Waste of Baco

The other side

2011-08-08T10:01:00.003+01:00

So you're wondering why I haven't posted for a while? It's because I'm on Tumblr now. Yeah, I'm moving with the prevailing wind, with the kids, to the cooler playground.

You shouldn't even be here. I have a domain you know. http://wasteofbaco.com. Or if you're still not willing to go with the truncated version: http://wasteofbaco.tumblr.com.

Don't leave me, I'm not sure I like it over there.

Amateur dramatics.

2011-05-28T01:04:00.006+01:00

Maybe I'm taking this blogging thing too seriously. I'm regularly reminded of this whenever I'm sat watching trash for the purposes of 'research'. Why? So I can be smug and superior knowing that ultimately something more will come out of it than mindless entertainment?

God, I hate myself.

I watched Made in Chelsea tonight and it's created a melancholy in me that has irreparably changed the way I view a lot of things. In fact, I underestimated it. I was foolish. I'd read the synopsis about spoiled brats galloping around Knightsbridge, as they do; I anticipated a predictable annoyance towards it in the same way that one might be infuriated by seeing the privileged. Those mixed feelings of jealousy and anger at their obnoxious ignorance are just a part of life. Well, for me anyway.

That's not what disturbed me. In the few months I've shyed away from TV in its most traditional sense, there's been a wave for a type of programme that I'm yet to understand. I was unfortunate enough to catch an episode of Pineapple Dance Studios a year or so ago, and found it difficult to fathom how and why they blurred the line between fiction and reality in such an audacious way. Ridiculous as it sounds, it felt dishonest to me to switch between scripted nonsense and engineered 'reality' without so much as a clue as to which is which.

Not that the viewers care, obviously, because in the meantime, along comes The Only Way is Essex and suddenly 'reality soap' is an established genre that people want in quantity. ITV2 and E4 have never had it so good.

But why do they want it? What purpose does this bastard chimera fulfil? It's scripted 'reality', which from what I have seen, is a drama with uncompromisingly appalling acting. It doesn't bring anything to the table, the performers don't have the ability to entertain, but there's nothing to learn because there's nothing real about it, except a faint reference to it MAYBE having some reality element to it. But if there is, none of us have any fucking idea where and how much, and trying to guess is pointless.

I've risked coming across as extremely naive. I'm painfully aware of how unreal any form of reality TV is. However, the audacity of the producers in willfully admitting the half-arsed nature of the show as part of its innovative appeal antagonises me. Is this what 'clever' TV is now? Compounding words together and creating shows based on how catchy it sounds? Dramality? Realisoap? Where will it end?
I'm no closer to conclusion now than when I started writing this. I was hoping this would act as a form of catharsis, that organising my thoughts would help me to understand the subject I'm grappling with here. But no, I'm still feeling utterly confused. I can't understand the appeal of this show, to anyone. I feel ambivalent and simultaneously embarrassed by the whole thing. The only saving grace is that I genuinely do not know what I watched during those ill-fated 15 minutes, which I think is clear by the lack of coherency within this article.

Maybe I should take that as a compliment.

Euroskeptic.

2011-05-15T15:00:00.013+01:00

Eurovision is over for another year, and I feel better in the knowledge that alongside the silly campness of it all, some important lessons of geography and tolerance have been delivered to people that normally would not invite it. I anticipate, for example, a swell of Google searches for Azerbaijan and its location. In case you didn't know, north of Iran, west of the Caspian Sea. It's nice to know television can still do that, almost like a trojan horse of education for the unwilling, if you like.

However, unfortunately, there's only so much one massive international singing competition can do, and this is uncomfortably clear when looking at publications such as the Mail, for example.

Thinking about that for a second, it must be a challenge for their writers every year to set the tone for any Eurovision-related articles. The very length of the tradition has rendered it a 'British institution', and involvement of national heroes such as Terry Wogan have only strengthened its position. However, the engagement with other cultures is an unavoidable side-effect, and it must leave the Mail with an unfortunate conflict of interest.

The reaction to Azerbaijan's win was an interesting one. The initial observation that that Azerbaijan sounds a bit 'too foreign' for Eurovision, was inevitable. Before long, the initial curiosity led to the use of maps, maps in the wrong hands, which is a dangerous thing indeed.

Tedious explanations surrounding the intricacies of the EBU/UER aside, Stephen's observation is typical of the majority of opinions on the Mail's comments boards. There's an understandable confusion surrounding the difference between the EBU and 'Europe', but is it really the technicalities of Eurovision's rules that are getting middle England's knickers in a twist?

We're one of those countries that still uses Eurovision to show why we're superior to the silliness. France take a similar approach; in the knowledge that they're not a popular choice, they submit choosy operatic pieces, or, in the case of 2008, a Barry Gibb look-a-like in a golf buggy performing an Air-esque piece with an inflatable globe. They master the art of snubbing the competition they're taking part in, meaning they avoid the inevitable failure reflecting on them when they languish at the bottom of the board.

The UK's approach, follows in a similar, if less sophisticated vein. The submission of an established and ageing boy band is just the latest in a line of increasingly desperate efforts to win the competition without fully engaging with the culture. We do pop, but 'cooler', and those Euro-squares just don't get it, do they? Looking through the past few years' entries, it's been a succession of ex-reality show contestants singing instantly forgettable 'serious' pop songs. No wonder we can't win, every act has the feel of a child ashamed of its family, half-heartedly engaging against their will.

It strikes a chord with our whole approach to Europe in general really. Are we in it or not? Maybe technically, but there's still an emotional detachment there that stops the full involvement taking place. Since Terry Wogan left, there's been a noticeable change in the overall approach of the commentary too. The nostalgia and fondness has been replaced by an unkind and snippy sense of superiority that turns gentle cajoling into something more sinister and intolerant.

The same could be said of the reaction to the not-so-recent involvement of non-EU states. "What? Azerbaijan? THEY'RE NOT EVEN IN EUROPE!!!" It's an effective way to voice intolerance without the risk of being branded a racist, I suppose, since it's all within the safe confines of a singing competition. It's confusing really, a competition we don't really want to be a part of, if our past efforts are to be believed, although if we don't win we brand it 'political voting', and similarly get narky when 'foreigners' get involved.

This all sounds a bit too much like real life for me.

Something wicked this way comes.

2011-05-03T21:52:00.004+01:00

I know I'm not the only one awaiting Psychoville's return to the BBC with baited breath, but I also feel extremely aware that it's been a long time since I had this feeling. You know, those butterflies you get when you see a trailer for a TV comedy you know is going to be good. Something you can safely invest the time in.

Some of the best new comedies take me by surprise. The Trip, for example, I was aware of mere days before it aired, and I was truly thankful that I didn't miss out. Roger and Val Have Just Got In, too, I just caught on the off-chance due to its clever, but still odd broadcast time of early evening. I mean, I love the continuity and real time element, but I can't be the only person who writes off that part of the day as the domain of dull 'lifestyle shows' and programmes about animal cruelty.

Nevertheless, it feels like whilst there's truly some good stuff still out there, I feel like there's something happening in the way things are getting commissioned. And not something positive. Whilst the BBC for its part is holding its own, it is not entirely immune. In fact, the main source of the trouble seems to be Channel Four. As we enter the years where we're desperately awaiting someone to take the baton and write some comedy the likes of which we were spoiled with in the nineties and early noughties, the broadcasters are losing their way trying to identify with what people want to see. In short, you can still have the odd bit of magnificence like The Thick of It, there's also an increasing number of shockingly bad examples of comedy forced down our throats as 'the next big thing' as the broadcasters try to fill the increasing number of gaps in their schedules. No evolution, just repeated revolution.

It feels like sometime about five years ago, somebody decided that funny wouldn't register unless it was needlessly controversial. Probably around the time Frankie Boyle began to gain popularity on Mock the Week, coincidentally. I've always furtively disliked the show for the very reason that it's relies on a concept with so woefully little substance. A group of mediocre comics poked with a stick and forced to be funny under the glare of spotlights. A poor man's Shooting Stars, if you will. 'Freestyle comedy' beset by rules and 'format' that instantly prevent it from existing.

It was around that point, I feel, that someone, somewhere inexplicably decided that this is what the public wanted. Or rather, a small section of the public. The ones who thought the joke about the Queen's haunted pussy was funny. Which, in all probability, is noone. Laughing at inappropriate social behaviour, after all is little more than an automatic response. Like insignificant electrical impulses and twitches after death. It doesn't mean it's particularly welcome or enjoyable. So as Frankie Boyle found his infamy through courting the tabloids, he started to cement his place as 'something for the young'uns'. Fast forward a couple of years and the resulting product is Tramadol Nights, the most appalling excuse for a sketch show I have ever had the misfortune to watch.

And what are we meant to do? Clap and applaud? Comedy may be controversial at times, but that should be a by-product, not the main purpose. At the very least, it should have a reason for being there. The worrying thing about Tramadol Nights is not that it's insulting to its audience (if there is one). It's that someone thought we'd like it. I don't think I'd be going out on a limb to say that someone followed the train of thought that Channel Four needed to maintain its relevancy with a younger audience when considering this as a pitch. And as one of the people they were looking to court with this idea, I won't be the first to say that it didn't resound with me. At the very least, it's comedy at its most patronising. That simply to say something offensive without reasoning or context will be funny to anyone is a fundamentally flawed strategy.

I would be more prone to let this whole business go if I wasn't convinced that Tramadol Nights wasn't Channel Four's 'next big thing'. After all, is there anything else in the pipeline? It doesn't feel that way. Maybe this is why I still feel raw about something that finished in December 2010. Because it's one of the last things I remember coming out of Channel Four that was meant to make us laugh. As if they really considered it a springboard for a new decade of entertainment.

I feel a similar, if less acute sentiment towards Ten O'Clock Live when seeing the manner of execution there. Whilst it still has the veneer of a current affairs show, the inexplicable inclusion of Jimmy Carr suggests to me a point towards controversy over substance. Are we meant to be amused as Carr breaks character repeatedly, proving his inability to handle live television broadcasting? I tired of it during the Alternative Election Night. It all smacks of badly-planned TV given to 'the kids' in the hope it'll float for its kitsch value.

There are lessons to be learned here, but surprisingly, I don't think the viewing figures of half a million by the last episode of Tramadol Nights will deter Channel 4 from commissioning things like this for the future. We'll just have to settle for series 56 of Peep Show, I suppose.

A place to think.

2011-05-02T21:54:00.009+01:00

Oh BBC Four, how I love you. I can leave you on over the course of a weekend evening and whilst I may at first be wary of what you want to show me, I know I'll feel all the better for it afterwards.

In the case of this weekend it was Spiral, followed by a Top of the Pops from 1976, and then a documentary about something that escapes me, but something good nonetheless.

But as the tendency to find the glass half-empty tends to prevail when following these trains of thought, I couldn't help but think to myself why a schedule as varied and high quality as this was banished to BBC Four like the wayward pretentious cousin who needs to be kept separate from the rest of the family. Admittedly, Dave Lee Travis portraying a post-Smarties binge Bill Oddie won't be to everyone's taste, but isn't that half the fun?

Looking at BBC 1 and 2's plan for the next couple of months seems like a who's who of 'safe gritty drama' to ensure they look like they're still on the cutting edge, but I couldn't help but feel distinctly underwhelmed.

"But look! John Simm, Jim Broadbent AND Alzheimer's! And if that wasn't enough, we've got another thing, with David Tennant no less!" It's starting to feel like saying you would like to see something other than the aforementioned usual suspects is tantamount to blasphemy against the BBC and all it stands for. But in reality, it's a relatively easy way for them to keep piloting new dramas without the hassle of 'risk'.

It would be wrong to be overly pessimistic and treat this as a threat, when in fact BBC Four has presented a golden opportunity as a testing ground for more 'niche' programming, (if that's even the appropriate phrase to use). Surely now the time has come to start trusting instincts?

There's the argument that with the rise of Freeview, that the vast majority of viewers now have access to BBC Four. But when taking into account viewing habits, there will always be that tendency to stick with the terrestrial two channels, because of the (not unreasonable) assumption that the variety and quality will be there if anywhere. Therefore the problem arises when it becomes more and more clear that that's not really the case.

There are a large number of series which have been aired on BBC Four, only moving over to One and Two long after their initial success, if at all. It took two series of The Thick of It before they moved it over, madness considering its instant popularity and the reputation of Armando Iannucci at the helm. Five years of Screenwipe and latterly Newswipe, and still no move in sight, aside from the odd repeat on BBC2, which in itself is a pretty backward way of doing things. BBC2 getting BBC4's sloppy seconds? Sad but true.

And to think in 2005 Jerry Springer: The Opera aired on BBC2 despite 55,000 complaints and a street protest. I can't imagine that happening now, only six years later. Did they get their fingers burned for showing the determination to broadcast something that caused such polarised opinion?

My main concern is that as programmes such as The Apprentice rear their head once more, I'm reminded that this year doesn't feel much different to last year, and the year before, etc. All we have to look forward to is a couple of reality shows, a handful of costume dramas, something Northern, something borrowed, and Doctor Who.

BBC Four's (wisely) dropped tagline was 'Everyone needs a place to think'. I agree with the sentiment. But not all of us know where to look.

Starving.

2011-05-01T20:28:00.019+01:00

Far be it from me to be the ghost at the feast, but I've felt the warm praise for the new series of Doctor Who wash over me, leaving only a damp, lukewarm feeling that something's missing.

Don't get me wrong. I've watched the first two episodes and thoroughly enjoyed them. They're well-written, engaging and entertaining, a triple-whammy of fun for all the family. I was similarly pleased to hear how well it's being received worldwide, with Americans in particular clamouring for DVDs, merchandise and the like. After all, Britain is well-known for a standard of entertainment that invokes jealousy in other television organisations, isn't it?

