All about sex

The Song of Lunch (BBC2) was a rum old go. Christopher Reid’s poem, about a publisher half-hoping to rekindle a past love affair over an Italian meal, was read out by Alan Rickman, who acted the publisher and recreated the lines on film.

The Song of Lunch (BBC2) was a rum old go. Christopher Reid’s poem, about a publisher half-hoping to rekindle a past love affair over an Italian meal, was read out by Alan Rickman, who acted the publisher and recreated the lines on film. Thus, when the poet wrote, ‘he drinks until the ice rests on his upper lip’, you see the ice, actually resting on his upper lip! Or, ‘the menu slices into their conversation, like a sweetly swung axe’, you see the menu there, in colour, slicing into their conversation like a sweetly swung axe. Only television can do this! It was a rare modern example of ‘Lord Privy Seal’ television, invented by TW3, in which the job title was accompanied by pictures of a peer, a toilet and a sea mammal.

Now, as I understand it, this brief drama was supposed to be about lost love, ageing, and the impossibility of reclaiming the past — which looked fairly fruity, as Alan Rickman’s mind kept returning to being with Emma Thompson in bed, where it appears they had a terrific time. Which we also saw. In case there was a single viewer who didn’t realise this was all about sex, the voice-over reminded us: ‘the pepper mill is a wooden phallus, scattering seed’. Whoop, whoop! Cliché alert!

The trouble with the non-existent plot is that the man got drunk. He was in a bad mood anyway, because the restaurant they frequented during their affair had changed, and largely sold pizza, which is certainly a disappointment if you have your tummy ready for a nice osso buco.