Caída y auge de Reginald Perrin

There's nothing like Reginald Perrin. The only things that approach it are Ronnie Barker's stammering speeches in Open All Hours, or his cockney patter in Porridge, and John Cleese's tantrums in Fawlty Towers. Leonard Rossiter's gift for rattling off a screed like a machine gun is amazing. If Reg Parrin ever did walk into the sea he'd never drown because he never has to stop to take a breath!

Every episode is remarkably simialar. Elizabeth sends him off to work, to which he is invariably late. He fantasizes about his secretary Joan until he's called on the carpet by his boss CJ, who didn't get where he is by . . etc . . . who gives Reg the completely mad assignment of the day.

And then he goes home for the day, where his dinner, which is invariably rizotto, is interrupted by his nutty military brother-in-law's cockup on the catering front, or his pipe smoking son-in-law's latest attempts at nettle wine. And then he thinks about his weekend visit to his mother-in-law whom he pictures as a hippo. I know! It sounds about as boring as anyone's routine. What isn't boring is watching him slowly go into meltdown, and start spouting off like a volcano erupting. It just get's better and better as Reggie's life gets worse and worse.

Reg really does try to make his way through the day. But if you or I had days like his we'd probably turn our hand to eccentric occupations too. But hang on, because with every new twist in his otherwise monotonous road there will be another fall and rise in this roller-coaster ride of a comedy.