Well, I'm not so sure any more. It feels like the success of each series only goes to mask the growing feeling that there's not a lot else there. Maybe I've not watched enough TV recently, but it feels like we're increasingly relying on the output of other countries to entertain us. Particularly when it comes to comedy and drama, two things of which critical acclaim used to be an expectation, rather than a bonus.

To pre-empt the 'what about...' argument, I feel it needs to be said at this point that for every Sherlock, there's half a dozen Spirals, or Wallanders. And before we go any further, what happened when we tried to rehash the Swedish detective series, even with a talent like Kenneth Brannagh and the golden touch of BBC production values? The British public, renowned for avoidance of subtitles, chose the original anyway, which as a result still enjoys repeats on the BBC. An expensive mistake.
I think the thing that I find most troubling is that the decline in frequency of high quality television seems to be going, for the most part, unnoticed. If this had happened ten years ago, there'd be outcry as millions of viewers are suddenly faced with the reality that they're bored. Now, we can just torrent a US drama series or watch something imported from Europe on BBC Four. It's a quick fix but it does the job. If this level of apathy continues, how long will it be until someone gets off their arse to actually make that effort?

It's not like it hasn't happened before. The British film industry hangs in stasis, waiting for the next Danny Boyle release for an injection of cash and public interest. It's one of the worst cases of abandonment yet, and I fear history will begin to repeat itself. Television is stagnating, and we can't hang all our hopes on Stephen Moffat to get us out of the shit.

Peep Show has had an eighth and ninth series commissioned, as Channel Four desperately buy themselves time before the viewers notice they're out of new ideas. Endless formats thrown at the likes of Charlie Brooker (well, more like, the same format over and over again) in the knowledge that it'll be decent enough to pass under the radar. I can imagine the pre-production meetings. A wheel of fortune with formats: Panel Show, YouTube Countdown, Satirical Review and names from an increasingly dwindling pool of talent. And the result, burned out shows from burned out comics with pained looks on their faces as they try to find meaning behind what they're doing. I almost wept when I saw Robert's Web. Even scheduled after Peep Show to catch the stragglers. I bet it felt pretty different to presenting My Life in Verse.
The reality is that nobody's getting any younger, but similarly nobody seems to be rising up to take their place. Casing point: BBC Three. So many dreams and aspirations for it to be the place for young talent to thrive. Apart from endless re-runs of Two Pints and The Real Hustle, two programmes clumsily built on the foundations of their successful predecessors, what is it really for? Something edgy for the younger generation? How patronising.

Depressed yet? Don't worry, it'll be fine. The next episode of Doctor Who is on Saturday. After that, you're on your own.

Descent.

2011-04-23T20:55:00.017+01:00

Saturday. After the gift of warmth and sunlight for a few hours in my parents' back garden, I'm forced to pay the price after the sun sets.

That price is a forced viewing of Britain's Got Talent. I haven't watched TV (in the traditional sense) for the best part of a year, so this is probably not the best way to reintroduce myself to the medium.

WHAT HAPPENED?!

Whilst I'm fully aware that Saturday evenings have long since been the domain of nauseatingly awful reality TV and talent competitions, this was like waking from a coma and being faced with the charred aftermath of an entertainment holocaust. Amongst the wreckage, all that remains is Cat Deeley, Michael McIntyre and David Hasselhoff, mindlessly applauding the worthless skills of society's unwanted and ignored, like lobotomised seals.

And it's all our fucking fault. We brought this on. Myself included, we watch it 'ironically' and write about it and draw attention to how ridiculous it is. We buy into it as we tweet and blog away. It's something to draw a common ground on. A way to facilitate socialising with others, because it requires no effort whatsoever. We can point and laugh at the 'idiots' who sit in the audiences, trained to do nothing more than split comments into negative/positive and boo/cheer accordingly. We can take the piss out of them, but at least they're entertained.

I don't need to worry about them, they're not reading this. You are, and unless you got here desperately searching for Michael McIntyre clips on Google (increasingly likely now I've mentioned his name again), you're like me. You look down upon this stuff, but you watch it anyway to remind yourself that you're OK. You contribute to the ratings, you mention it and give it credibility. Then more comes and you call it society going down the pan, dumbing down. Ten years pass and because of this talk, the pandemic is upon us. It's a vicious cycle of supply and demand gone awry.

Is this all sounding rather melodramatic? It should be. Why did YOU watch Britain's Got Talent tonight? I could say this evening that I was just in the proximity of people that decided they were watching it so I had to conform. But I could have done something else, found something more rewarding to do. I didn't. And when that poodle started accompanying a soprano singing Pie Jesu, I just felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and emptiness.

That example was particularly raw because, all things aside, the woman had enough talent to be an accomplished singer on her own. But because of the way these things work nowadays, she felt she needed to use BGT to springboard herself to bigger and better things. And since incongruity seems to be the order of the day, she needed the poodle to do that. Even the comments were nothing to do with her unquestionable talent, but the performance of the dog, which was simply mimicking her voice with endless howling. That was the point of difference. That was what got her the gig.

Don't get me wrong, I know that in the grand scheme of things, this is minute. But it's not insignificant. Seeing the audience's insatiable demand for "weirdness" above all else was something I found deeply unsettling. A world where a man is lauded with praise for singing nursery rhymes to the chords of Snow Patrol is not a world I want to be a part of.

We're nosediving with no sign of pulling out of it. And the worst thing is that the shows with mostly negative audience receptions are the most virulent. We draw attention to how backwards television has become, and in turn contribute to its downfall as our efforts are rewarded with more shit TV to treat with mockery and disdain. The US television output is going from strength to strength while we prolapse.

And why? Because this is what we wanted, apparently.

Fool.

2011-04-01T23:22:00.010+01:00

I'm still trying to fathom whether this is an April Fool's Day wind-up, but my ever-diminishing faith in society leads me to the conclusion that this article in the Telegraph about David Willetts' verbal jizzing is for real.

Normally I scorn the journalism in articles such as these, which tend to deliberately misquote and sensationalise comments teased from doddering old back-benching Tory MPs to whip up a frenzy in the comment boxes below, but here I think they're genuinely on to something.

After all, a quote of 'egalitarianism has been trumped by feminism' is pretty conclusive, no? And what with the event where the quotes were recorded being a briefing with journalists, it's hardly a coup d'etat.

"It is not that I am against feminism, it’s just that is probably the single biggest factor.”

Now, we mock those who begin their sentences with "I'm not a racist, but..." - but is there any difference at all between that and what this man just announced in a room full of journalists?

There's a lot of irony in all this so I'm going to bullet point for clarity and brevity:

1. That he thinks feminism cancels out egalitarianism - last I checked, they were one and the same.
2. That this trend of men losing jobs to women is taking place yet someone as socially backward as him is still employed.
3. That he's an utter cunt.

Run.

2011-03-11T21:10:00.023Z

I know the Mail doesn't really 'do' science beyond which supermarket groceries are a cause or cure of cancer, but I was genuinely flabbergasted to see an attempt to blame the recent Japanese earthquake on a 'so-called supermoon', an expression I can only assume was coined by the author in a spectacular moment of genius which will no doubt springboard his glittering career in scientific journalism.

The claims that the moon has somehow changed the internal mechanisms of plate tectonics is enough to make anyone who did geography beyond primary school doubt the integrity of the report, no matter how many child-like diagrams are included to try and bludgeon the idea home.
There's something not quite right about this. Like the moon being fucking massive and about the distance from the Earth as my morning commute.

But that's not what pisses me off about things like this. To its (smallish) credit, the article does include a quote from a scientist describing the correlation as 'nonsense', but when this is accosted by 'sources' like this, I start to wonder if this was just an excuse to steal a few wayward Googlers:

Others on the Internet have predicted it will cause further catastrophes such as volcanic eruptions and earthquakes.
Coming just three weeks after the quake which devastated Christchurch in New Zealand killing hundreds, this latest disaster will only add fuel to their fire.

Whose fire? Redditors? Fucking hell, when did 'THE INTERNET' become a credible source? Yet if I go to a Borstal to research 'care in the community', I'd be blacklisted from working in journalism for life. What's next, asking Omeglers about the death penalty? A 3-minute video interview tagged onto a front-page story, with a midnight masturbator giving us his two cents? (Don't laugh please.)

But good has come of all this, I now have a little more faith in Mail commenters, although I can't help but think it's only that their usual readership haven't read these stories because they hate Asians:

Then again, a couple of religious fundamentalists (and just mentalists) do slip through the net:

TL;DR - The moon is going to be 221,567 miles from us, rather than the usual 221,569. Run for your fucking lives.

LEAVE BRIAN ALONE.

2011-03-08T00:10:00.011Z

"Hi, my name is Sam Wollaston. I write for the Guardian and I wish I was Charlie Brooker but unfortunately I'm afflicted with too much jealousy and too little talent.

In lieu of being named as the presenter of S2 of How TV Ruined Your Life, here's a dispassionate list of stuff that Brian Cox is wearing in the first episode Wonders of the Universe."

Ok ok, I'm being unfair. Cox's interpretation of how absolutely massive time and space is was pretty mind-blowing, but it pales in comparison to the way in which Wollaston manages to see a man standing in front of a fuck-off glacier holding a photo of one of the first stars in the universe dying in an unthinkably massive explosion, and can only recall the colour of t-shirt he was wearing.

"Apple green", he quips.

Ouch, there's no call for that kind of crippling insult here, Sam.

Brian "John Leslie" McFadden.

2011-02-26T12:55:00.008Z

Since leaving Westlife, Brian McFadden has been doing his own lyrics, which are, if truth be told, a bit rapey.

The Deliverance banjo accompaniment doesn't really help his defence either.

In summary: hide your wife, hide your kids, because Brian's raping everybody out here.

Novelty.

2011-02-19T23:08:00.011Z

It's Saturday, and bang on time, Liz Jones vomits another vapid, superficial article into her Daily Mail column. I'm completely aware that I'm making a rod for my own back trawling through this rubbish, which is clearly not aimed at me, but my question about all this really is, who the fuck is it for?

Then again, maybe it's a sign of the times. I mean, it's only a mere few weeks since the woman attempted anything resembling real journalism by marauding through the Joanna Yeates murder scene like some kind of demented stalker. Considering she does little more than pointless weekly experiments of 'oh god look at me trying to live like a normal person without my BMW/spa treatments/vegan yoghurt', maybe it was too much, too soon. With her career going from strength to strength, this week she's going to Tesco's. The humanity.

Apparently the chain is now offering spa treatments and in the interests of pioneering female journalism, Liz is going along to see what it's like.Lara Logan must be absolutely shitting herself.

It's probably the most boring article I've ever read, but that aside, I struggle to see what the woman is for. She writes in a manner that only serves to royally fuck off the people who are reading her articles, the people that are supposed to ultimately relate to them. She's meant to be reviewing this place, but literally can't manage a paragraph without reminding us that usually she wouldn't be seen in this sort of establishment, that the normal people are making her feel nauseous, or simply some unexplained reference to a cream Helmut Lang trouser suit to emphasise exactly how much expensive shit she has.
Well fuck me sideways, I had no idea this woman was privileged, did you? Even the posing in a dressing gown with a shopping trolley (with no dairy in it, heaven forbid) reeks of 'how hilarious that I'm in a supermarket, when usually I'm sitting watching Loose Women and drinking organic Pinot Noir, waiting for the Ocado man to arrive'.

Well I'm glad she found the inner strength to drag herself out of the house to have her manicure and haircut, otherwise I would have felt robbed.

Rastafuck.

2011-02-13T16:39:00.021Z

When your article is just missing that smattering of quotes to make your ridiculous stance credible, Mumsnet is an invaluable tool.

The CBeebies show Rastamouse, features the titular character playing in a reggae band, and speaking in Jamaican Patois. This seems to have caught the attention of Jonathan Wynne-Jones and Jasper Copping from the Telegraph, who have quickly jumped on the show as 'provoking compaints of racism'. Unfortunately, it seems all of the hundred or so complaints come from a bunch of absolute fucktards. How this article was a two-man job is absolutely beyond my realm of understanding.

One mother on the Mumsnet forum, using the name TinyD4ncer, says she is concerned her child be attacked for repeating some of the Jamaican Patois phrases used by the mouse.

"The thing I'm most worried about is her saying the words like 'Rasta' and going up to a child and saying (these) things ... my child is white and I feel if she was to say this to another child who was not white that it would be seen as her insulting the other child."

Maybe this has escaped my purview entirely but as far as I was aware, 'Rasta' never has or will be used as an insult in a playground situation. I would also probably challenge the claim that her child is going to be attacked, as implied (actually, fuck it, said) by the author, for using this word.

I don't claim to be any kind of expert in the accuracy of representation of this Rastafarian mouse, but when ALL your quotes are from forums, written in appalling English and gathered in the time it takes to make a cup of tea, my Spidey-sense starts to tingle that bad journalism is afoot.

Secondly, I would also argue that websites such as Mumsnet and BumpandBaby are going to be goldmines for paranoiic and dramatic opinions to bolster any non-article.

An important rule for any budding journalists out there, if the people you're lifting quotes from online have admitted that they have little to no knowledge on the subject they're imparting an opinion on, probably best to cut that bit out:

Another parent, on Bumpandbaby.com, says: "just watched a couple videos .. i'm going to say it is racist".

Well thanks, 'Another parent'. Care for some context, reasoning, grammar? No? Oh ok... my mistake.

The first result on Google Image search is the one they went with, funny that.

