Flicking through the television channels yesterday, my attention was caught by a repeated cookery programme from years gone by. You don’t see programmes like this any more: a cameraman is dispatched to a quiet European village to observe the locals impaling livestock on long poles, shoving them in a blisteringly hot wood oven for several hours before tearing the carcass limb from limb. The footage is brought back home, and someone with a posh voice is employed to do a softly-spoken voiceover, as if the European villagers in question were some kind of rare species in a David Attenborough show. The most extraordinary thing about the programme was that in this particular village, in a remote part of Umbria, there was no-one to be seen under the age of 45. Everyone was wizened, many were toothless, certain citizens could even be described as “crones”. While meat was hacked off the bone by salivating grandfathers, unkempt women looked into the middle distance, possibly pondering why they had all remained childless and barren. After they’d feasted on pig, however, the tables were pushed to one side, and the elderly population struck up a cheery, traditional Italian folksong, accompanied by vigorous dancing and much laughter. Jenny, whose Italian is worse than my Welsh, provided her guess at a translation:

Where have all our offspring gone?
We are the last generation
To live in this crumbling village
And after we die
Our homes will be redeveloped
And sold as holiday villas

The programme was made in 1985; it’s possible that this has already happened.

Over on the Ideal World shopping channel – which could easily be renamed the “Cleaning Crap Off Shiny Surfaces” channel – they were once again using magic creams and potions to lift the grimiest of grime from the bonnet of a car. “Absolutely perfect for removing bird lime,” said the presenter. This got me pondering about the word “lime”. It’s never used in this context – i.e. shit – unless it has come out of a bird. But it should be. It’s a lovely word, lime – easily better than the word “droppings”, I think. Take some time out, this summer, to refer to lumps of dog lime, or cat lime. Maybe you need to go for a quick lime? Careful when you’re ordering a lager and lime, though, for obvious reasons.

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Journalists appear to be receiving copies of the new Scritti Politti album. There’s a “secret” gig tomorrow night (Monday) with Baxter Dury at The Luminaire; then next week, Amsterdam! Exciting.