MR. HARRY SECOMBE has invented a g ame with almost limitless
possibilities. On your television screen you draw, in thick black crayon, a wig, moustache and beard in appropriate positions. You then sit back and wait for some pompous ass, or pop-singer, or ham actor, to fit into the adorn- ments. The effect is uproarious and salutary. You can, of course, vary the 'props'; a cigar, funny spectacles, a hat—all are effective, you will find. Do your drawing in the centre of the screen; a little practice will soon teach you the correct dis- tances and sizes for the various decorations. Per- sonally, I can't wait for the Prime Minister's next appearance. Other games you can play with tele- vision, incidentally, include switching the sound off and making up your own words to the mad ballet which ensues, and (in certain parts of London, at any rate) turning to Channel Six, where you can get the radio-taxis. And if the worst comes to the worst, of course, you can always watch television.
PHAROS
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