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The Duchess And Her Magical Kingdom
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The 1970s Supermarket
Rating:
That library looks very familiar. Its towering fireplace, palatial ceilings and fleur-de-lys carpet... why, we've seen this grand setting on Downton Abbey.
Alnwick Castle in Northumberland is 285 miles from Highclere, the Hampshire stately home most of us associate with that aristocrat of costume dramas. But in 2015's final series, Alnwick - pronounced Annick - doubled as the ancestral seat of Lady Edith's beau Herbert, seventh Marquess of Hexham.
Chinless wonder Bertie, more landed fish than landed gentry, was so wet that Edith had to mop him up with a sponge before she could marry him. And he once suffered a beastly ticking off from his mama, Patricia Hodge, in this very library.
There's nothing wet or chinless about the real mistress of Alnwick, Jane Percy, who gave us a guided tour in The Duchess And Her Magical Kingdom (More4).
The wife of the 12th Duke of Northumberland, she has devoted 20 years to renovating the castle and its gardens, though she does have some eccentric tastes - including a passion for taxidermy. Former pets lurk on every sofa.
There's nothing wet or chinless about the real mistress of Alnwick, Jane Percy, who gave us a guided tour in The Duchess And Her Magical Kingdom (More4)
Downton's Lord Grantham preferred his dogs to be unstuffed, though he was unlucky with naming them. The last one, Isis, had to be put down after viewers pointed out its link to an Islamist death cult. The bumbling Earl was so hapless that he probably called his next Labrador Taliban.
If this documentary, narrated by Amazing Spaces' George Clarke, had stuck to eccentricities, it could have made a far more entertaining show. Lady Percy, who favours a lambswool pullover with an Elizabethan ruff, like Blackadder in knitwear, is delightfully bonkers.
Her latest project is an adventure playground modelled to look like an Enid Blyton fairyland, called Lilidorei. The Duchess has invented a whole mythology for the place.
Children will be encouraged to ring the troll's doorbell, which zaps them with an electric shock. Lady Percy hopes this will enchant them so much that they'll forget to look at their smartphones.
The threat of electric shock therapy can certainly be effective. I bet her grandchildren are well-behaved at her dinner table.
She imagines herself as a dwarf or a goblin in Lilidorei: 'I know where I'd be born, and probably where I'd die and who might eat me.' Even in her darkest moments, Miss Blyton didn't envision cannibalism among the little people.
If only the producers had asked more about the Duchess's bizarre fantasy world and where it sprang from, this hour could have aspired to instant cult status, mad enough to be unmissable. Instead, it got quite literally bogged down in the grounds as workmen excavated a drainage culvert and men in high-vis jackets clambered in and out of JCB diggers. A missed opportunity.
The story of British supermarkets in the 1970s, starting with the rise of convenience foods such as SPAM and boil-in-the-bag meals. With food scientist Dr Chris Clarke and Rustie Lee
Food chemist Dr Chris Clarke wisely missed the opportunity to get plastered on his own version of Bailey's Irish Cream, 'the drink that appears to defy science', in The 1970s Supermarket (Ch5).
Dr Chris showed how a splash of emulsifier E471 added to cream and whiskey prevented the two from separating when mixed in a blender. The result was a gunge the colour and consistency of cat sick, but we were assured this would look much more appetising when coloured with cocoa powder.
You can't blame the chap for eschewing a sip. Chef Rustie Lee didn't seem too keen on trying her own version of a Marks and Sparks chicken Kiev either.
One greasy close-up of garlic butter oozing would wreck anyone's appetite. No wonder we were all so skinny back then.