The Rastafarian mouse, who leads a band called the Easy Crew and speaks in Jamaican Patois, uses phrases such as "me wan go" ("I want to go"), "irie" ("happy"), "wagwan" ("what's going on?"). His mission is to "make a bad ting good".

I wish Rastamouse had worked on your fucking article, boys.

What did I do wrong?

2011-02-08T23:25:00.003Z

Don't hate me. I'll do something proper soon.

Anyway, watch these rapping rapists. I mean, what?

Double Whammy.

2011-01-21T14:26:00.018Z

Sorry, just a follow-up that I couldn't resist.

Stuff Jan Moir hates:

Students
Women
Gays
Gay sympathisers
Sex
Freedom of speech
Christmas
Poor people
Happy people
Women (again)
Proper books
Wagner
Humour
David Tennant
Tennis

She's like a hatred MACHINE. Some of these above are innocuous at best. She must have a high energy diet to keep this up.

I didn't make this. I wish I had though.

Spoilt.

2011-01-21T13:11:00.013Z

Jan Moir is a columnist on borrowed time after the Stephen Gately article which effectively ended her career anywhere but the Mail, so it's understandable that she's laying low and not producing anything inflammatory for the time being.

Oh wait, she is.

It seems she's got Littlejohn's job in her sights, what with the unbridled venom in this article. I can only assume she's been locked in a cupboard for months after Gately-Gate, biding her time, forced to watch a TV screen of anti-Tory protests, matchsticks holding her eyelids open and steady doses of testosterone administered to encourage her right-wing rage.

"Stop the Tory cuts, they cried, with the usual wrong-headed, partisan, Left-wing faux outrage that we have come to expect."

I thought the Mail had at least a thin veneer of balance, but fuck it, let's have it out shall we?

As she blasts the students for spending their EMA on cigarettes, alcohol and upmarket sandwiches, I can't help but notice her lack of understanding about exactly how far you can stretch £30 in a week.

"What do we want? Crayfish and mayo. When do we want it? Now! On toasted wholegrain please. And throw a bag of crisps in while you’re at it, serf."

Not sure if that's a mocking jibe or just her lunch order. I think someone needs to tell her that not all schools are within proximity of a Pret. You know, like all colleges outside of London, for example.

I'd like to see her get a fucking paper round. Then she might actually have to read half the bollocks she's responsible for vomiting into press.

Affordable repayments.

2011-01-18T21:57:00.011Z

Jesus Christ. The scaremongering in the usual suspects regarding the release of yet more figures on the [don't look at it! It burns!] NATIONAL DEBT has reached cataclysmic levels, with the both the Mail and the Telegraph leaping to attention with their pre-written 'the end is nigh' articles prepared in 2007.

It's worth mentioning at this point that this is not 'news' in any sense of the word. These stories are simply the result of one member of the public actually bothering to do the maths that none of the journalists could see the point of the first time round. In fact, these so-called 'findings' are just lifted from the man's website: debtbombshell.com. The journalistic equivalent of 'oh look! A funny cat video from teh Internets!'

The Times opted to run with the same story, opting for the more dramatic 'Interest at £7000 a second' spin, but I have to say I was pretty dumbfounded to see the choice of advert shoehorned between paragraphs to drive revenue for one of their latest business ideas:

Click to enlarge

Because, I guess gambling your way out of your own personal debt could work. And it stands to reason that since it hasn't worked for anyone yet, the chances are better than ever.

Great, we're Europe's wannabe Lotto louts.

Pavlovian reflex.

2011-01-18T01:39:00.004Z

One more before bed. Today Fox News captures the spirit of Martin Luther King Jnr Day with another classy example of first rate journalism.

Seller assumes all responsibility for listing.

2011-01-18T01:28:00.003Z

I'm no Anne Robinson but I reckon this deal might be in the interests of the seller more so than the buyer.

Click to enlarge and that.

Ambulance Chaser.

2011-01-17T16:24:00.007Z

Waking up this morning to the hashtag #LizJonesReports scattered all over my Twitter feed, I was in no way surprised to find out that the Mail's resident fuckwit had broken her own record of stupidity by penning a horrendous article about the last movements of Joanna Yeates on the night of her murder.

With a story demanding such a high level of tact and sensitivity in the writing, it's gobsmacking that the Mail would select a woman whose last work was a 1000-word article about Kate Middleton's dress advocating cruelty to silkworms to write something so potentially inflammatory.

And inflammatory it was. Rather than going down the informed and professional journalistic route, Liz instead takes on the role of a morbid stalker by following Joanna's last known movements and recording them as an opportunity to springboard her own vanity to new levels. In an increasingly disturbing account, Liz remarks that she 'wish[es] she had spent... her last hours on Earth somewhere lovelier', after purchasing a veggie burger which contains 'no burger, and no bun either'. The entire article smacks of her own arrogance as she insinuates that Bristol (which I'm sure she's never entered before on account of the scarcity of both quinoa and alfalfa) in some way caused her death by being, in her view, deprived.

In one of the most awful wild assumptions I've seen in documented history, she laments, 'I almost buy that upmarket pizza, the choice tells me that Jo wanted a lovely life, something above the ordinary.' And to think I gave the woman enough credit to think she wouldn't trivialise a young woman's life to the extent that she compares her aspirations to a Tesco's Finest margherita.

Understandably, the outrage has been voiced across Twitter as well as the Mail's comments. I've pasted the article below due to the sneaking suspicion that it may disappear quite soon. That said, I'm surprised anything Liz Jones writes has been taken that seriously, when just last week she branded tap water 'dirty' in the same article as a complaint about overpopulation destroying the planet. Apparently the population will be 10bn by 2050. And who will provide all the Evian?

***Quoted from the Mail website on 17/01/11

It's Friday night and I’m in the Ram bar on Park Street in Bristol.

This is where Joanna Yeates spent her last evening before she set off up the hill, past all the twinkly shops and bars (a Habitat, a Space NK beauty emporium; Bristol is nothing if not upwardly mobile) towards her death.

The bar is OK but ordinary. The wine list, chalked on a board, says ‘Lauren Perrier’.

I wish she had spent what were probably her last hours on earth somewhere lovelier. The food is awful (I ask for a veggie burger and it comes without the burger – and without the bun!) but the young women behind the bar are sweet with huge, wary eyes.

Alex is working her way through uni, where she is studying English. She comes from London and her parents are now terrified something is going to happen to her.

She was working in the bar on the night of December 17, when Joanna was having a drink before heading home. ‘I don’t remember her,’ she says.

‘It was so busy that night. I used to walk home but I always get a cab now.’

Lyn, with white blonde hair, who was also working here that night, says she is ‘more fearful now, I’m more nervous. It’s just so mysterious’.

I leave the bar at 8pm and retrace Joanna’s steps. Even though it’s January, the streets are packed. There are a couple of women joggers but they are with boyfriends or husbands.

I walk past the beautiful university building on my right, with Waitrose on my left. I wander the bright aisles, full of young women rushing round after work, leaving with carrier bags and expectation.

I head up the hill towards Clifton, the leafy part of the city. It’s quieter now, and darker. I find Tesco, and go in. I almost buy that upmarket pizza; the choice tells me Jo wanted a lovely life, something above the ordinary.

There is one police van on the green as I turn right into Canynge Road.

I bet Jo’s heart lifted as she reached this junction, looking forward to the feeling only a Friday night near Christmas can give you.

As I near her basement flat, at No 44, the road is quiet. Earlier in the day there had been an ITN news van here but it has gone now. I’m reassured to see two policemen standing vigil at her iron gate, either side of a small, discreet pile of flowers in varying degrees of decay.

I tell them I’m spooked, walking here. ‘Don’t be spooked,’ one says. ‘Residents are campaigning to get brighter street lights installed.’ So the antique, lovely ones are to disappear to be replaced by ugly ones because of something even uglier.

That afternoon I had gone to the lane where Jo’s body was found. It was horrible and windswept. I don’t know what I had expected but not this.

There was no ceremony here, no policeman, just that lovely face on a now dog-eared poster. I got the feeling the world is starting to forget Jo, that she’ll become just another thumbnail on the Avon and Somerset Police website, along with the faces of the other murder victims no one can recall.

I’d have expected the cars to slow down here to show respect but they sped past, carrying people on their way home from work. The lane is narrow. I can’t see how a car stopped here and a man struggled with a body without being beeped at and told to get out the way, as I was.

There were no messages with the flowers, just one card, still sealed in its Cellophane. The person who left it hadn’t bothered to scrawl a note.

Leaving Jo’s flat, I return to my car. My satnav takes me to the Clifton Suspension Bridge.

The theory is the killer took the long route from the flat to where he dumped the body to avoid the CCTV cameras. Perhaps he also wanted to avoid the 50p toll.

I don’t have 50p and try tossing 30p and a White Company button into the bucket. It doesn’t work.

There is now an angry queue behind me. Isn’t it interesting that you can snatch a young woman’s life away from her in the most violent, painful, frightening way possible, take away her future children, her future Christmases, take away everything she loves, and yet there are elaborate systems in place to ensure you do not cross a bridge for only 30 pence?

Finally, a man in a taxi jumps out, and runs to me brandishing a 50p piece.

‘Not all men are monsters,’ he says, grinning. Maybe not. But one monster is all it takes.

***

This is why you got rejected for that TV job.

2011-01-03T00:42:00.003Z

There's a certain je ne sais quoi about these guys.

Because everyone needs a real-life Garfield in their life.

2010-12-29T19:56:00.002Z

Best feline obesity photo ever.

Post 84 - sponsored by something or other.

2010-12-29T01:25:00.011Z

Can't help but vent my irritation that on leaving the telly on while I try to make a wage filling out surveys about Smirnoff vodka, I was unexpectedly contributing to the ratings of Big Bang Theory and some cutting edge' bollocks on C4+1 with that one with the hair from McFly and standard soul-destroying T4 presenters.

However, it was not the poor quality of the programming permeating my subconcious and almost definitely damaging my psyche that bothered me so, it was the fact that upon checking what the hell I was watching after some twat in a pink hoodie and scrunchie came bounding on stage rapping to Ian Van Dahl or some other instantly-recognisable Balearic noise, I was disgusted to discover that legally, a programme on a terrestrial channel can be named after a fast food chain semi-frozen drink.

The offending programme, called The Crush with KFC Krushems (don't even get me started on deliberately incorrect spelling for kitsch value or I'll end up passed out in a pool of blood with some poor fast food marketing manager's larynx in my tightly closed fist) and it seems to be showcasing a number of music never-has-beens and primary school children with drumkits.

Oh, and "comedy legend" [which must be used as a prefix by law now] Ricky Gervais is a guest, needed for his expertise in Biffy Clyro, no doubt.

Right, its 1.38 and I need some E45 for the self-inflicted laptop burn I've caused from lack of movement for the last 12 hours. Should probably change the channel on the Virgin box so I don't get pissed off by accident in the morning when I turn the telly back on.

Wicz Hunt

2010-12-26T19:11:00.007Z

I've been awakened from a 3-month long coma by the Boxing Day furore caused by Peter Serafinowicz and the 'world's worst joke on Twitter'. As I write this, the outrage rolls on, without so much as a sniff of the original tweet that caused the uproar.

Funnily enough, it seems there are hundreds of people out there who are disgusted at his behaviour, a worrying indictment of where entertainment and censorship is heading if the Daily Mail readers have their way. 99%, however are chewing their own hands off in anticipation and curiosity about what simple words could have possibly caused such a volatile reaction.

And here's the rub - this is a superbly-orchestrated hoax. Well-played Peter, although I can't help but think society has lost on this one.

God probably killed a kitten to make up for this.

2010-10-18T21:55:00.009+01:00

Lovely.

Tommy Wiseau will act like a retarded dolphin for cash.

2010-10-14T22:55:00.012+01:00

Tommy Wiseau, famously terrible director of The Room released his newest short film on Comedy Central in the early hours today. It's called The House that Dripped Blood on Alex and is as bollocks as the title. Instead, I've coined it The Mong that Got Lucky and Made Another Wank Film that Isn't Even Funny Like the First One. Ok, could do with some work but it's 11.15 and I'm eager to get this article done.

Great idea, get a shite director who made a shite film that was meant to be good but ended up being funny to make a horror film that's meant to be shite and funny and is shite but not funny. Wait, does that work? Maybe it does. I haven't a fucking clue anymore.

Oh, then Joey Greco from Cheaters shows up and I have to put down my pizza in digust. Seriously, the guy's a greasy freak. Even more than Tommy Wiseau, who looks and sounds like Christopher Walken after brain death.

The House That Drips Blood On Alex
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It's better because it's looped.

2010-10-14T22:13:00.004+01:00

For me, his wife's expression is a remarkable insight.

Apathy

2010-09-20T21:37:00.007+01:00

So here I am, sat with nothing on telly and nothing to do, chomping at the bit for bedtime. It's around these times that I start to think 'I need to write in that fucking blog', but more importantly learn some uncomfortable truths about my own state of mind.

Allow me to make myself clear; I am suffering with fever but I feel mentally sound enough to speak with clarity and coherence. Finding something to do can take hours, and then I'll never get that early night I've been planning for about 7 years. As I begin to wonder how to spend my time in a way that isn't 'wasteful', I inadvertently waste that time. All that comes out of this pattern of behaviour is an overly warm laptop and bitten nails.

More worrying is my fussiness over how to spend my time. When not watching 'an important film', reading Russian literature or learning a language/instrument, I begin panicking that I'm wasting good learning time, and ultimately, that I won't know enough 'stuff' before I die.

This pattern of behaviour has led to countless hobbies, soon my knowledge of the Swedish language will be additioned by 'guitar lessons'. All of this recklessly expensive, and most likely a selfish endeavour to make myself more cultured and interesting to the other folk.

