It’s 2005 and I’m sprawled in my boxers watching The Bill, wondering how the f*ck the good officers of Sun Hill Police Station are going to tackle the cliffhanger they’ve just left me gripping onto.
TV was good back then. Noel Edmonds and his head of hair had just burst back onto our screens in Deal or No Deal, Big Brother was actually good and Shameless was all anyone could talk about. Well, either TV was good, or I had nothing better to do with myself. I’d go with the latter.
However, the real hero of the British small-screen wasn’t a 56-year-old man with an excellent goatee and an effortless handling of box-related game shows, or an alcoholic Mancunian with the ability to f*ck up any situation thrown at him.
No. The real hero of British television was the man who greeted me halfway through my 3 and a half minute wait for The Bill to return to my screen. That man, was Barry Scott.
Baz was a revolutionary. A domestic cleaning mascot for the ages whose catchphrase could be heard around the country wherever an unwanted quantity of dirt was resting its ugly head.
Bang! And the dirt is gone. His message was clear. Precise. Powerful. He conveyed a message that made you trust his product. Mothers around the country felt safe purchasing it and kitchens everywhere feared it.
Back in 2015, the 5’9 advertising titan – real name Neil Burgess – is a scarce presence on our futuristic curved televisions. No longer am I greeted by “Hi! I’m Barry Scott!”. The vast black hole where my reassurance once lay for domestic cleaning products is ever-present, and I just don’t know who to trust.