Published: Friday, 13th November, 2009 9:00am

Lest we forget how truly awful TV tribute can be

by Maurice O'Brien

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SIX years ago this week the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance reached its nadir.

British forces were already fighting and dying in Iraq on the strength of Blair-Bush lies and the producers served up a menu of B-list pop singers headed by the ghastly Jim Davidson, in Army surplus kit singing the Road To Mandalay. Rest assured, you cannot get lower than that.

In total contrast, on Saturday night the Festival was at its poignant, emotional and lip-trembling best.

The tone was near perfect; from the dignity and pride of the widows and the clear voiced innocence of the younger participants, to the modest acceptance of Jamie Cullum, Faryl Smith and Hayley Westenra that they weren't the stars of this particular night.

Tributes to the work of medics in Afghanistan, intercut with shots of two of their heart-warming success stories, linked seamlessly with recognition of the 70th anniversary of World War Two, the 65 years since D-Day, and that the last of the Great War survivors left us this year.

And there was even a curious brand of gallantry shown by one man, with a face like a badly-filled pillowcase, sitting near the Royal Box. It must have taken real nerve for Old Prudence to show up. Neither as Chancellor nor Prime Minister has he funded the defence budget adequately, or even given it priority.

Yet only days earlier he'd faced the nation with his usual 'more of this, that and the other' mantra, orgies of statistics, and referred repeatedly to his Afghan strategy. What strategy? Sitting tight and hoping Obama thinks of something?

Prudence, and whoever's Defence Secretary this month, insist we've sufficient helicopters, while the late Lieut Col Rupert Thorneloe was adamant that a helicopter shortage was costing lives from roadside bombs.

Who do you believe? Never fear, Gordon's here.

- EVER since last Wednesday I've had this recurring vision. David Cameron, pulling the Tory front bench into position on the shores of the English Channel and issuing instructions to the EU waves to recede.

- ON Saturday I queued for 65 minutes for my flu jabs (ordinary and swine) at Grovelands Medical Centre in west Reading.

The line stretched uncomplainingly across the tiny and inevitably overflowing car park, which meant a number, many a lot more senior than I, had little choice but to abandon our cars in Craig Avenue and its environs.

To the council parking attendant who knew exactly what was going on and still enthusiastically bumped up her Christmas bonus: Bah humbug!

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