A note about the Repair Shop

Something different today, a TV review. 

When Jay Blades appeared on Richard Osman’s House of Games, my initial thought was who the hell is he? A dapper chap, at ease with himself, a voice that could conduct funerals, he was obviously somebody but who that somebody was was a mystery to me. A quick internet search revealed he was the star of a TV programme called The Repair Shop, a reality show where in each episode three  members of the public bring tatty family heirlooms to a idyllic workshop where a team of experts returned them to their former glory (the heirlooms not the members of the public.). A show that despite being in its 7^th series had completely passed me by. But Osman on House of Games was singing its praises, so I thought that maybe I should give it a try. And there started a love hate relationship with a show that angers me and delights me in equal measure. Each episode I decide will be my last ,but it compels me and makes me click on the next one. I even find myself looking forward to it. So what’s so wrong and right about this format.

Let’s start with the positive. 

Surely, the Repair Shop is the home to three of the best-looking men on TV. Jay is joined by Dom, the beardy bloke outside and Will, the slightly camp woodworker. Not just good-lucking, but the TV edit makes them come across as the nicest people too.  Now they are not attractive enough to challenge my 49 years unblemished record of heterosexuality but they are the type of people who would charm your mum at a party whilst leaving the do with your girlfriend. 

Secondly, it is genuinely interesting what these experts can do to old things. Their skills, imagination and patience is gobsmacking. And the effect the restored treasures have on some of the public is genuinely heart-warming. The skill of the craftspeople reminds me of my old mate Pete and the way he would tinker and play with something and you’d think he was making it worse but suddenly there it was, all shiny and like new. 

But enough of the praise, let’s get our hands dirty. 

My first complaint is about Jay himself. Is this the laziest man on television? I have no idea why he is there? He never does any of the restoration, he never even gets his hands dirty. He just sometimes welcomes the punters, and then helps to carry the tatty object to the workbench of the restorer. He then pops up again to do the great reveal, getting all the glory. He reminds me of Gary Lineker in the 1986 football World Cup, popping up to poke the ball over the line from a metre out when Glenn Hoddle and Bryan Robson had done all the hard work. 

Secondly, the craftspeople themselves are so self-congratulatory. That’s great, that’s really good, I’m pleased with that, that’s perfect, they say about their own work. No modesty on show here, just full on self-praise. 

Thirdly, nothing ever goes wrong. Nothing, ever. All the repairs are perfect. There must be things that they can’t fix, there must be times when the craftspeople break the artefact, there must be times when the punters are left disappointed by a poor repair, but that is never shown. All they show is success and that creates a false sense that anything is possible. 

Next, there is the repairs themselves. If an old plush toy is snipped up, filled with new stuffing, given new eyes and new patches of fur, is it really the same toy? If a table is given new legs, new varnish and a new surface, is it still the same table? How far can a repair go before the original is no longer there. 

Finally, there is the rose-tinted spectacles aspect of the show. Britain has nostalgia sickness at the moment and the Repair Shop fuels it. Looking back to times’ past when things were better. But those times have gone and despite getting a newly repaired bucket or a re-polished jewellery box we can’t get them back. Maybe it is time to let go of the memories, maybe things get old for a reason, maybe it is time to love the tatty old relic for what it is but don’t believe it has magical powers. They won’t fix the problems in your life, only you can do that.

All of this makes me think that the Repair Shop is a microcosm of Brexit. A lazy leader, a streak of nostalgia, a belief that good old-fashioned British spirit can make everything Great again whilst sweeping the untimely reminders of failure under the carpet. 

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