Diary

I watch television rarely and at strange hours, so I suppose it's no surprise that what I see is often odd. I have had a set in my bedroom for only a few weeks, so have as yet acquired little understanding about what to expect at insomnia-time - around 3-5am - except disappointment, for I long at that time for something soporific, and am usually confronted by something violent or energetic. One night recently I struck gold in the shape of Music Hath Charms, a 1930s film about the bandleader Henry Hall.

Since Henry and his chaps resembled a collection of small-town bank managers of ferocious respectability, the necessary dramatic device was to show the heart-warming effect on different groups of people of Henry Hall dance music. The couple having a lovers' tiff and a breach-of-promise suit were straightforward enough, but what was more complicated was the jungle scene in which a couple of dauntless WASPs, armed only with rifle, radio and terrified black servant, were surrounded by apparently half-witted, bloodthirsty, spear-laden cannibals. I can't tell you which tune soothed the savage breasts, for the film actually succeeded in sending me to sleep, but it made me smile that this had slipped through the politically correct net of Channel 4. I suppose it balances the racism hitherto manifested on that network by Jesse Jackson and Ice-T.