I don't watch a lot of television - it's not that I'm attempting to make some snobby arty statement - I don't spend my evenings reading Sylvia Plath or reciting Philip Larkin - it's just I find most TV dreadful drivel. I did catch a few moments of the BBC retro-cop drama "Life On Mars" - where, for some reason or another, a policeman from today finds himself back in 1973. One thing did strike me though. Why on earth didn't he go straight down the bookies and have ten grand on Sunderland winning the F.A. Cup?