True, this article doesn't take the same format to most other entries, although it has to be said that 'a funny vid I found on that website' isn't a format in the strictest sense. Even now, I'm hoping that finishing this article will expand my knowledge in some way, improve me as a human being.

Next: Finish a Dostoevsky, learn to use Ableton Live, improve my French and groom the cat. Life is meaningless without a 'to do' list.

Dim.

2010-09-11T19:13:00.008+01:00

Absolutely brilliant little gem here with Sky News' resident wanker Kay Burley taking a beating from an MP re: phone hacking scandal. Seeing as her boss has a vested interested in the scandal involving the News of the World, it's hardly surprising that Kay attempts to derail the argument with her usual tactics.

However Chris Bryant is fully readied for the interview and turns the situation into a fascinating exchange between the two.

I was shocked, it even makes Chris Bryant come across as 'likeable'.

Indeterminate Sexual Preference.

2010-09-10T18:39:00.001+01:00

This is cool, I think.

See You Next Tuesday.

2010-08-20T23:08:00.004+01:00

Welcome to Peckham.

Joke.

2010-08-20T22:22:00.007+01:00

M. Night Shyamalan has mentioned in the past that his 'European sensibilities' are the reason a lot of Americans don't 'get' his films.

So it's not that they're just getting steadily less recognisable as coherent sources of entertainment?

Unfortunately his recent efforts have proved that he is clearly clutching at straws. Cheese straws if his comments are to be believed. If you're really so in tune with Britain, why would you call your most recent film The Last Airbender?

Oh Manny, don't lean on us Brits for support. We hated The Village, we mocked The Happening and we don't know what happened in The Lady in the Water, but it's probably not worth knowing.

Shyamalan's latest film was met with giggles and smirks, until the dialogue got too much for audiences who broke down in hysterics. Can you blame us with corkers like this?

"I could tell at once that you were a bender, and that you would realise your destiny."

If you expect anything other than blatant laughter after that, you're expecting too much.

I like to look at this and think that this might be the moment after they told him.

The killer blow for Shyamalan, however, came from his lead actor, the British Dev Patel. When asked why he didn't mention that 'bender' is a slang term for 'homosexual' to him at SOME POINT during the filming process, he simply said that it was 'too integral' to the dialogue.

Is that just a diplomatic way of saying 'cause it'd be a laugh'?

Euthanasia

2010-08-20T20:41:00.008+01:00

So... what in shitting hell was Grandma's House?

I say this, ironically, as someone who has seen two episodes with no plans to stop. It's one of the weirdest phenomenon's I've experienced with such a sub-par sitcom.

Now the writing isn't as bad as most people think, I can kind of see where they're coming from:

"Remember the 'Royle Family'? Let's just do that, but give them money, make them Jewish, and force Simon Amstell to act at gunpoint. If he makes any attempt at anything other than twatty smugness, blow his face off.'

And to be honest, it sort of works, but not in the way they expected. The script ticks all the boxes to get a BBC commission (it seems ex. NMTB presenters and contestants are mandatory nowadays in all broadcasts), but ends up just being one of the most appalling examples of a sitcom I've ever seen. And this statement should not be taken lightly; I've spent a lot of my youth watching ITV.

However, that's not to say that it's not enjoyable. I cannot deny the significant entertainment that is derived from watching a leading actor so out of his depth. And when you consider that 'out of his depth' equates to playing himself, all the more the joy. I would even venture to say that the episodes are made up of nothing but outtakes due to spending hours trying to convince him that he should probably try and pretend the camera isn't there, then thinking 'oh fuck it, it's only braindead Simon Amstell fanboys watching this shit anyway'.

And don't even get me started on the approach to the darker subjects, which creep into the scenes like an elephant clambering through their double-glazed patio doors. The words 'prostate cancer' are thrown around in increasingly frequency, only being met with a blank stare from a vacant ex T4 presenter. I just don't know what it all means, and I'm not sure I want to. Talk of 'bagels' as a vague reference to an unknown racial slur, just came across as deeply unsettling rather than awkwardly funny.

Something that keeps me coming back to this, however, is the thought I can't shake off that the writers are more clever than we realise. Simon is playing (supposedly) an alternative version of himself, a Larry David of sorts, but ends up revealing that he is probably not that different from the character he's playing after all.

Vacuous, narcisstic and unable to fathom any conversation that isn't aided by an autocue. Is this a sitcom? Seems to me like we're a fly on the wall watching a fascinatingly ironic personality car crash.

Leffe-Tennant

2010-08-09T21:29:00.009+01:00

I am repeatedly reminded of my own naivety when I express my dismay at articles in 'newspapers' such as the Daily Mail. Moreover, the thing that shocks me most is the placement and precedence of these non-stories.

Move aside, sodden Pakistanis, one of OUR BOYS couldn't even get booze at his Co-Op!

So thousands dead in the worst floods in decades is dutifully bumped for a story of no interest to anyone. Except everyone, it seems.

For anyone not familiar, a soldier visiting his local Co-Op in uniform attempted to purchase some beer, but was turned away by two members of staff who had confused the rule about not serving police officers in uniform, and applied it to the soldier. Even typing this has become rather tedious so I'll move swiftly on without further ado.

So about 4 minutes after getting wind of the story, the Daily Mail has some sort of massive journalistic orgasm and immediately turns this gentleman into some kind of national hero.

I can taste the irony from here.

But the thing that worries me here, or rather, terrifies me to the core of my deepest soul, is not that publications like the Daily Mail leap on these stories with such rabid intensity, but the frenzy they whip up in the warped individuals that lurk on these shadowed pages.

Wow, 3 comments and nothing about 'the bloody Muslims yet'. Or... fuck:

Actually, maybe I'm being dramatic. There must be worse out there than the Daily Mail. Oh, wait! Here it is:

According to verified mentalists, both Co-Op employees were soldier-hating, anti-war, Islamic suicide bombers. Currently claiming JSA and council houses, so I hear.

It's been 4 days and still the saga carries on. Can someone just buy this man a beer so we can have 'the news' back?

PhuckD.

2010-07-14T22:21:00.009+01:00

The absence of Twitter for three days whilst abroad last weekend finally ended as I touched down on the grim tarmac at London's very own Aldi of airports, Stansted. I'm so glad I chose that moment to load Tweetdeck, as I felt genuinely pleased to catch the first rumbles of what would become a massive PR storm, complete in a popular social broadcasting teacup.

After a fairly innocuous comment from a relative unknown regarding their anticipation of watching the new Bad Science episode featuring Gillian "That Awful Poo Lady" McKeith, she was subjected to no less than 4 (unanswered) attacks by McKeith after she took offence the 'no PhD' remark at the end of the original tweet.

Cue the Twitter bandwagon phenomenon and hey presto, #gillianmckeithhasnophd is trending. Now, this is where it gets interesting.

Unable to deal with the subject gracefully, McKeith has been backpedalling furiously (must be the alfalfa) and resorting to anything to try and make this ugly mess go away. Except for retraction, of course. Starting to make herself come across as slightly unhinged, Gillian has begun to make comments in the third person and even tried to deny owning the profile. It's all very embarrassing really, especially as pedestrians like this bright spark have managed to screengrab evidence of the page being official. She's also blocking anyone who mentions the infamous PhD, including Ben Goldacre, author of Bad Science, referring to him as an 'ass' and 'liar'.

Unfortunately, McKeith's eagerness to defend her PhD has only shed more light on the dubious nature of her doctorate, which was bought from a non-accredited U.S. college. In fact, Goldacre even managed to buy the same degree for $60. For his cat. Which is dead.

I don't know about you, but I felt comfortable with making a judgement call on Gillian before this event even occurred. Oh well, poo-gate rolls on.

What Women Want.

2010-07-12T22:05:00.002+01:00

Holy shit, it's a total Meldown. That infamous phonecall just went online, so here's a quickly-downloaded copy of it before the legal team get their hands on the YouTube vids milling around.

As torrents of abuse go, it's pretty all-encompassing, although his trouble breathing between sentences probably renders him impotent when trying to carry out his threats.

Warning: not suitable for normal people, but if you're a returning visitor, you're probably not in that category anyway.

iPrick.

2010-06-26T17:32:00.007+01:00

Traversing the perils of Oxford Street on Thursday was somewhat more precarious than usual as I dodged swathes of rather desperate-looking individuals queuing for the new iPhone4.

Out of the loop as I am, I assumed that no event could cause such frenzied behaviour other than a revival of the old 'methadone at Boots' rehabilitation programmes, except this time taking place at the Carphone Warehouse. Young and self-assured city boys looked eager and alert, whilst older, balding men peered at me through weary and bloodshot eyes, conveying a panic at the thought of failing in their hunter-gatherer task and meeting disapproval and ridicule from their colleagues and friends as a result.

Oh, what have we become?

What can be so good as to drive a man (and, it IS men, or men and their extremely irritated looking girlfriends) to queue from the wee hours of the morning to get one of these things first? Do the ends really justify the means?

There's probably a deeper question here about the way we as consumers are regularly coerced with the promise of adoration should we flash a handheld device more sophisticated than most can afford. And it seems that the luxury of being able to do this for the few days before the world catches on comes at the price of looking like a bit of a prick sitting on the pavement at 5am in a suit and tie. I wish I could laugh and find it entertaining, but I can't.

I own a 3G. I feel sick and uncool. I need to go and buy an iPad before I have a panic attack.

Demons.

2010-05-02T16:03:00.004+01:00

I feel naive, like I'm discovering the wicked ways of the world tragically too late. After the seismic activity surrounding 'Bigotgate', I stupidly thought that a news story surrounding a popular Tory MP conducting 'cure sessions' for homosexuals would be considered news for the major tabloids.

Unfortunately for those who regard rampant homophobia within the Conservatives as in the public interest, searches for 'Philippa Stroud' ended in 0 results on the following websites:

News of the World
The Sun
The Express
The Daily Mail
The Telegraph
BBC
Channel 4

It appears only the Guardian and the Independent are acknowledging this story exists at all. As a result I feel lost and alone in a world too large for me, desperately hugging my copy of yesterday's Guardian, my tears marking a trail in the rapidly fading newsprint.

Of course, there is light in all of this, maybe that stuff about the Tories being in the lead isn't true after all. And besides, with this being the first election with genuinely strong social networking between the young in things of this matter, they haven't felt the full force of the Twitter hammer yet.

So here's my threat, vote Tory and I'll block you from my Facebook.

Bikinis don't cause paedos... paedos do.

2010-04-15T21:35:00.007+01:00

It has been almost impossible to avoid the Sun's very own 'Paedogeddon', even if you (like me) try and avoid it at all costs. Walking past a newsagents every day this week, my retinas have been scorched by MASSIVE EMBOLDENED BLACK TEXT containing helpfully abbreviated words for the small-minded or intellectually underdeveloped. Over 50% of the words used in this week's headlines have been 'paedo'. Second to that is 'bikini', with one headline simply 'Paedo-bikini banned'.

Sorry, what? A bikini for paedophiles? I'm sorry, it's just when you abbreviate so much that you miss out important facts, people like myself who are literate have trouble understanding what the fuck is going on.

Apparently Primark, bastion of good quality and highly sophisticated apparel as it is, has been helpfully busted by the Sun selling padded bikinis that could possibly maybe be worn by [a slim adult] or a child. Whether you're the kind of parent who wants to dress their child like a whore is no concern of mine, but where do the paedo bits come in? I sometimes feel that the p-word is somewhat of a failsafe for the Sun, who seem to have developed some form of Tourette's through fond love of hunting out paedophiles that only exist in the warped and twisted minds of the editors.

The thing I can't quite fathom is how exactly these items of clothing attract paedophiles. As logic suggests, if you are of that persuasion, surely, that's just how it is? A padded bra or a short skirt is not likely going to push a normal person to that way of thinking, similarly to someone who aims to prey on a child, isn't the dress irrelevant?

Or could it be that the Sun is once again desperately seeking a campaign in order to unite a bunch of primates in hatred against a group of people that evidence suggests do not even exist?

I guess it must be a slow news week, what with the volcanic eruption, the closure of UK airspace, and the election. It's no wonder they've dug out the 'paedo' file.

Feeling better?

2010-03-20T23:13:00.005Z

I fucking love this video. Directed by Peter Serafinowicz and starring Ross Lee as radioactive Mr Burns. Not to mention lasers and mass genocide as well, which are always important.

I'd like to see JLS die in this manner. But that's a personal thing.

Dear George, take your money and fuck off please.

2010-03-18T19:19:00.004Z

Yours sincerely, FILM.

Star Wars reminds me of a lovable pet. A family friend and companion. However, some way into its promising life it was taken out back and shot in the head for corporate greed. Then its body was beaten out of recognition with sticks, stones and cuddly toy franchises until it liquidified into a puddle of over-commercialised viscous fluid.

Now the rotten and stinking remains of the corpse have been uncovered and put on display again as Lucas announces he is bringing back Star Wars. No, not the marauding Avatar-envying 3D bastard, that was 4 whole minutes ago. It's the animated series for pre-school children.

I'm sure now you understand the convoluted metaphor used earlier and saw that it was good. There are two working titles at present, which are Star Wars: Galactic Heroes and Squishies. The latter seems to be a reference to the soft toy empire made completely without irony by a man convinced that the world needs more milk from a cow that died in the mid-eighties. Maybe also because Lucas is running out of post-colon suffixes for Star Wars.

Photographic evidence suggests that the profits from new Star Wars bastardisations are being stored in Lucas' chin; his 'moolah pouch', if you will.

