Build up the tension until nearly the end then make something explode

I arrive home excitedly singing the theme tune to Channel Four news. Eddie isn't impressed. He doesn't need to say anything for me to know this. 'They aren't going to privatise it!' I cry. 'They aren't going to sell it!' After a long pause I add 'yet.' 'What would it do worse if they did?' I sign. 'I know you've never liked the idea of Channel Four...' 'How can you have public service broadcasting with adverts? Educate, inform and entertain.... but interrupt every ten minutes to say whatever your paymasters tell you to whether it's in the viewers' interest or not? All these yoghurt adverts.... What is behind this explosion of yoghurt? People never used to eat it. Channel Four's probably only there to keep yoghurt manufacturers happy.' I can never work out what Eddie has against Channel Four. He's always been quite happy to work for ITV. He's always been quite happy to work for anyone who ...

Eddie returned in some considerable distress, scrambling over the fence. "I need to sit down,' he said, a dear friend of mine has died.' 'Oh goodness,' I say, 'who was it?' 'It was Barry Cryer,' said Eddie. 'I feel absolutely bereft. He was just always there, cackling and dispensing anecdotes. You could phone him at any hour of the day or night and he'd regale you with his memories of Charlie Carioili, whoever he is. I don't think he actually ever knew himself.' I tell Eddie he is wrong, and Google Barry Cryer, at the time of writing is very much alive. 'Bah,' he says, pushing my tablet aside in disbelief. 'That's just some writing on a screen. It's no evidence of anything. Poor Barry, I don't know how the world of entertainment is supposed to go on without him. He writes everything, you know, even the news. Question Time, it's all him. No one actually knows how to be spontaneous. And the after-dinner ...