Alan Perrott: Living without TV

Without channels like Soho I became numbed to the fear of missing out and not seeing certain 'landmark' shows. But given how much is written about them I feel like I've seen them anyway. Photo / Thinkstock

Mention the storyline from one of the current batch of great TV shows to Alan Perrott and you’ll likely get a blank stare. Since his telly went on the blink at the start of this year, he and his family have tuned out. Does he miss it?

I've started filling my water bottle from the tap. While it's a solitary 30 seconds or so, it's nowhere near as isolating as topping up at the water cooler. That's where people banter about Fargo and Broadchurch or Game of Thrones and House of Cards, conversations which inevitably follow me back to my desk, "and what about when ..." "Shush, I haven't seen that one yet," "Oh, okay. But isn't it great?" "Yeah, it's brilliant ... "

Don't get me wrong, I'm not moaning, especially as everyone knows we're in the middle of a golden age of drama. It's our television that's the problem, it sort of broke down two months ago and it turns out we can't be bothered fixing it.

In the early days there were a few moments of envy when someone would say, "Did you see ..." and there were days where it was mentioned that someone should really do something about getting the telly fixed, you know, for the kids, but they petered out.

Which is, well, incredible really. I was raised on the telly. One of my strongest childhood memories is of struggling to watch the opening credits of Star Trek as I was being herded to bed, an injustice that burns to this day. Then there was Andy Haden's 1978 lineout dive, "gurgle gurgle" on Dad's Army, topless newsreader Angela D'Audney, Ponch's Telethon press-ups, and Muldoon calling a snap election. Moments drilled into my head forever by the wonder of telly.

Now? It started going wrong when we dumped Sky. Without channels like SoHo I became numbed to the fear of missing out and not seeing certain "landmark" shows. But given how much is written about them I feel like I've seen them anyway.

Also, I've discovered from The Sopranos and Breaking Bad that if you miss the first few episodes you're immune, it feels like too much work to catch up. Besides there'll be a new one along before you know it.

Even so, we were still in the game when telly went digital, opting for the cheap instore Freeview box. It was cheap and we merrily set about timeshifting and accumulating, especially the rubbish movies that screen in the wee small hours and cult shows like Fringe that slowly get shuffled to way past bedtime. My only appointment show became the news - and even that was touch and go - apparently the kids need to be protected from some of the more visceral viscera of life. Particularly in HD.

Not to worry, our growing catalogue was perfect for those (all too frequent) nights when it's all cops, cooks and builders on live telly - until the first time the technology sputtered and we had to switch everything off at the wall. It wasn't long before this had to be done every time we switched the telly on, which took me back to the days of getting up to change channels with the ka-chunk ka-chunk dial on the folks' black and white.

It took all of a day for that novelty to wear off as the box took longer and longer to fire up ... and then, nothing.

So, to be accurate, it's our Freeview that broke, the telly is fine and its blankness is still enlivened occasionally by repeats of Aubrey's Megamind DVD.

It's an odd thing when a noise you've known your whole life suddenly disappears. I now understand people who leave their telly chattering away all day to drown out the loneliness.

The audible hole was jarring, much like when talkback radio finally did my head in and I swapped to National Radio. I'd always found Nat Rad a somnolent chore until I realised that, like TV, it was the constant, highly compressed ads that had annoyed me. Once I got used to the change, my walk to work became a far more pleasant experience. Until my radio died too.

It's like I've fallen into a crack. I don't have or want a smartphone, I no longer have my ears plugged when I walk, and there's no TV waiting at home.

Like Nirvana, I'd gone unplugged. And also like Nirvana, it depends what plugs you're talking about. Because for a house without television, we've never had so many screens.

For various reasons we now have the missus' smartphone, an iPad, a portable DVD player, two laptops and a fair dinkum computer. As a result, we have more potential telly than we know what to do with, often all going at the same time - it's just that none of it is broadcast in the traditional manner.

It was an odd moment when I realised I hadn't looked at a television schedule in weeks and while I still register 6pm each day, I now mark the moment by turning the record over.

If news is needed I open a laptop. If a music doco is desired there's YouTube. If I want to reassure myself of the wisdom of avoiding Twitter, there's always ... Twitter.

Despite remaining a stubborn Luddite, I've been thrust into the 21st century by a single busted component. What does it all mean? I don't really know yet but it feels like something is ending, something important, and it's left me all adrift.

At least I'm getting plenty of fluids.