My personal belief is that in an ironic twist of fate, he's becoming allergic to his own franchises, and will die as his mouth and nose are swallowed up by his own grotesquely swollen throat after 11 long years of slow anaphylaxis.

Ill.

2010-03-15T14:44:00.003Z

On the rare occasions I am able to indulge in the satisfying, yet completely nutrition-free delights of morning talk shows, I am often surprised how much they've changed in my absence.

Jeremy Kyle, Giro Overlord is celebrating his 1000th show this week by incorporating a new show feature in order to assist the poor, vulnerable and emotionally stunted to get their lives back on the straight and narrow.

Somehow, the man has convinced two medical professionals to perform anything from blood tests to ultrasounds on guests to determine if they are pregnant, alcoholics or terminally ill. All this on stage in front of a live studio audience. One poor fucker was forced to stare at his self-inflicted liver damage on a monitor, whilst simultaneously being derided and humiliated by a twat perched on a step like some kind of cross between Jesus Christ and David Cameron.

Another girl had to undergo similar treatment in order to test for pregnancy. I can only thank god they decided to go for an (expensive and unnecessary) ultrasound, rather than getting the poor bitch to piss on a stick on national television.

Is this the beginning of the end for our healthcare system? Trading our dignity for essential medical treatment? It's this kind of thing that makes me thank Christ I'm with BUPA.

Fuxed.

2010-03-03T21:34:00.011Z

Out of sheer morbid curiosity I have spent the last few months searching for that infamous Fox remake of Spaced, going even so far to stalk Edgar Wright on Twitter and persuade the already heartbroken young chap into handing over the link.

This evening purely through chance I was able to witness the damned thing. I thought I was prepared. I knew the concept was untransferrable to a US format as it was. I knew the performances would be pallid in comparison. I knew it was not for me. Now I know how those victims in The Ring felt. Frightened, confused and compelled, all to their demise.

It shakes me to my core that even a man who assigns himself a three-letter name with no vowels can fuck something up quite so badly. McG? McGimp. McGreatBigWankshaft. The list goes on. I take a number of issues with this whole thing. This will be a long article. Those who know me, know why.

Firstly, I am confused about this human's ability to call himself a fan. A man who effectively stole a format and the publicity of the creative team in order to further his piracy. Worse still, in an act of misogyny not out of place in... the Fox Network, denied all knowledge of Jessica Hyne (née Stevenson)'s creative influence.

On to the piece, I realise I am defending the genre with terminal intensity, however bastardisation would be an innappropriately mild way of describing this. Well, we have to trust this man's creative interpretation. He was the brains behind Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle after all. However, I am genuinely impressed with this gentleman's ability to strip away all the good bits and stick with... the dialogue. Snappy jump-cuts and ethereal imagery was well-replaced with a tram disappearing for no particular reason in a Friends-esque interlude, complete with a 4-second musical sting from the Rembrandts or some other 'commercially indie' bullshit. Turning Mike into a real-life Homer Simpson simplified to a love of doughnuts and guns (in that order) I'm sure was an effective way to get the fat jokes across to the salivating drones.

I can see where there would be difficulty conveying a platonic friendship between members of the opposite gender without marriage and children ensuing, so it has been duly simplified to make whoever the hell these people are hate each other but inexplicably live together. I guess it ticks enough boxes for the Christian Mothers association to not find fault at least. This remake is one of the most redundant examples of cross-Atlantic plagiarism I've seen since birth. The 'odd couple' pretence has been around for as long as The Odd Couple. The bare bones plot was not the point of the original, it only anchored the opportunity to push the boundaries of television. Now, like everything else is and will be, it has been reduced to stereotypical storylines, transparent and unlovable characters, and meaningless half-hour voids to fill our sorry lives.

Welcome, dear friends, to the world Fox and McG would have us live in. And worse still, this is what they describe as 'edgy'.

Support the independent arts or invest in a shotgun. You're going to need one of them.

Nom.

2010-01-30T00:28:00.003Z

I'm tired, and it was this or the YouTube video with the Japanese cat in a business suit.

Are you a devout follower of the 3 second rule? Or is it 5 seconds? Are there mitigating circumstances? What about in front of a boss or someone you respect? Shit, this is a social minefield!

Luckily I have discovered a flow chart to help with this gastronomical dilemma.

To eat, or not to eat floorfood.

Oh fuck it, have the cat as well. It was quite cute.

Shut up network.

2009-12-03T11:23:00.004Z

Eurovision is a stressful affair. Not least for those who organise the filming of it.

Here's a snippet of video from 1977 with the studio talkback left in for your enjoyment.

Never get your rollers and revolvers confused, and make sure that network bitch has shut the fuck up before getting underway.

Trauma.

2009-11-22T21:06:00.010Z

Came across some stunning images taken by an anonymous radiologist somewhere in the States. Known only as 'Surfactant', the Flickr user uploads images of various traumas captured on X-rays. This one teaches a valuable lesson about the letting go of grenades without delay.

There's a few others, ranging from point blank gunshot wounds to dildos that are 'beyond retrieval'. While we're on the subject, it's almost a constant surprise as to what things people put where. Just such an example is an expanding foam earplug in an unfortunate gentleman's urethra, where urinal backflow becomes an urgent medical concern.

Like grizzly? Click is good.

If you work in an office, probably best to save looking at these until you get home.

3 elephants and a Nazi.

2009-11-11T21:43:00.004Z

Morbid curiosity led to me watching Gillian Mckeith beating the emotional shit out of some fat girls getting married in Channel Four's 'Three Fat Brides, One Thin Dress'.

I was prepared for her no-nonsense approach, but some of her remarks made me wonder who the fuck's side she was on. Storming into a wedding shop and pushing an assistant aside, she screamed at the terrified bride-to-be 'you'll need more than a bouquet, more like a beach ball to cover that MASSIVE BELLY!'

I wouldn't mind the cruel-to-be-kind thing, but the editing was almost as bad as when Gillian shoves a diseased heart in a vending machine and forces the poor bitch to pick it up. And let's not forget the slo-mo shots of the CHICKEN NUGGETS OF DEATH with Jurassic Park sound effects remixed with heart monitor flat lines.

The choice between being obese and prodding at shit all day to me is somewhat of a no-brainer. Bring on the fucking chips.

Appalling.

2009-11-06T21:53:00.005Z

Yes, yes. I know. I see the last post date too. It won't happen again.

For now, here is something I neither understand, nor wish to.

I was going to make a sort of pun about the Japanese Dole marketing team being a bit like the featured fruit, but I found it beneath me to do so.

Just about.

Red rag.

2009-10-29T02:04:00.004Z

If you want to get some exposure for your cause, it's easy. Just piss off the Daily Mail and watch the bandwagon form before your eyes. After all, all publicity is good publicity, as they say.

Keep Britain Tidy has in the past few weeks launched a campaign aimed at a younger audience with innuendo-filled posters advocating sensible waste disposal habits.

I see that subtlety isn't exactly their forte in this area, but something tells me that they achieved their purpose when the Mail got all narky about it like just in this here article.

Choice comments under the piece are typical Mail-ish fare, with platitudes such as 'filth' 'waste of taxpayers' money like everything else in this country that's gone to the dogs' and 'sack them! Sack them all! Sack every single one of them and burn them! Burn the traitors and moral decayers until they fry in hell until the end of eternity!'

And, you know, that kind of thing.

Sometimes you have to wonder if they're not in some way encouraging the behaviour they wish to extinguish with their social commentary. It's like the thick kid with the hot temper that everyone used to love winding up at school.

Oh well, if it ain't broke...

My little plaything.

2009-10-24T23:52:00.001+01:00

I found a new toy.

Click here to slap Nick Griffin.

Question twat remix (feat. "Prick Griff")

2009-10-23T17:41:00.005+01:00

Sorry, it had to be done.

Also, apologies for the appalling blog title, but that man's name just cannot be styled into anything resembling modernity.

Go figure.

This'll throw that whole 'misquoted' bollocks out the window, eh Nicky boy?

Question twat.

2009-10-22T23:56:00.007+01:00

Today marked the climax of a week's worth of protesting, anger and general resentment at the impending appearance of the BNP's Nick Griffin on BBC's Question Time.

Many protested against the BNP's inclusion in the programme. I say to these people, 'what the hell were you so worried about?'

Whilst many were concerned about the BNP coming across as a party with any credibility whatsoever, they can now safely sigh with relief. Griffin crumbled at the first sign of scrutiny, shaking, sweating and laughing innappropriately at the mention of his Holocaust denial.

Clutching at straws, he found the momentum to start an epic rant that removed any veneer of respectibility from his character. Charlie Brooker commented on Twitter at the time: "Did he really just complain about the cancellation of guided tours of the Lake District?" He did. He really did.

Fair play to the BBC, they did well. I was especially fond of their positioning of Griffin next to a mixed race woman who seemed to have had her neck surgically positioned pointing away from him for the duration of the programme.

He quickly deteriorated, calling the Ku Klux Klan 'non-violent' and demanding that homosexuality is not taught in primary schools, which is a shame, because I always enjoyed my double gay lesson on Thursdays when I was 8. He also described gay people as 'creepy', although if he's basing this on himself, for the record I find the idea of him kissing anyone particularly disconcerting.

Not a man that defines 'fuckable', is he?

Particularly fun was the camera panning away as Griffin was totally blanked by his black neighbour during the 'talky bit at the end of the news' bit.

"I don't know why I said those things". - Regarding his previous Holocaust denial. I don't think that would have gone down well at Nuremberg.

Stand back, there is a fucking train approaching.

2009-10-21T18:04:00.004+01:00

It's time for a mascot. A mascot for public transport in metropolitan areas. Fortunately he seems to have arrived in the guise of 'angry tube man', who the Transport for London people are sending through disciplinary procedures as we speak.

According to reports, he regularly terrorises passengers at Holborn station, chasing a BBC journalist down the platform when she informed him that the barriers weren't working. Referring to himself as 'an easy-going Jedi' on his Facebook profile, he has been filmed abusing an old man who got his arm trapped in a train door.

Some AngryTubeMan quotes:

"Stand back, there is a fucking train approaching"
"Sling him under a train"
"Go and walk under a fucking bus"

I will pay good money to see a video of this man's interview (or disciplinary footage). Send to the usual address.

Trafi-what?

2009-10-13T13:38:00.006+01:00

About 16 hours prior to me writing this, the Guardian announced that for the first time in memory, a newspaper had been prevented from reporting on a political question being raised in Parliament. The article, which can be found here, announces:

"Today's published Commons order papers contain a question to be answered by a minister later this week. The Guardian is prevented from identifying the MP who has asked the question, what the question is, which minister might answer it, or where the question is to be found.

The Guardian is also forbidden from telling its readers why the paper is prevented – for the first time in memory – from reporting parliament. Legal obstacles, which cannot be identified, involve proceedings, which cannot be mentioned, on behalf of a client who must remain secret."

Unfortunately for the parties involved in the legal gagging, the Guardian were allowed to mention the name Carter-Ruck, the legal organisation involved. A quick browse of the Wikipedia page immediately unveils the company involved: Trafigura.

For those that don't know, Trafigura are the company involved in the dumping of toxic waste just off the Ivory Coast, resulting to injuries to at least 100,000 West African citizens.

The public took to Twitter in protest, supported by a huge number of celebrities.

Within the last hour or so, the gagging order has been lifted on the Guardian, but it is certainly debatable whether less damage would have been done if the company had simply allowed the free speech of the press in the first place.

However, the result still stands as an important day for democracy, and those involved should be very proud of themselves. They may have just changed history today.

3 out of 4 ain't bad.

2009-10-03T15:34:00.006+01:00

Poor Derren Brown. Three great events that made Friday night TV watchable for the first time in years (aided by Peep Show naturally), and the fourth is the one that everyone remembers.

The man who claims to have beaten the roulette wheel certainly has a wealth of evidence to suggest this is the case, further illustrated by the fact that he is banned from almost every casino in the UK for having a 100% success rate at cards.

At the climax of the month's worth of events, Derren attempted to gamble £5000 of somebody's money on a single number of roulette, hopefully netting £175,000 at odds of 35:1. With an elaborate setup that can't be faulted in terms of unmissable and enthralling TV, Derren ventured to the table in an unknown European casino and chose the number he believed the be the winner, by calculating the trajectory and speed of the ball in a matter of a split-second.

Unfortunately a year of (what I assume to be) intensive study and training, Derren's calculation was one number out, which in the cruel game of roulette is little consolation. What ensued after in the two minutes of airtime remaining in this slot, however, was nothing short of hysterically funny. It was clear that Derren's crew had not factored in that he may miss his calculation, and as the vision mixer scrambled to find a suitable shot that didn't make matters worse, he made an unfortunate selection.

As the two crew members stand outside the trailer where the man now short of £5000 is sitting, one meekly calls 'Ben, Ben, we'll get you your money back'. Next to him, we see a caught-out colleague awkwardly holding a giant cheque, with no hope in fuck of concealing it from the millions watching.

I guess surreptitiously sliding it under the trailer wasn't really an option.

Switching sides.

2009-09-27T15:48:00.004+01:00

If there's one thing the News of the World can be proud of, it's the ability to switch sympathies within a matter of hours after an opportunity for a headline presents itself.

Even more audacious than Carole 'I always liked Jade Goody, despite what I said earlier' Malone's attacks of literary diahorrea (something I want to get my teeth into later), the NotW has decided the quickest way to jump on the Andre v Andre gravy train is to get Dwight Yorke in for a bit of 'insight' into the matter.

The only person who can safely be assumed to be the villain of the piece is somewhat incredibly painted as the heroic father figure, with any whiff of fact thrown out of the window. Fair play to them, they've managed to attempt to portray a hero in a man that abandoned his disabled son after a brief relationship with a glamour model; this is pretty professional stuff considering the level of journalism is barely above that of a racist monkey on a typewriter.

Apparently Jordan's son sustained a burn to his leg, which when Yorke found, made him 'want to smash up the ward'. Not start court proceedings for full custody or call social services? Well, I guess he needed a few years to think about it first. I should probably say at this point that I'm completely indifferent to the characters involved in this banal tale, it's only the NotW's level of denial to the facts that makes me come across as some sort of Katie Price raging fanboy. I suppose I set my expectations too high of the Sunday papers, hoping to find something that resembles journalism on a Sunday is like finding something that resembles anything other than race hate in the Daily Mail.

But really, it's the columnists that do my head in. A recent story dominating my local headlines (and now national), is the sad tale of a woman and her disabled daughter who committed suicide after the police ignored the bullying taking place at the hands of local youths. A sad thing that happened when the police overlooked this case, one might think. Although Carole 'do you have kids? Then shut the fuck up' Malone sees it another, more hysterically paranoiic way:

"Fiona was a British... being terrorised on a daily basis - yet still she wasn't considered a priority in PC Britain. Perhaps if she'd been an illegal immigrant, someone from a different country claiming to have been persecuted - better yet if she'd been a victim of racism - I suspect teams of officers would have been beating a path to her door."

Yeah, Carole. Hit the nail on the head. Those fucking immigrants. You'd think we were blaming them for stuff they hadn't even done or something.

Fear tactics.

2009-09-26T13:13:00.004+01:00

After news that Iran has taken North Korea's place as the wayward child of the United Nations and developed nuclear weapons, it's time to once again consider something we haven't needed to think about since the Cold War; what to do if a big fat nuke drops in our garden.

Ok, I'm being dramatic, obviously if that happened, no Scout's guide on Earth is going to change the toasted outcome of that one. However, there's nothing like Government information guides written and produced in the 70s and 80s to thoroughly scare the shit out of the British public in the name of information.

20 short films were produced in order to advise the public what to do if we were attacked with nuclear weapons. This one in particular is a highlight.

As if this wasn't enough to encourage one to be prepared for the incoming nuclear holocaust, the kids got their own version. Children's informational programmes about dangerous stuff in the 70s and 80s were known for inducing nightmares on a level that makes The Exorcist look like a walk in the park, with producers clearly deciding that pushing death in the faces of the young ones was the way forward. Even something as basic as telling them to stay away from deep water needed a Grim Reaper to hammer the message home.

Even after being hardened by this emotional abuse, there was nothing to prepare the little ones for Threads, a docu-film about a nuclear attack on Northern England. A thirteen-part series in small enough chunks to be shown in school classes, it's surprising more kids didn't join the armed forces for some emotional shelter. Here's some highlights from Threads:

After seeing this stuff, it always makes me crack a wry smile when people mention the desensitised youth with brains battered by horror and violence. Perhaps they just blocked out their own experiences with denial or a casual bit of alcoholism.

I wonder what PETA have to say about this.

2009-09-24T17:19:00.006+01:00

We've known for a while that Glenn Beck's state of mental health has been in a controlled and rapid decline.

His eagerness to prove a point through visual aids hasn't been an approach that has served him well recently (remember the 'oligarhy [sic]' blunder?), and this recent video is no exception.

I was at first rather disturbed by the combination of a smart blazer and tie with jeans, but as soon as I heard his description of Obama's presidency and saw the saucepan, I realised that the ending to this story wasn't going to be good.

It seems the payoff of this video was even better than I dared imagine.

I know hindsight is 20/20, but I think he could have done with a trial run of this beforehand. Maybe I'm being rather obtuse, but I didn't really understand the point he was trying to make.

I assume from the results of this experiment that Obama won this one by default.

I feel like such a square.

2009-09-23T18:38:00.005+01:00

None of my parties were ever this cool.

Couch potatoes

2009-09-19T23:32:00.003+01:00

So you may have seen the Derren Brown thing on telly on Friday, where he made loads of people stick to their chairs. Didn't work on many people, but luckily this girl filmed herself watching the video, causing more entertainment to me than the show itself.

Do the dog?

2009-09-17T20:02:00.006+01:00

It has always struck me as rather odd that programmes which deal with issues such as addiction (well, I say 'deal' in the loosest terms) choose to be sponsored by gambling companies. Maybe they're just ensuring a long-term supply of guests, which seems like a plausible explanation.

Anyway, the task of portraying such a destructive activity like gambling is a tough one, and it's clear those marketing types are struggling. Here's Wink Bingo's most recent effort.

"Yeah, I have it! A bollocks CGI dog doing some Irish dancing!"

That said, I'll probably eat my words, when the country is swallowed into a global rec-... oh wait.

Mandom?

2009-09-09T15:30:00.002+01:00

I must confess, this played some havoc with my mind. Charles Bronson is so cool, even spraying deodorant is like a gunfight to him.

Wanted: My crayolas.

2009-09-06T16:03:00.003+01:00

Damien Hirst has scored a rather spectacular own goal, after sending threats to a young artist for profiteering from his work. Cartrain was forced to stop selling his work as a result, and responded by stealing a box of Hirst's pencils from his Pharmacy exhibit, offering only to return them if his art was also returned to him.

The 'Wanted' style poster designed by Cartrain included the final line: 'You have until the 31st July to meet my demands, or the pencils will be sharpened'. According to Hirst, the pencils are worth over £500,000, and Cartrain has been arrested in relation to the theft.

Unfortunately for Damien Hirst, the public reaction to this story has been a very clear siding with Cartrain, especially in light of evidence that Hirst is not himself a stranger to plagiarism.

The top image is Hirst's 'Valium', produced in 2000, whereas the lower image is the work of computer graphic artist Robert Dixon, in 1984.

Looks to me like someone's throwing stones in glass houses.

Lord have mercy on my soul.

2009-09-03T20:53:00.004+01:00

I often wonder why there's such a concern over Islamic fundamentalists when Christian fundamentalists so often demonstrate that it's them we need to keep an eye on.

The video below is something that will stay with me forever, a man from Los Angeles who has decided to preach the Bible using an assortment of puppets that wouldn't look out of place in Child's Play.

Apparently this is aimed at children. I'm pretty sure these are the same people that complain about corruption of youth through violence and horror on TV. I'd like to see David Lynch match this.

Freedom of the press.

2009-09-02T20:44:00.011+01:00

If there's any danger British justice, it's the British Press.

Once again, they put their own profiteering needs before anyone else's, and manipulate the public into believing that they're doing them a favour.

A recent casing example? The Baby P case. I realise I put myself at risk with these words I am about to write, but if anything, that only proves how far this (admittedly sophisticated) process has gone. The pattern goes as this:

Appalling crime happens to an innocent victim, usually something none of us members of the public can contemplate without extreme emotion.

The British Press, in particular red-tops, spends weeks on end driving the message home of the abhorrence of the crime, and the suffering of the victim. At the same time, the articles build an underlying hatred in the reader for the perpetrator, with language such as 'monster', usually underlined and in capitals to ensure impact.

Over weeks and weeks, the public is spun into a frenzy of rage for the criminal(s) involved. The victim is almost forgotten in comparison to the bloodlust and murderous intents of the readers for the perpetrator. Usually this is expressed in forums, Facebook groups and any platforms that come to hand. In fact, the newspapers even have a comments section underneath their articles so we can be told what to think by our peers.

Then, the grooming process is complete. The Press strikes the moment the information is available and posts the names, faces and in some cases, locations of the perpetrators. The infatuated public leap at the scraps of information like rabid dogs to meat, and are suddenly a very real threat to the lives of the perpetrators.

Now, I ask you to put aside your own thoughts about the Baby P parents, murderous as they may be, for the moment. If we live in a country with a justice system, why on earth are the Press allowed to indirectly distract that course of justice? A murderer, rapist, kidnapper who comes to court, comes away with a sentence. Whatever our thoughts are on that sentence, too short, too soft, etc. it is not our place to interfere. If we take issue with the sentences imposed on criminals, the place to go is Parliament, not to criminals' homes to impart our own sense of justice.

The Press may not admit their approach, in fact, it may just be the collateral damage of their own profiteering, and not factor into their plans. However, to whip the public into a frenzy and cause them to crave personal details that they will impart when available is a dishonest technique to sell papers. It condones violence against criminals, which is not part of their sentence.

Some may say the Baby P parents deserved the death penalty, to be torn limb from limb. These are not few in number. I say to these people: campaign for the death penalty to be returned. They respond that certain people deserve it more than others. Where then, do we draw the line? We can't. Flawed as the justice system may be, it is a damn sight better than tearing those to pieces who we think deserve it. As a society, we are above that.

As a result, our government must spend millions on changing the identities of these said criminals, to avoid vigilante violence upon their release from prison. So not only do the Press exploit public information to sell papers, they cost the UK taxpayer doing so. Not that it's any guarantee of their safety.

It concerns me greatly that we're living in a society where it is becoming more and more socially acceptable to express murderous intent without a hint of irony. Criminals or not, it is impossible for anyone to decide that this person definitely deserves a violent death while another doesn't. Some even extend their violent urges to the care workers involved, who are accused of, at most, negligence in their job. When that warrants a violent death, I'll be leaving the country, and this simply underlines how far the papers have allowed this madness to go.

The Press gives the public a false sense of power, indirectly allowing them to think they can change the course of history with their bare hands. It is like the Emperor's new clothes, the papers encourage this criminal thinking as if it is something to be admired.

They even campaign under titles like 'Justice for Baby P' and similar titles. Put simply, there IS no real justice for a violent and painful death. The best we have is locking the perpetrators away for life, or a number of years decided by a jury in a legal court. 'An eye for an eye' belongs in the Old Testament, and needs to stay there. Anything within that vein makes our society no better than the few and far between criminals lurking within.

The news reaches the bunker

2009-09-02T12:09:00.005+01:00

So Oasis have split and it's real this time and blahblahBLAH, but I found this related video in response to the break-up.

Massive C.

2009-08-31T15:10:00.004+01:00

Like a door with manitee hanging from it (unhinged... BOOM BOOM), Glenn Bleck adds 'illiterate' to his list of handicaps.

An absolutely hysterical clip I found on YouTube.

Not to worry, Glenn. There's a massive example of the letter you're missing standing next to the blackboard.

Mad as hell, and not gonna take it anymore.

2009-08-27T21:21:00.006+01:00

Glenn Beck's darkest days are approaching, and he seems to know that too, judging by the recent speech he made on Fox News.

After calling President Barrack Obama a racist without a hint of irony on his television show, Beck is feeling the heat due to a public backlash.

A number of the show's sponsors have pulled out, requesting that their ads are not featured during, or either side of Beck's show. Some have pulled out altogether from the Fox News Network, most notably courier firm UPS. All other sponsors are facing increasing amounts of pressure from their clients, some threatening to boycott the companies, should they continue to advertise on Fox.

Glenn Beck's response to these events is very much inkeeping with Beck's general sense of decorum, in that he is responding by sobbing on air and comparing his life to the life of 'America', 'almost' to the point of lunacy.

"I was a dirtbag, but not anymore", bawls Beck. One wonders if this is some sort of halfway apology, but Beck quickly begins rambling on about his alcoholism, which assumedly he was saving for a special occasion (very much like a fine wine, some may say).

Apparently this all fits in with America. Beck's speech quickly makes way for ludicrously saccarine patriotism, where he compares his values with those of the Declaration of Independence. Really? I don't remember the bit about rampant racism and borderline Holocaust denial, but I'll let that pass for now, since the man is in tears and clearly not in a good way. I'm sure his tears are on behalf of the public's loss of his services, and not any personal selfishness or anxiety of the imminent sacking coming his way.

He's hanging by a solitary thread, and the insanity card has been played too many times. Could this be the end for the master of crocodile tears and on-air lunacy?

Hannan lobbies for US visa.

2009-08-26T17:53:00.009+01:00

Professional backstabber Dan Hannan is continuing to prostitute his politics over the Atlantic, appearing in an interview with Paul Waugh to discuss his plans to become the official voice of British public sector politics in the States.

As if his healthcare scaremongering on Fox wasn't enough, Hannan feels the need to restress the comparison of the NHS with some kind of nuclear disaster, a comparison that only seems to make sense in his own warped mind.

Noticeably smug in the interview, Hannan seems to attribute his internet 'popularity' to the groundbreaking nature of his views, and comes to the decision that people came to some sort of 'eureka' moment when watching him slither his way onto the Glenn Beck show. At this point, I do start to wonder if Hannan realises that all publicity is good publicity for his purposes. I suspect he does, which would certainly explain why he continues his campaign of targeting Americans with limited knowledge of the British healthcare system.

Hannan's approach is similar to telling a blind man the weather, and he is inhabiting a dangerous territory. It is clear that he was aware of this, targeting only the furthest rightwing groups in America in order to guarantee there would be no hostility towards his views. What a pioneer for British politics.

In this most recent interview, he announces his admiration of Enoch Powell, a role model known for his anti-immigration and Common Market views. When considering the consequences of Nigel Hastilow's remarkably similar comments, this marks Hannan moving onto extremely shaky territory in terms of his position as an MEP.

I hope he has some ideas for a long-term career riding the YouTube wave, since it seems like he is rapidly surfing his way towards the end of his current occupation.

Kerry Katona dropped from supermarket.

2009-08-22T17:02:00.004+01:00

Pun intended?

It's all going wrong for Kerry. Humiliated on telly, with and without her approval, married to a philandering neanderthal who looks like a chav who's won the lottery, and now the subject of drugs accusations (again). Admittedly, these three unfortunate afflictions bleed into one another somewhat, with examples such as Kerry being intoxicated with some sort of il/legal drug on morning TV, and her doting husband touching up a stripper on camera.

