We were not a family of early-adopters due to a paternal attitude that went something along the lines of: if life's not broke, no need fixing it.

Roddy McDowall and lassie from the original Lassie Come Home 1943.

This meant that among our school friends we would have come close to being the last family to have a television set. Before its arrival we were able to watch two shows through the kindness of neighbours — Lassie, at friends down the road; and Lost In Space, next door at the neighbours.

We finally got our own TV thanks to the generosity of an older sister's boyfriend who probably couldn't bear the persistent attention of a small bunch of rowdy kids who could easily have been distracted by some cartoons.

The excitement of the arrival of our very own television set nearly killed us younger kids and how we managed to survive the laborious procedure of trying to find the exact spot in a tiny living room where it could stand without annoying Dad (TV-hater) is lost to me.

It had Stand-Up Tuning which meant you had to walk over and twiddle knobs.

The most modern device in the house and the one piece of equipment responsible for "the breakdown of family values" (according to Dad) finally settled into its place in the corner. It was Ultra-Vision with natural-angle viewing, had long-life tubes and was packed with power and performance.

It had Stand-Up Tuning (which meant you had to walk over and twiddle knobs on the set to make any sort of adjustment); Dynapower Speakers and Two-Way Interference Protection all topped off by a handsome mahogany veneer console which demonstrated for us an entirely new, modern and instant world ... in black and white.

The set dominated the entire living room and reception of the single-channel broadcast was aided by a set of "rabbit ears" as we didn't have a roof aerial. The rabbit ears worked best when balanced on top of two biscuit tins until around 7pm, and then they had to be moved further into the corner of the room — and higher. The best reception was when they were held aloft like a newly-won sports trophy, by an older sibling.

Reception quality and "vertical roll" was also dictated by the idling of certain motorcars, or the use of electrical appliances — especially the cake mixer which Mum always seemed to have to use during the part in Bewitched where Darrin nearly loses his job.

TVs most famous coward and his robot ... Lost in Space.

Once the television set was allowed into the house an entirely new set of protocols needed to be learned and observed. For instance, the set was turned off the moment Dad arrived home from work, or a car pulled into the driveway.

The set was switched off and disguised when the visitor was the priest. If he turned up we pretended the television didn't exist.

"Is that a television set there, Mrs Fogarty?"

"Heavens, no, Father, that's Billy's indoor rabbit hutch."

The television set had to be switched off at dinner time, or if it was daylight, irrespective of which program was playing. Withdrawal of television-watching privileges was the worst punishment imaginable.

You were not allowed to stand in front of the television set at any time and if you needed to leave the room, you had to crawl along the floor like a commando. Talking was dealt with by capital punishment.

We stuck staunchly with the black-and-white model years after everyone else had moved to colour. At some time Dad's intense dislike for the evil set had transformed into acceptance and he perversely refused to get a colour television because, he declared, black and white was more natural!