It’s 7pm on a summer weeknight in Britain and, for nearly two decades, that’s meant one thing: the bright green sofa, the easy banter, the comforting chaos of The One Show. For millions, it’s the gentle transition from the workday to the evening, a place where Alex Jones and her rotating cast of co-hosts guide viewers through everything from royal births to viral puppies to the latest in British innovation. It’s the kind of television that feels like the nation’s living room—reliable, chatty, and always just the right side of irreverent. But tonight, and for the next four weeks, that living room is empty. The One Show has been pulled off air in a BBC schedule shake-up so seismic it’s left fans blinking at their remotes and wondering, “Now what?”
The news dropped with the kind of understated drama that only British TV can muster. On Friday night’s episode, as the credits loomed and the familiar theme music played, Alex Jones—smiling, gracious, every inch the nation’s friend—delivered the bombshell. “We are taking a bit of a break for the next four weeks and we’ll be back on Monday, 28th July,” she said, her Welsh lilt softening the blow. “But there’s plenty to enjoy like Wimbledon and the Euros.” And with that, the curtain fell. No fireworks, no fanfare, just the quiet, collective gasp of a country suddenly deprived of its 7pm ritual.
It’s not just a break. It’s a cultural event. The One Show isn’t just a magazine programme—it’s a national institution. Since 2006, it’s been the place where the day’s headlines meet heartwarming human interest, where celebrities rub shoulders with scientists, where the biggest stories are broken down for the whole family to digest together. You don’t just watch The One Show—you live it. You tweet about it, you roll your eyes at its quirks, you feel oddly bereft when it’s not there. And now, for the first time in years, it’s gone for a full four weeks, replaced by the relentless drama of live sport.
Of course, the BBC’s decision isn’t without precedent. Summer is always a tricky time for programming, and the Corporation is nothing if not pragmatic. Last month, The One Show was bumped for the Royal Horticultural Society (RHS) Chelsea Flower Show—a genteel, quintessentially British event that at least felt like a natural fit for the slot. But this time, the stakes are higher. Wimbledon is here, and with it, the kind of wall-to-wall coverage that only the BBC can deliver. For tennis fans, it’s a dream come true: every serve, every volley, every rain delay, broadcast live into living rooms across the country. For everyone else, it’s a reminder that in the great British summer, sport is king—and everything else must make way.
But while Wimbledon takes centre stage, there’s collateral damage elsewhere on the BBC schedule. EastEnders, the Walford-based soap that’s been a staple of the 7:30pm slot for decades, has been shunted to BBC Two for the duration of the tournament. It’s a move that’s left diehard fans scrambling for their fix, their nightly dose of Mitchell family drama suddenly harder to find. For a soap that trades on routine and ritual, the disruption is almost existential. “I don’t know what to do with myself,” tweeted one fan, echoing the bewilderment of thousands. “No One Show, no EastEnders—what is this, the apocalypse?”
For Alex Jones and Roman Kemp, the show’s current hosts, the break is a rare chance to step off the treadmill. Jones, a mother of three and a stalwart of British television, has become as much a part of the national furniture as the Queen’s Christmas speech. Her warmth, her wit, her ability to steer a live show through everything from breaking news to awkward silences, has made her a household name. Roman, 32, brings a fresh energy, a touch of showbiz sparkle inherited from his famous father, Martin Kemp. Together, they’ve weathered everything from technical meltdowns to celebrity walkouts with a smile. Now, they’re taking a well-earned summer holiday—but not before reassuring viewers that the show will be back, bigger and brighter, at the end of July.
Still, the absence is keenly felt. For all its breezy charm, The One Show is a linchpin of the BBC’s weeknight schedule, a bridge between the news and the soaps, a place where the nation comes together to laugh, cry, and occasionally groan at the latest “And finally…” segment. Its disappearance leaves a hole that even Roger Federer’s backhand can’t quite fill. Social media is ablaze with speculation and nostalgia. “What am I supposed to do at 7pm now?” asks one user. “Talk to my family?” It’s a joke, but there’s a kernel of truth. In a world that’s more fractured and frenetic than ever, The One Show is a rare constant—a reminder that, for half an hour each night, we’re all in this together.
The BBC, for its part, is unapologetic. With the Euros and Wimbledon dominating the summer schedule, it’s a chance to showcase the Corporation’s unrivaled sports coverage, to bring the nation together in a different way. There’s a certain poetry to it: as the world’s best tennis players battle it out on Centre Court, as footballers chase glory across Europe, the BBC is doing what it does best—capturing the drama, the heartbreak, the jubilation of live sport. For sports fans, it’s manna from heaven. For everyone else, it’s a reminder that even the most cherished traditions must sometimes yield to the roar of the crowd.
But the shake-up is about more than just sport. It’s a sign of the times, a glimpse into the ever-shifting landscape of British television. With streaming services nipping at its heels and audiences more fragmented than ever, the BBC is under pressure to innovate, to adapt, to keep pace with a world that’s changing faster than ever. The One Show’s hiatus is a calculated risk—a bet that viewers will return, refreshed and eager, when the green sofa is back in its rightful place.
Yet, in the meantime, the sense of loss is palpable. For the army of loyal viewers who tune in every night, who tweet along with Alex and Roman, who revel in the show’s mix of high and low culture, the next four weeks will feel strangely empty. The One Show isn’t just a programme—it’s a habit, a comfort, a friend. And like any friend, its absence is deeply felt.
Of course, the BBC promises plenty to enjoy in its stead. Wimbledon, the Euros, a summer of sport that promises to be as thrilling as it is unpredictable. But for those who crave the familiar rhythms of The One Show, who look forward to its gentle irreverence, its ability to make even the most mundane stories sparkle, the wait will be long.
When the show returns on July 28th, it will do so to a changed landscape. The summer’s dramas will have played out, new stars will have been born, old heroes will have fallen. But one thing is certain: when Alex Jones takes her seat on the green sofa, when the theme music plays, when the nation tunes in once more, it will feel like coming home.
Until then, the nation waits. The tennis balls fly, the footballs roll, the drama unfolds. But somewhere, in living rooms up and down the country, there’s a green sofa waiting, a slot in the schedule that only The One Show can fill. And when it does, it will be more than just a return—it will be a reminder of what makes British television great: its ability to bring us together, to make us laugh, to keep us company, night after night, year after year.
So here’s to The One Show—gone, but not forgotten. The countdown to July 28th starts now. And when the credits roll once more, when Alex and Roman return, when the nation’s living room springs back to life, it will be all the sweeter for the wait.