Oh, woe is she. Now some Murdoch Sunday red-top which I will keep anonymous (although it seems to think it has some kind of positive reputation as reporting the "News of the World") has somehow got its greasy little hands on a video of Kerry snorting some coke in her bathroom.

To be fair, it's pretty conclusive (not that many of us needed proof of this), but I think the eerie music does a good job to spell out the sense of foreboding and impending evil for the average (eight year old) reader:

It's great that the British press are not above bugging a troubled celebrity's house, or paying her 'friends' ridiculous sums to do it for them. Otherwise, where would we get our daily fix of celebrity based mockery? Oh... Katie Price... sorry, I forgot about her.

It seems that Iceland is not up for having Kerry on their books anymore, since this event means that her presence on the ads would reflect badly on the brand. Aren't people like (the portrayal of) Kerry Katona their target audience? Quick line, then bang down a pack of frozen fish fingers. You need to be a hardcore junkie just to keep them in.

First thing that springs to my mind: Does this mean Kerry loses her staff discount?

Celebrity Wife Swap: Tessa Sanderson and Ron Atkinson

2009-08-17T22:34:00.007+01:00

Fair play to Channel Four, they really know how to cause social awkwardness. Then put it on the telly.

This week's celebrities swapping lives were 'Big' Ron Atkinson, and Tessa Sanderson. In case the penny hasn't dropped yet, one is a TV pundit whose career was crucified after calling a football player the 'N' word live on Sky Sports. And Tessa? She's black. And good with a javelin. Yum.

As if the setup couldn't be improved, Ron's also a bit of a chauvanist pig, which doesn't sit well with gold medalist Tessa.

Some highlights include his poor bitch of a wife being forced to tell a group of young black kids what her husband said after he thought they'd gone to an ad break. Ron's take on the subject wasn't great from a PR point of view.

TESSA: So, about the thing you said on TV...
RON: NO! *Whistles* Full time! No comment! [Author's note: I don't think whistles work outside football matches, Ron.]
TESSA: But...
RON: She's put you up to this hasn't she? *Gestures off camera*
PRODUCER: [Indignantly] No I haven't!

Ron's refusal to discuss it kind of pissed on Channel 4's bonfire a bit, since the rest of the episode was pretty banal (trying to get a middle-aged man to eat greens isn't fun to do or watch), but nevertheless, worth it for the setup alone.

On second thought, I withdraw my last comment, after accidentally pausing on Big Ron's 'tomato-eating' face.

Jihadi comedy: 'Four Lions' screenshots released

2009-08-16T10:54:00.007+01:00

After months of baited breath, I am proud to announce that there has been news on Chris Morris' latest project; Four Lions.

The satirist responsible for projects such as The Day Today and Brass Eye has been in relative hiding in recent years, doing painstaking research into Muslim culture and the nature of suicide bombing, in one of his bravest moves yet; a 'jihadi comedy'.

There is no doubt that Four Lions is going to cause huge waves, but the question remains, where? Morris has reportedly been speaking to everyone from armed police to security experts to Muslim community workers. That and getting into a fight with Martin Amis. The expectation is that, like Brass Eye, this will cause a large amount of offence, especially due to the volatility of the subject matter, something on a par with the Danish cartoons which set a large group of extremist Muslims at war with the Danes.

But I don't believe that Morris took this project on simply to start a tornado of Islami-political hell. There is no doubt that this will be the most challenging project he's ever done, and my gut tells me that he would not use the opportunity to simply offend as many Muslims as possible.

The project has some great names attached to it, the named so far include Peep Show writers Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong, as well as staple Morris comics such as Kevin Eldon.

We seem to be barely months from the first genuine 'jihadi comedy' feature film. There is no doubt that this will severely shake up the Western stance towards Islam in one way or another. However, I think if there's one person who can handle this gig, it's Morris.

The production company has reportedly said that the film's 'tornado of industry is now trapped and humming in a box'. It's certainly worth being there when that box is opened.

Reform?

2009-08-14T20:29:00.006+01:00

In a marked step against the Republicans (or should I say 'Ruperblicans'?) running amok in the US re: healthcare reform, writer of Father Ted, Graham Linehan has stepped in to spearhead a pro-NHS campaign.

Barrack Obama has produced plans for a (long overdue) healthcare reform, which would create a US healthcare system very similar to our own NHS. Of course, this has sent the right wingers wild, and how else would they show their disdain than by infiltrating the Fox Network? Oh wait, I got that wrong, they're already there. And they took guns to their protest. Always important to come well-equipped to a political protest, I say. Or as one young protester said: 'it would be silly to take an unloaded weapon, wouldn't it?'

Nice to know these people have a good head on their shoulders.

Anyway, Graham Linehan fought back against the likes of hyperbolic gasbag Bill O' Reilly and his pet, Glenn Beck, by creating the Twitter hashtag #welovetheNHS, and starting a global movement. Within hours, thousands, which soon became hundreds of thousands of British people shared their stories of positive NHS experiences, in order to drown out the hysterical Republicans barking their incoherent patriobabble across the television networks.

So successful is this campaign, it seems to be snowballing into a possible Murdoch boycott, possibly one of the most effective so far. Here's a bit of Linner talking about his unlikely campaign:

If you want to be a part of it, here's the companies you should avoid.

And as a little tribute, I've created the #weloveGlinner hashtag for people to show their appreciation for the campaign. If you wish to use Twitter to show your support, I suggest you use it too.

Ready, Steady.

2009-08-07T21:30:00.003+01:00

Seems like all this insta-fame is getting too much for Chanelle Hayes. If you don't remember her, she walked out of BB8, went out with a disfigured mannequin called 'Ziggy' long enough for a lucrative OK! Magazine deal, then released a shit single in her pants. Feel free to interpret that last one any way you wish.

It has been reported that she attempted suicide after a row with her boyfriend. After seeing half of her behaviour in relationships, I can't say I'm surprised. A little melodramatic may be the polite way of putting it. By the way, the reason there's no photo for this entry is I couldn't find any where she didn't have her tits out. Go figure.

Anyway, I was having a look around, and I found this little bit of video which provides a casing point. Was this the turning point for Chiggy's relationship? Maybe.

I lol'd. Especially when she shouted 'can me mam 'ave it?!' as the camera panned away.

So, word of warning for those in sham relationships brought on by tempting magazine deals: don't go on Ready Steady Cook, it'll be your undoing.

When there's no more room in Hell...

2009-07-30T23:00:00.009+01:00

And the star prize at the 'totally missed the point' awards, goes to Stephen Fry's followers on Twitter. Not that most of them know who he is outside watching half of an episode of QI... cretins.

So not that I'm a huge fan of this whole 'ooh I'm following a person who is famous, that makes me their best friend', business, but then when barely literate people start having a go at celebrities for things they don't understand, I do find that passes as at least some form of entertainment.

Recently Stephen Fry made a slight overestimation of his followers' abilities to put two and two together, when he admitted the last bit of TV he illegally downloaded was the season finale of House. Don't know if it was worth it, to be honest. I finally made it through Season 5 last night (no I will NOT tell you if I paid for it or not). Pretty pissed off about it; lots of cyclic narratives that went nowhere and 'it's all a dream' explanations for going back to normal when interesting plot development actually took place. Anyway, I'm digressing. Cue anarchy as the people he once regarded as his friends (very naive, Stephen), went on the attack against piracy and stealing and blahblahblahboringbitthatyoutryandskipondvdsbutit
won'tletyounowBLAH.

Do these people understand CONTEXT? This kind of stuff keeps me awake at night. That one day these people will inherit the earth (if they haven't already), mindlessly complaining about stuff without a sense of irony or understanding of what's really happening.

Maybe these people should give Hugh Laurie a ring? Maybe he'll explain the joke to them. Then again, I wonder if they'll be looking up his name as 'Gregory House' in the phone book. Bastards.

Four Weddings.

2009-07-21T12:46:00.010+01:00

...Minus a funeral. Or Richard Curtis. Two things to be very thankful for.

As if Come Dine with Me wasn't the peak of reality tv excellence, Living TV have proved themself to be somewhat of a dark horse and have produced Four Weddings. In case you haven't guessed the set up, it's the same, but instead of a dinner party competition for upper-middle class wannabes, it's a wedding competition with neurotic female contestants and their battered husbands.

The winner gets a luxury honeymoon, and the women seem to be ~~borderline~~ psychotically intent on having the best wedding, meaning they'll backstab and crush any stupid bitch that gets in their way, obviously whilst putting on a face for the cameras.

Imagine the KateSLASHPeter superpinksupervomitinducingsuperridiculous wedding, times it by four, and add a competitive element, and I think we've got the makings of something promising.

Psychoville.

2009-06-18T23:07:00.009+01:00

There is a god.

I have been saved from watching the mundane circus that is Big Brother by an absolutely splendid bit of dark comedy by the writers of The League of Gentlemen; Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton. Of course, I'm talking about Psychoville.

If you're familiar with League, and want more of the same, without the inevitable trading of quality for quantity after the whoring of series after series, Psychoville is the perfect solution.

Playing on a number of traditional ghost stories and horror films, Psychoville creates a twisted universe not dissimilar to that of Royston Vasey. Film references galore for those who care, although it doesn't detract from the programme at all if you don't get them. That said, I think you've missed a trick if you haven't chuckled at the reworking of the Carrie narrative to incorporate dwarves and pornography. We are introduced to several seemingly completely unique characters, drawn together by a number of identical anonymous letters dispatched to them with the handwritten message: 'I know what you did'.

Seeming cliched to you? It is, but that's part of its charm. The writers play with the traditional structure of existing texts in order to bring their own dark comedic element to the piece. Expect a little glimmer in the darkness, and revel in treading the line between horror and hysteria. Dawn French is surprisingly good in a role I honestly didn't think she'd be able to pull off, as a midwife coveting a doll in the absence of her own child, in a narrative I can only describe as a well-deserved tribute to the cult absurdist Czech horror: Little Otik.

I'm at Episode two, thanks to the joy that is that little red button, and I'm absolutely hooked. It's nice to see that Shearsmith and Pemberton are about to follow up League in similarly spectacular fashion, with a brilliantly written and performed piece I'm sure we'll be talking a lot about in the months and years to come. Bravo BBC2 for recognising the talent that makes me feel better about the licence fee.

Better than Series two of League? Give me a week or two. I'll get back to you on that one.

Torbay anyone?

2009-06-18T19:12:00.005+01:00

Absolutely great episode of Come Dine with Me tonight. This week's group were particularly watchable due to them hating the sight of each other.

The week has had a few highlights, one of my favourites being a 30 stone man (as a conservative estimate) putting his knee and arse through two respective chairs. At least he found it funny. Having his hosts reinforcing their furniture prior to his arrival must be something he's used to.

Anyway, today the group went to Patrick's, and for those who don't know, Patrick is an upper-class homosexual cliche who is apparently married to a woman who doesn't know the aforementioned given. Patrick also enjoys lowering the tone of dinner parties to smutty innuendoes about cocks and balls. I wouldn't mind, but some of the inserted bits (see, I can do it too!) are along the lines of:

'I have no problem getting an erection, but keeping it is something else entirely.'

Hang on a second, that's more of an entendre. Where's the double?

After the main course, there's a jalapeno and mint 'palate cleanser'. Palate cleanser? Seriously? Fuck off. If you're not Japanese, you have no right to go there without looking like a pretentious twat. Also, burning the surface of the tongue off is not the same as 'cleansing'. Anyway, he 'didn't put many chillies in', but Gavin, the resident fat joke ended up having some sort of anaphylactic attack at the table. I'm thinking this may be a lesson in not consuming food by inhaling it.

The creme brulee goes to shit, so he ends up pouring it over panettone (that's posh bread cake according to London people). This pisses off David, who's not fat or gay, (actually, he might be gay, I wasn't really paying attention, to be honest), because he got a crust. Oh, the humanity! His custard bread dish will be ruined! So he ends up throwing a hissy fit (and the crust) at Gavin, much to his delight.

Lorraine learns the hard way.

2009-06-17T23:18:00.006+01:00

About 10 years too late, Apprentice loser Lorraine Tighe has realised that going on a high-profile reality TV show can have an effect on your private life. Speaking in a newspaper recently, she stated that she wouldn't go on another reality tv show ever again. Put your contracts away Endemol.

Apparently her appearance on The Apprentice has 'ruined' her family's reputation in her hometown in Ireland. So, in hindsight, selling stories like this may have been a mistake?

Personally, I don't see how an appearance on one of the relatively tame reality shows can do anywhere near the same damage to an Irish Catholic's reputation as selling a two-page interview about being a swinger as part of the 'sex scandal' section of the second most low brow newspaper in the country. Then again, I'm sure the money will cushion the blow (sorry) somewhat.

As final thought for the day, some advice; asking one of your fellow contestants to take part in a foursome is usually considered somewhat of a social faux pas.

How clean?

2009-06-17T16:02:00.006+01:00

All the other channels have died an early death while Big Brother's on, and seem to be completely refusing to show anything that might get a few viewers in case BB nicks them. So, this is why I'm watching How Clean is Your House, because frankly, it's teatime, and there's no other reason for me to spoil my tea by looking at dirty people's houses than the simple fact that otherwise I'll have to watch Big Brother's Big Mouth.

And nobody would wish that on anyone.

So here I am watching Kim and Aggie sniffing a farmhouse that's caked in shit. After the initial swabbing to find out what kind of dirt it is (involving ridiculously long-winded and expensive lab tests), the pair divulge their increasingly bizarre home-made cleaning products for getting rid of it. Now, I'm no expert on the subject, but if a swab of the tables came back showing evidence of salmonella, I'd clean it with bleach, toilet duck, anything that burns. But Kim has a better idea, smearing the table with COFFEE instead.

