My generation

Been watching an absolutely brilliant 1983 BBC documentary about Musical Youth, Musical Roots, in which the five Birmingham schoolboys - briefly an internationally famous band - are given eight days off school at the end of January to go on a short tour of Jamaica, where their families had hailed from. What follows is an absolute joy to watch, as five mildly bewildered lads from the UK experience the culture shock of seeing a world far removed from anything they've known before: the poverty-stricken living in shacks and not being able to afford footwear, for example. Oh, and the sun. The blazing sun! And the fact that you can actually stand about in the street and chat without the police moving you on.

Also, there's a hilarious encounter on a bus with someone called Winston Jarrett, who really is quite the character. At least I think he is; I could barely understand a thing he was saying - or, more accurately, raving on about. (I suspect he'd had too many blue Smarties.)

Anyway, please do watch; it's guaranteed to brighten up your day. (God knows we need a bit of cheering up at the moment.) My absolute favourite part would have to be the bit where they visit a school on the island and self-consciously stand up in class when prompted by a teacher and introduce themselves one by one, before miming along to Never Gonna Give You Up during an impromptu show for the schoolkids in the playground.

But the whole thing is just a great snapshot in time and a reminder of just how natural and unobtrusive television documentaries were back then (no narration; no manipulative incidental music; no contrived story arc or spurious emotional "journey"; no teasers; no repetition; no bullshit, in a nutshell. Just an old-fashioned travologue, following people as they explore a new place).

Meanwhile, in 2013, there's a documentary on Channel 4 tonight about... dogging. Grim. No, you can keep the present. I'm having too much fun in 1983.