Open Eye: First Thursday - Parked up in front of the Learning Zone

Forgive the slight curmudgeonly air this morning, but I am writing this in the throes of flu. One eye is streaming, one nostril literally gushing, both knee-caps on strike, the back-bone and ribs all working to rule, the skull feeling empty - yet obviously it is not. Not yet.

Now, I know that blokes are lousy patients so, mentally, I applied the pounds 50 note test. And I decided that if I saw one fluttering about in the garden I would leave it to flutter. So it was definitely not a cold: definitely flu.

When I eventually summoned up the energy I drove, one-eyed, to the chemist's, grabbed a handful of Vitamin C from the shelves, paid, and dashed (I use the term loosely) out... to find a Parking Attendant standing by the car, machine poised for use.

"I'm ill," I explained. "I just had to get some medicine. I haven't been more than two minutes."

"Didn't you see me, when you parked?" he asked. I hadn't. He had seen me, he said, and had watched me park on a single yellow and scurry to the chemists. "Trouble is," he said, "I didn't know how long you might be in there. So, I'll need to see a receipt."

I had to go back to get one. This time it took longer. There was a queue by now and the chemist's assistant kindly wrote for purchase of medicine on the receipt. I rushed back and handed it over to the Attendant who examined it, and said, "Fine. You can send this in with the ticket - it's under your wiper."

So much for the caring attitude of the People's Republic of Brent. So much, too, for the future of High Street shopping.

Come to think of it, though, this is not much less kind than the treatment meted out by the OU at Walton Hall, where they fix an immovable sticker to your window if you can't find anywhere "legal" to park on campus.

Things didn't look up, back home. Enforced home confinement should be a blessing, once in a while, especially when you're too ill to do any chores. But with flu you can't concentrate enough to catch up on your reading and have no patience to surf the web. There's only so much you can do while lying in a pool of sweat.

Then you remember daytime television.

Have you ever seen it? Don't. Three channels run exactly similar so-called "confession" programmes (the type we now know employ actors to describe details of their outrageous phoney personal relationships) - and all at the same time. Not much point in channel-hopping there. If you're lucky, one channel will have a black and white film starring Jack Hawkins -- of a standard not good enough for the weekend b&w slot. Otherwise it's the short straw and Brian Rix or The Three Stooges (who were not funny when it cost threepence to get in the flicks).

Or, last week: Film. Drip. A woman is terrorised by the noise from a dripping tap.

I am not making this up.

There's a quiz show, Fifteen to One, stripped through the week every teatime, some of which I thought created a bit of a mental challenge (I am not on top form, you understand), and Countdown, which created only boredom.

I'll say this for daytime TV: it does not encourage unemployment. It must drive people out of the house and looking for jobs in their thousands.

Still, evening viewing must be better. And of course it is, if you are satisfied with a diet almost totally restricted to cooks, vets, policemen, holidays and gardeners.

Believe me, it doesn't get any better if you are irritable to start with.

No, the only good thing about flu is that it comes with insomnia. Well, it does for me, because the only Night Nurse I'm interested in having at my bedside is the type that dresses up. And after midnight one night last week I was offered programmes on the architecture of three of my favourite cities - Rome, Sienna and Paris (twice) - although architecture's not especially my thing. Another night, the choice ranged from the South Seas to the rebuilding of France's post-war national identity.

In other words, programmes for adults. Programmes to get the old grey matter interested, even if it is feeling as if it's just done 15 rounds with Henry Cooper.

There's even the added bonus, unique to this twilight zone, whereby if you nod off during one of the programmes the chances are that it will be repeated within a couple of nights. It's a sort of sophisticated version of Channel Four programming, which assumes that if you are in on Saturday, you were out on Friday.

Readers of Open Eye know all this, of course. The complete guide to OU and Learning Zone listings is one reason they buy The Independent on the first Thursday of every month (although some buy it on other days, too). More than a million people watch these programmes every night, which is impressive when you consider that the OU has around 160,000 students. But it's not so good when you realise that 50-odd million are missing out.

So, if you are in on the secret - which you clearly are, because you're reading this - why not let your friends in on it?

They don't need to register with the OU in order to watch our programmes.

They might get hooked, as I did, although it took a bout of misery to get me on to it, and I shall resort to the video-recorder any day now.

Then tell them where to find the most complete programme guide. But do warn them not to stop on the west side of the Edgware Road while they buy it.