I do not have time to delve deep into the career of Bradley Walsh, because even scientists can’t explain it yet. How did it happen? In the 90s, Bradley Walsh was just a strange, anchorless TV ever-present, a star turn with nothing to star in, a last-minute panel show contestant or a waving appearance on a Saturday night revue show. And then, slowly but surely, Bradley started Walshing: first a two-year stint on Coronation Street (he’s an actor?), then the behemoth success of The Chase (he’s a quiz host?), then the No 1 crooning album (he sings?), then being the Doctor’s assistant on Doctor Who (???). And now, presumably as part of a bumper contract renegotiation with ITV, he’s taking his son along for the ride.
So here is Bradley & Barney Walsh: Breaking Dad (Monday, 8pm, ITV), again, the third series of which is currently airing. If you haven’t seen it yet – and you’ve somehow missed every other iteration of a show where, when asked to pitch a TV format, a comedian goes: “What if I just go on holiday with a direct member of my own family?” – Bradley Walsh and his son Barney go on a driving holiday, sing in the cab of an RV, quiz each other with fun facts from the local area, then finish each show with a heart-pumping feat of mayhem (a bungee jump, or something; Bradley Walsh yelling “Woah, OH!” while being bucked off a mechanical bull) because Barney is an “adrenaline junkie”. Sometimes they hug tenderly and say they love each other after a particularly daring stunt. Sometimes they do something silly, such as wear a funny costume or eat a strange local dish. They are both impeccably polite to every person they meet. It is the neatest 30 minutes on TV.
Every cell in my body wants to hate this show, apart from my heart, which finds itself oddly warmed. Bradley Walsh’s pure charisma transcends international boundary lines, with Austrian dairy farmers and Swiss yodellers alike all giggling with glee when he goofs around in front of them. Barney exudes that nice-but-anonymous, met-him-at-a-stag-do-once energy – I feel, very deeply, that he is 8/10 good at every single sport he tries, calls his mum once a day without fail, and was the first kid in sixth form to get his driving licence – and between the two of them the mild, loving patter forges together to make something impossibly wholesome.
The logical part of my brain and the dark parts of my soul are both screaming: “Why should I give a shit if two people go on an expenses-paid holiday across Europe?”, but this week Barney and Bradley end the episode doing a father-son duet of When You’re Smiling in a cave in the middle of Slovenia, and I can’t help but think: maybe Bradley Walsh was famous all along. Maybe this is what TV magic is: two men from Essex, with 10% more teeth each than seems strictly normal, grinning at each other and crooning a classic, in a cave pre-booked by a harried producer, on primetime Monday night.
One day, maybe, Barney Walsh will finally end up breaking his dad. But until then we’ll have at least 10 more series of them mildly bantering around each continent on ITV’s golden dime.
