A double-yolker for day 19, as a result of YouTube's 10-minute limit. From the 23 December 1986 edition of Des O'Connor Tonight, here's a bit of Burly Chassis. Clip 1 is her opening song. Clip 2 is a brief interview segment, then her second song. The interview takes place at a bar, from behind which pops fellow guest...well, just watch it. The plan was obviously to create one of those unpredictable moments that people talk about years later (doubtless this bit would feature in the trailers if the programme were being made now), but you can't create unpredictability. Nonetheless, Des doubles up and pisses himself gamely. I can only assume that it's genuine amusement or an act of kindness rather than des-peration. You are permitted to chortle at the cocktail, but that's all.

Day 18: at some point over the festivities, Two Way Stretch will be watched, as recorded at some point during Christmas 1994. Never mind your Carry Ons or your Ealing comedies, this is the apex of the British comedy film, and it was a favourite of mine and my mate Stephen Evens during our shared drab suburban adolescence. Even if the plot and script weren't absolutely first-rate, which they are, the presence of Bernard Cribbins, Beryl Reid, Liz Fraser, Irene "You're obviously mistaking me for an actress who gives a fuck*" Handl, David "I'm Dave Lodge, I was in Cockleshell Heroes" Lodge, Thorley Walters, George Woodbridge, Mario Fabrizi, Maurice Denham and just about all the greats would see you through. Lionel Jeffries is the man of the match, though. It takes a true great to outshine Peter Sellers on peak form, and he did it. Yes, he was superb as the Marquess of Queensberry, but Prison Officer Sidney 'Sour' Crout is his finest moment in a career of distinction. Oh, and it has the best theme/opening titles combo of any British comedy film ever. Ken Jones, we salute you.

* Apologies for mangling the quote. The full story is explained in the accompanying comments, and it's a corker.

And on day 17, Paul Daniels made a studio camera disappear.

Now, I'm a massive Vic and Bob fan and, for day 16, we visit Hull's premier nightspot for a date with Mandate. The series this came from, Bang Bang It's Reeves and Mortimer, seems to get overlooked when Vic and Bob's career is being considered, but elements of it are, for me, the best work they've ever done. Not least the spoof docu-soap, The Club. All of The Club was great, but I think this might be the peak of the run, at least in terms of quotability. The presents from the staff sergeant ("many of them gold"), the romantic links with celebrities ("I am shortly to be married to DCI Jane Tennison of Primal Scream"), Kinky John Fowler extolling the virtues of his boyband proteges ("I swear on my neck...and lips..."), and the revelation that Paul Baron, the Tesco Value Stringfellow, was never really in the SAS, but was really a slipshod "wepairman for Wediffusion - he use shoddy cables...". Unlike Paul Baron's jewellery, gold-plated at Timpson's ("and I have to say the tolerances are absolutely minimal"), this is real comedy gold.

Day 15 and we find ourselves rushing back to the Jazz 625 cupboard. This clip never fails to live up to the title of the tune they're playing. Benny Golson's still above the ground and active, but Alan Branscombe (on piano here, but equally at home on just about any instrument you cared to thrust into his hands), guitarist Dave Goldberg and the wonderful Tubby Hayes all went long before their time was due. Superb support on drums from Allan Ganley, another much-missed figure. I was too young to ever meet Branscombe, Goldberg or Hayes, but I met Allan on a couple of occasions, the last being at a jazz festival in Guernsey where I sat about 6 feet from him and watched his playing like a percussion-mad hawk.

For day 14, it's a south-western puppet rabbit, with music by Ed Welch.

On the 13th day, Erroll Garner made his bassist & drummer play a guessing game about when the tune was going to start. He did this a lot. It was one of the things that made him fab. This clip comes from the second of Garner's appearances on Jazz 625, repeated on BBC2 in 1985, and recorded by me on a JVC E-180, which I treasured until I found a DVD of both shows on sale in New York a few years back. Enough of my yakkin'...

For day 12, we return to the stage of the BBC Television Theatre at the height of Beatlemania (10 May 1964, to be precise). In charge, at centre stage, Billy Cotton. Enter stage left, Terence Alan Milligan with a jam jar of She Loves You and a deluxe Merseybeat wig. Comedy ensues, as does jazz, with Spike showing what a handy trumpeter he was, while making a prize nana out of poor old Bill Herbert on the banjo.

Meanwhile for day 11, it's the door to my study.



