Some TVs are so old that there’s not even branding. Knackered, ugly and screwed to the wall at awkward angles – a bunch of eyesores seemingly bought as a job lot a few decades ago along with the sturdy, dark, wooden beds that wouldn’t look out of place in a Bavarian schloss of the 1920s.
“Those sets can go straight to the dump,” I told our talented interior designer, Jessica Coltman, who is in the process of sifting through the 16 hotel rooms I’m refurbishing at The White Hart, my eccentric side-show in Wiveliscombe, West Somerset.
Nine months in, and our dining room is an established part of the culinary landscape. That is, we continue to just about exist along with a few surviving pubs in the floating wreckage of socialist Britain. But the overnight accommodation is in need of a refresh. And the first task was figuring out what must go.
I decided to ditch the horrid, old tellies which have, until now, occupied each room. On closer examination, I was surprised to see they were at least modern enough to have remote controls, but baffled by the angles at which they were secured to the walls. Some are on fixings in nooks behind the beds, which means that to watch them you need to sit on the floor.
When they’re gone, I won’t be replacing them. We’re a humble establishment, so budgets won’t stretch to having TVs hidden in the panels at the end of beds, rising majestically at the press of a button, disguised as mirrors or, à la Claridge’s, behind dainty curtains under a dressing table. Besides, who goes away to binge Netflix?
“The White Hart is a refuge from the cruel world,” I pontificated to Jessica. “It’s a place of white burgundy, tender venison and conversation. Let’s rip these horrid things out and give people screen-free breaks.”
After all, I can pretend the fact that the Wi-Fi doesn’t work is deliberate. A digital detox is all the rage.
So, given I’m unwilling to master something called Facebook Marketplace and my ambition is as a restaurateur, not a pedlar of old tellies, it was to be straight to the recycling centre for these ageing sets.
That was the plan, at least, until armed with my Phillips screwdriver and ready to begin the first removal this week, I encountered Andrew Richbell, our general manager. Andrew is charming with guests, for sure, but a true back-of-house traffic warden who busily files hazard analysis, compliance and pension auto-enrolment documents like a bandit caressing gold.
He quickly countered my reckless creativity. “May I ask where you’re going with that screwdriver?” he asked. “I don’t recall an issue raised on the maintenance WhatsApp group.”
“Don’t worry,” I replied. “I’m just getting rid of all the horrid tellies.”
It was at this moment, as I attempted to edge past Andrew, that a smattering of guests appeared.
“Good morning,” we chimed. “Wonderful man,” said one of the guests, pointing towards Andrew. “He fixed the TV in our room.”
At which point, my general manager convinced me to pause my plot to take down the first television and continue our discussion downstairs. “You see”, he said, “they love the TVs.”
Why and how can this be? I thought the era of telly was dead – it’s now all about the phone, silly videos on YouTube and Instagram. Anyway, isn’t the point of a respite in the countryside to escape screens and talk to each other? Our rooms are for sleeping in, not lazing in of an evening.
After a quick bath or shower, it should be down to the bar and dining room for lashings of local ale, sips of pinot noir and bites of anchovies with crisp, toasted sourdough. You don’t schlep to Wiveliscombe to watch re-runs of Celebrity Antiques Hunt.
Indeed, each telly I rip out is a stepping stone towards the civilisation, peace and harmony that comes from conversation, browsing and sluicing. Andrew, of course, won’t have it. I know he will be assembling a pro-TV army of guests to foist upon me before long.
But I’ve got a way around him. I’m planning a midnight raid on our rooms, armed with a torch and a screwdriver. “Sorry, sir,” I’ll say to a guest as I steal in during the night. “Just removing your telly…”
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Dining and Cooking