We are now eight series into Mortimer & Whitehouse: Gone Fishing (BBC Two) and surely, you suspect, the charm of two old blokes messing about in the river with fishing rods might be wearing as thin as cod stocks in the North Sea.
Yet from the moment the duo inched thigh-high into the River Itchen, a wild brown trout in their greying crosshairs, it was hard not to get hooked by the kind of instinctive chemistry most comedy duos can only dream about. Though it’s very much not a comedy show, Gone Fishing catches more moments of spontaneous humour per edition than any current sitcom I can call to mind.
At least, I’m assuming it’s spontaneous. Mildly crackpot diversions into Bob jogging in his jeans or Paul pulling his best flirty face may well be the product of hours of hard graft cranked out in a writers’ room, but I’d prefer to keep the illusion that it’s all off the cuff, because these too pull it off with aplomb.
Fishing stuff? Yes there’s some of that and, as a confirmed non-angler type, this floats way above my head. So it’s extra credit that you don’t have to know your grayling from your tench to get pulled into the teasingly affectionate undertow Mortimer and Whitehouse generate.