Separated by the Burston School Strike commemorative tea towel (my great-great aunt was one of the children who went on strike in that historic dispute) are two TV-related thingies. The '/B/B/C/ /tv/ colour' replica camera plate is obvious, the other less so. Let's take a closer look, shall we?



I know what it is and where it came from. Do you?

Playing catch-up again, here's day 10:

Day 9. This never gets old.

Day 8. A BBC2 junction from 1987. This is not as random as it might seem.

Day 7. Back when I was a student at Lancaster, a freak of geography meant that from the university campus, the Moel-y-Parc (BBC Wales/HTV/S4C) transmitter was line of sight while Winter Hill and its Lancaster relay (From the North - Granada, etc) were obscured by hills. So, if we wanted to watch TV illegally in our rooms, it was Welsh telly. In its earliest days, before the advent of TWW and Teledu Cymru, Granada made programmes for a Welsh language audience, reflecting the fact that most of north Wales is technically a Liverpool suburb. This is the ident they used.

The story of how a now-prominent sports lobbyist and I plotted to liberate the giant Granada G-arrow sign from outside the White Cross building will have to wait for another day...

More music for day 6, this time from a 1962 Ted Heath spectacular, featuring Ronnie Verrell (left of picture and left of sound field) and Kenny Clare (on the right) in a friendly sort of drum battle. Two drum heroes for the price of one. Can't be bad. The performance was mimed to the version used on the Decca Phase 4 Stereo album Big Band Percussion, so I've taken the liberty of replacing the lo-fi mono soundtrack from the telerecording with the audio from the original stereo LP. Also visible are numerous percussionists including Stan Barrett and Barry Morgan, not to mention bassist Johnny 'Salute to Thames' Hawksworth and guitarist Ike Isaacs. I can't place the ocarina player, though. Any guidance gratefully accepted. The spiffing arrangement is by Johnny Keating. I fear we might be peaking too soon, but what the hell...

A musical interlude for day 5, courtesy of the Dudley Moore Trio. This selection, called Song for Suzy, is in honour of Roman Empress who Twittered about how much she was enjoying this advent calendar, and the Baker/Worthington alternative.

For day 4, we cross the herring pond and commune with director Stan Freberg and actor Jesse White for an alternative to nicotine patches. I realise that I could, quite happily, fill the days before Christmas with strange little Freberg ads, but I'll try and keep things varied. Thanks to Posie Flump, whose tape this comes from, and to whom I really need to send the disc transfer I did for him, along with the bonus Time for Beany episodes I've put on it.

For day 3 of the advent calendar we return to state-of-the-art 1963 visual effects for the sight and sound of Millicent Martin duetting with herself on the final That Was the Week That Was. Anyone not cheered by the presence of Willie Rushton at the start of this clip is not human.

Playing catch-up, day 2 on the advent calendar brings a VT clock from a 1964 Big Night Out featuring Mike and Bernie Winters. Uncharitable souls have suggested that the VT clock was the most entertaining part of the show.

Despite not feeling particularly festive, a tradition's a tradition, so here's the first window on this years Cheeseford Virtual Archive TV Advent Calendar. For the last few years, Nigel Lythgoe - ex-Young Generation dancer, turned choreographer and producer - has been living and working in the US, most recently on a show called So You Think You Can Dance? He courted controversy when he expressed his reservations about seeing a pair of gents dancing with each other Fred and Ginger style. In certain quarters, this would have been bad enough, but he made matters worse by describing the all-male act as "Brokeback Ballroom" on his Twitter feed. The furore led to accusations of homophobia on Lythgoe's part. Tish and pish. This excerpt from a 1984 Central TV Christmas tape shows a young Lythgoe and what looks like Eurovision winner Johnny Logan camping it up something rotten. Obviously, neither gent is gay, but both are clearly happy to be identified as friends of the family.

So, Ian Hart remonstrating with a 'disruptive' audience member was understandable, was it? I prefer Sir John Gielgud's approach, which was to rise above it and press on. At one point in the 1950s, the great actor found himself working with a young man heavily in the thrall of Pinter. It might even have been Pinter himself, I'm not entirely sure. After an epic pause, the kindly Gielgud asked the young thesp a question: "Dear boy, why are you leaving these enormous pauses?". The young chap replied that it was all the rage at RADA now. Gielgud's reply was majestic. "It's nothing new, dear boy. I went through a similar phase myself until one night when, in the middle of a lengthy, dramatic pause, I heard from the stalls a cry of 'You horrible beast, you've just come all over my umbrella'." I wonder how Ian Hart would have dealt with that one?