Pav’s Patch; All this schmaltz makes me queasy

THERE was a time when we Brits were renowned for our reserve and our stiff upper lip. Far from all this slobbering and kissing the continentals do, we were happy to let a firm handshake or a tap on the shoulder suffice.

But not any more.

The other week, I watched Noel Edmonds’s game show “Deal or No Deal”, expecting a bit of light relief for my heavy mood. Yet what I got was 45 minutes of televisual syrup guaranteed to have me feeling sicker than if I had eaten a dozen chocolate yule logs.

If you don’t know the programme, it basically involves a contestant surrounded by something like 16 people, all of whom have a box. Each box contains a sum of money going from a penny to £250,000 and the idea is that you get rid of the low amounts and finish with a big one.

In the edition I saw, a Scots woman was surrounded by friends, family and even her minister.

Every time she went for a box, the person behind it would choke back the tears to say something like: “Gertrude, I’ve known you 25 years and I’ve loved you for all of them. You are solid gold, the finest person I’ve ever met. I would gladly drill a hole in my skull and pour my brains on to the pavement to help you.”

Then they would open the box, a large amount of money would be lost, and Gertie would walk up, give them an embrace and kiss them.

Now what’s all that about? Why all the schmaltz? It made me feel so queasy that I was delighted when the woman won only 1p, even though she raised money for a Kenyan orphanage.

Doesn’t anyone get embarrassed by that sort of thing any more? Apparently not.

On Christmas Day, I went for a dinnertime drink with my friend’s family. As each member came in, I just waved and said “All the best”. Brian, in contrast, stood up and hugged them all, kissing the women — even his sister.

I can’t imagine kissing my sister. I feel ill because she insists on putting kisses at the end of her texts.

No, I just don’t do lovey-dovey stuff. In fact, I couldn’t even manage any on my wedding day — at least not in public.

As I made my speech, I told the assembled multitude that I had waited so long to tie the knot because I had wanted a woman with the right qualities — the ability to make good chips and a decent bacon butty.

Everyone laughed . . . except Mrs P. Women have no sense of humour do they?