It stood at the centre of a semi-circle of chairs in a walnut veneer cabinet producing images in shades of grey. Long shots were just a blur of shifting patterns but close-ups were recognisably pictures of human beings although you would have been pushed to identify the sex.
The commentry was hushed and reverent; it was essential for keeping the viewers in touch with the flickering images. Every so often the picture would start to move down the screen so the electrician who supplied the set would have to leave the other husbands, dressed in suits and ties, in the private bar to fiddle with the controls
Salmon paste, that had never been near the sea, was sparingly applied to pan bread for the grown-ups while the kids had cakes and National Health orange squash. it was magic and we all loved every minute of the six hours or so that it lasted.
I did not watch much television that day but a few years later Jean Mann, the MP for Greenock, invited me to her holiday home in the village to watch a series of Shakespeare plays. She watched with me while her husband plied us with tea and biscuits. You probably cannot imagine the sheer excitement of it all.