not like they used to

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"You look very glum there, Norris, especially considering that you're standing underneath the Magic Enchanted Golden String Tree, the most magical of all the trees in the Poorly-Made Fircone Forest. What's the matter, little one?"
"I just received some sad news, Trevor. You see, the bloke who wrote and narrated a whole load of slightly sinister-voiced animated children's television programmes back in yesteryear has died."
"That is sad, Norris. His programmes had such charm and elegance to them and not little strangeness, including that lent by all the dialogue being read by the same man's soft, gentle voice where it wasn't produced on swanee whistles. His stuff was sort of like a cross between the output of Ray Harryhausen and Vivian Stanshall. Like many things it's unlikely such output would be so eagerly presented to children were it made today."
"What will children watch now that the programmes we watched when we were small... or smaller... are no longer shown?"
"Well, judging by the recent crops of students arriving in the city the sole effect of the television these young men and women were raised on is to make them excessively loud and boisterous."
"That's very sad, Trevor. It can't be pleasant for some people to have to walk around listening to loud and boisterous other people all the time."
"It isn't, Norris. Still, that's why we're here; that's why we're here."