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Oliver Postgate is dead. He made a lot of distinctive programs (it is I reckon all the more impressive that you could fit everything he did in slightly less than, say, the Rome miniseries). He made great vivid images, some of which (most obviously the magical chocolate biscuit mill) have continued to reverb with me in the years since I first saw them.
But... it's not a shame that he's dead*. He was 83! He's not done anything on telly for twenty years - this isn't exactly Jim Henson dropping dead over the course of a week. If for some reason you believe that everyone that dies is an affront against the natural order of things, then fair enough, but it's hard to see how you make it through the day, then. He did his work and retired, and you're doing him a disservice by focussing on his end rather than his fantastic work. Particularly if, for example, you wouldn't have been able yesterday to say whether he was alive or dead.
And now, some lovely mentalism
*In case you actually know him, in which case my apologies.
But... it's not a shame that he's dead*. He was 83! He's not done anything on telly for twenty years - this isn't exactly Jim Henson dropping dead over the course of a week. If for some reason you believe that everyone that dies is an affront against the natural order of things, then fair enough, but it's hard to see how you make it through the day, then. He did his work and retired, and you're doing him a disservice by focussing on his end rather than his fantastic work. Particularly if, for example, you wouldn't have been able yesterday to say whether he was alive or dead.
And now, some lovely mentalism
*In case you actually know him, in which case my apologies.