Ok, great. Coffee for the tables, sour milk for brass, what's next? Cat's piss for the windows? It's called Dettol. What's wrong with that? Why have we achieved something if we clean with food?

It's fine, I'll chuck out my kitchen roll and sponges and clean with a loaf of bread soaked in Ribena from now on.

How to make a chat show worth watching.

2009-06-15T22:40:00.005+01:00

Sorry for the lack of updates, I'll be good from now on.

A YouTube find that just made my day; Joan Rivers livens up Loose Women, preventing over 8 suicides that day. Speaking about Russell Crowe, Joan lets out a two-pronged attack unsuitable for an 11am audience. But something I think Loose Women has been asking for since it started - someone interesting.

Anyway, have a look.

Predictably, she was removed during the commercial break, much to her delight. Heaven forbid that show ever lets someone on with a personality ever again.

Another example of someone being chucked off a chat show (more warranted this time), sexist ex-Celebrity Big Brother contestant John Mcririck is thrown off Alan Titchmarsh's chat show (yes, I don't know why he has one either) for having a go at Chris Tarrant's ex, Ingrid, for being crap at sex. So, the man who used to do the horse racing and wear hats and hate women gets on a chat show hosted by a gardener whilst having a go at a philandering game show host's ex wife.

You heard it right, the fat hairy man in the purple silken suit just told the attractive blonde woman that he can understand why Chris strayed. Why did Mr BabyBio throw him out? It was just turning into something that passed for entertainment.

Animal training.

2009-06-11T22:22:00.011+01:00

Have I just been living under some kind of popular-culture rock for the last 6 months, or did reality TV talent shows take a turn for the worst overnight by adding audience participation to the mix? At the risk of sounding terribly old-fashioned, I remember the days when programmes like Popstars were on, and they at least attempted to convince the audience that the aim of the show was to find talent, rather than to exploit freaks for comic potential.

Admittedly, the word 'talent' is a questionable one, especially when the winners of the first series wouldn't look out of place as next year's Albanian entry in Eurovision.

You may recognise the one in the middle. Racking your brains? You'll find her image attached to:

Shampoo
Baby clothes
Violins
Underwear
Pianos
All classical music
~~Singing~~
Books
Pregnancy
Television test cards

And this is just in the last couple of weeks.

Anyway, I've digressed. Aside from giving people the ability to brand their names and faces onto every commodity they can get their jaded hands on, TV talent shows now seem to be evolving to a point where they fully accept their ability to showcase mentally unstable members of the public.

By the time X Factor arrived, we were pretty used to the idea of watching the audition stages, and turning off by the time they'd weeded out the funny ones. Now, here we are at 'Britain/America/Borstall's Got Talent', and now the audience are included in filming to publicly mock and deride the contestants.

So, as if openly admitting the zoo-like qualities of the television talent show isn't bad enough, it seems we're being coerced into thinking that this is normal and/or acceptable. Should we be worried? I don't really know. It sounds like a pretty dire state of affairs when it's in black and white.

But then again, I think we have to think about who is exploiting who.

Reality overload.

2009-06-07T23:45:00.023+01:00

SurAlan has his Apprentice for another year, and we can all snatch a breath before the next reality TV bonanza...

Actually, no, that's a lie. We've now got Big Brother AND America's Got Talent to contend with. I feel I'm not the only one who's in some way obligated to watch these things in order to maintain rapport with work colleagues and acquaintances, or face being viewed as some kind of freak with no interest in these sacred televisual traditions. Unfortunately, it's a high price to pay. With 16 contestants, Big Brother this year by my calculations will be lasting... oh I don't know... 25 years or so? No wonder Davina's said it's her last one, she'll probably have died of old age by the time it's finished.

I'm finding the whole thing deeply depressing at the moment. Plus with half of them changing their names by deed poll day by day, I have no idea who's who. It's easy to remember the 'outrageous' ones, but when you're faced with a room of freaks, it's surprisingly different to separate them.

However, I'm starting to think that it's possible that some of them are old contestants who've been recycled into this new series. Here's some suspiciously alike contestants old and new:

Ok so that last one was a bit mean, but you catch my drift.

In BB news, Beinazir has been evicted as per those bizarre non-housemate rules that seemed to have very little point whatsoever except as a failed attempt to revive Big Brother's seriously flagging viewer ratings. Shouldn't this be at the top of this article? Yeah, probably, but then again, I've placed the news exactly in order of importance in this article, unlike the Sun trying desperately to fool readers into thinking that Big Brother is actually important, seeing as it provides 90% of their headlines from June-December without any journalism needed whatsoever.

Hopefully in the coming weeks it'll get more interesting, and maybe then I'll actually bother to remember their names.

Hired!

2009-06-07T23:05:00.006+01:00

After 13 weeks of on-off viewing (or 'on', depending on the dignity of the viewer), we've finally reached the end of the Apprentice.

Kate and Yasmina made up the final two contestants, amd were set the task of marketing a box of chocolates. Both originally opted for equally shit ideas, Yasmina's group marketing a posh box of chocolates aimed at men (which anyone who's ever seen a Yorkie bar will instantly find fault with), and Kate going for the least original idea in the history of confection; chocolate for couples.

After being told by about 20 experts in the field that the idea was a load of bollocks, Yasmina still ploughed on, taking the approach that 'it's NICHE, it'll be FINE!', but by the 50th criticism, finally dropped the idea. Shame that the second idea made the first look like a stroke of genius. "Let's make really shit chocolate with stuff like curry inside, then film an advert with actors almost vomiting as they eat them, whilst simultaneously being electrocuted!" Great, I'm sure Cadbury's will be queuing up for that one. The only thing worse than the taste was the name; 'Cocoa Electric'. No sleek box or pink lightning bolt is going to draw attention away from that appalling product name.

Kate's team follow their highly cliched idea through to completion, and end up making a pretty decent product, although with a slightly bumpy patch during development. Kate opts for the slightly too feminine name 'Intimate', possibly worrying the consumer as to what the box would actually contain. I must admit my mind fleeted towards 'Femfresh' before 'chocolate'.

Surprisingly, even though the chocolate made Sir Alan wretch, Yasmina was chosen to be hired, and Kate will have to face the music in regards to totally snubbing her bit on the side Phillip both when picking teams and in general social interaction after he was kicked off. Weird, she was so into him when he was actually in it.

The chemistry was there from Day One.

Nevertheless, I'm sure they'll enjoy plenty of years together, as was clear in the mutual awkwardness when marriage was discussed. Then again, if the money's there from OK! Magazine, why not? Debra's already got her tits out for FHM, their sham wedding would be relatively dignified in comparison.

Binge drinking with Michelle Heaton?!

2009-06-03T00:11:00.004+01:00

Be careful what you wish for. It seems ITV were asked to produce a hard-hitting documentary to tackle the nation-wide 'alcodemic', and as a result, decided to film Liberty X's Michelle Heaton drinking herself to death over a month.

Wait, scratch that first sentence, this seems like it has promise. Not in the way ITV probably hoped, though. Do they not find it slightly suspicious that Michelle Heaton was the FIRST to volunteer for the (all expenses paid) booze, with the added benefit of getting on the telly?

Particularly wooden acting galore as Michelle tries desperately to pretend she's in a foreign environment as she steps into a club and orders a drink. Is this really an experiment? If anything, she looks like she's reducing her intake rather than increasing it. Maybe that's why she feels so unwell.

In one memorable segment, Michelle takes a singing lesson and sounds awful, then blames the alcohol for ruining her vocal chords. Has she ever listened to one of her CDs? If anything, the vodka's helping.

Boyle Explodes.

2009-06-01T23:10:00.006+01:00

It seems that insta-fame has become too much for Dave Lee Travis lookalike Susan Boyle.

After being escorted from a hotel by two police officers after a couple of paparazzis 'wound her up', it was clear the the mask was slipping. Then someone saw her going mental at the tv screen in a hotel lobby packed with Britain's Got Talent contestants because little Shaheen got some praise from Piers Morgan.

It seems that the classic fairytale ending that everyone so desperately is searching for in this sad sad world wasn't going to happen, because, well, this is real life and things like that don't happen. If you could call any of this media circus around her real anyway.

Unfortunately it seems that all the defining criteria is not quite perfect.

1. Susan Boyle's fame comes from her... ok I'll be kind and say 'unconventional' look. But none of you can say you're not thinking the same word as I am, but this point is for later. A talented person who isn't attractive? Christ, the world must stop for her! It's not like they picked an extreme and edited all the others out or anything.

2. She's got an amazing voice. Well... everyone seems to believe this is so. But is this because she does, or because we want her to because it helps us to understand that there is something good and just in this world and an underdog can come through therefore helping us to find some point to living? Hmmm... I'll let you think on that for a while. Casing point, performance of 'Memory'. Not great, from where I'm standing, yet not even Simon Cowell mentions the bum notes which are there from the very first word. It seems we've set a precedent for her that she cannot fall under, and it's ALL OUR FAULT!

3. She's a nice, normal lady. Well, up until about 2 weeks ago, yeah. But then she got stressed and started swearing and getting angry and 'talking to policemen but NOT arrested, definitely not arrested'. Now she's been escorted away by head doctors and police 'after concerns for her own safety'. Reports say she went mental because she didn't win. Hmmm... I feel like the ghost at the feast saying this, but is it not possible that it's not a mental illness, but an ego complex she developed because WE couldn't find fault with her?

4. Everyone loves her sooo much, like a disabled kitten, we hugged her until she asphixiated in our arms. Even heretics are being burned at the stake - see here for the story of "1:24 Girl" and the global hate campaign caused because SHE DARED TO ROLL HER EYES AT THE BOYLE. We've created a monster!

In conclusion, it's all our fault. We said she couldn't lose, then she did. The feeling that I'll be lynched for saying 'maybe she's not a very nice lady after all' makes me feel strange inside, which must say something about this whole situation. It seems people still aren't ready to let go yet; will it take a killing rampage by Boyle to sway public opinion? I can imagine the headline in the Sun:

"Boyle beheads 20, but fuck me she can sing, despite being incredibly ugly. Well done!"

Sharp.

2009-05-29T19:06:00.005+01:00

So my attention was drawn to a rather funny article today. Time Magazine produced a piece on people who use Twitter to massage their own ego, some of the worst offenders showcased on the website tweetingtoohard.com. The submissions are then ranked and listed according to votes.

A good idea in theory, I'll admit. But a problem came when comedian Peter Serafinowicz caused a stir in the magazine by posting the following Tweet:

"Went to the gym this morning. As I left, everyone said I was the best!"

Incensed by the Tweet, the American magazine had trouble understanding the irony of this statement, and promptly included Serafinowicz's quote into their article. Asking him why he'd written something so arrogant, he replied:

"At my local gym, most of the guys (losers) are jealous of me, as (I don't wish to boast) I'm in great shape. I'm pretty sure that they call me names when I'm not around, so when they congratulated me for bench-pressing 180 pounds, I suppose I felt vindicated in some way, and wanted to tell the world about it."

Again, Time magazine took the statement at face value and made complete tits of themselves to the British public, posting it with both quotes.

Here's their article in its entirety.

Peter Serafanowicz 1, well-regarded American publication 0.

Milk?

2009-05-27T23:32:00.004+01:00

It seems that it's been at least four minutes since anyone talked about Jade Goody, so her mum's taken the opportunity to dig it up again (sorry) with one of the most shameless acts of story-selling I've ever seen in my life. You can find the article here.

Apparently Jade's visited her mum twice, so she just HAD to give an interview about it. Now, I don't give a shit about the paranormal, but ghosts and delusional crackpots aside, isn't it a bit coincidental that this has happened to a woman who would sell her own daughter (oh wait...) if she could? Also a bit dodgy that Jade apparently had all interview fees donated to cancer charities. No money for Mummy then. So possibly an opportunity to line her pockets now that her daughter has no say?

Apparently the first occurence was a face in the clouds. What, something like this?

Also, apparently Jade wrote in a steamy mirror 'light a candle for me mum'. What dead person asks that? This whole thing sounds like a very bad film, something like P.S. I Love You. Ugh, how sickening.

Also, Jackiey goes on to talk about what Jade did in her final moments. Funny, I thought she'd have saved that for next week's News of the World, she'd get paid twice that way.

Hard to swallow.

2009-05-26T00:41:00.006+01:00

Positively gorged on Come Dine with Me this evening. About 3 solid hours of it.

What is wrong with the contestants nowadays? I know they're going down the Wife Swap route of sticking weirder people in for entertainment value, but christ, some of them are just shocking.

On More4 this evening, a woman who leaves each party early for sleep, then on her own dinner, totally fucks up, then fucks off. Manages to turn pavlova into ovenbaked shit puddles, blends through a sieve trying to pulp raspberries, and serves prawn cocktail in an avocado skin. The guests try to be as supportive and patronising as possible, but the poor bitch is physically exhausted by visiting two people for dinner on two nights in a row and starts crying at the table. Then she fucks off to bed, leaving another guest to cook the main course.

Doesn't go too badly. Well, you know where you are with Old El Paso. Her guest calls her down for dinner, after 8 minutes of sleep (or so it says on the box), she stumbles downstairs, walking into a wall and a doorframe on the way. Maybe take off the eye mask first?

Dessert is meringue shit pancakes from earlier with fruit on. She starts crying again, and gets a fully deserved 9. Overall. Worst score ever. But bloody entertaining. There's nothing better than the pleasure of seeing someone fuck up that badly.

Highlight of my evening? