down the drainpipe.
I would have to climb up and go through the whole process again.
My girlfriend's Dad was a 60inch colour wide-screen of a man. He doubted the wisdom of his daughter shacking up with someone who couldn't organise, take responsibility for her viewing habits.
I found it to be a bit of a turn off. I broke up with my girlfriend. Left her television.
It would never have worked out between us although I sometimes miss the rain and starlight.
Later that year, TV star Rod Hull, that pipe-smoking genius, had his fatal mishap when he climbed up onto the roof to adjust his aerial during the middle of a football match.
Take my advice: stay away from channel-hopping women and loose televisions. Go up into the starlight by all means. But make sure you carry a book.
They're easier to hold onto when you fall.