06 Dec 06
You can tell a lot about a residential street by the position of the satellite dishes. In some areas, they are attached to the front of the house as a badge of honour. Like Madonna's pointy bra, they are a symbol of potency and proof that while the Freeview neighbour might have 50 channels, the satellite subscriber will be living the daytime dream with hundreds more.
But in other streets the residents will go to almost any length to hide their dish. Not wishing to associate themselves with the council-house wok, they will erect all manner of posts and pillars from which to dangle their antenna. They will claim to have bought satellite TV for the fascinating documentaries, and definitely not for the free pornography.
My street leans towards the latter mentality. Look closely and you can spot at least a dozen dishes but most, like mine, are attached, discreetly, to the chimney. It's the kind of place in which people trim their privet hedges and clean their dustbins.
It is also the kind of place in which the arrival of a bright orange car is met with a degree of suspicion. Even when it's dirty, the Focus still has all the subtlety of an Elton John suit. If you're interested in an understated performance hatch, choose an ST in black, not electric orange. It's enough to make a chap feel self-conscious, even though my immediate neighbour admitted that she 'quite liked it'.
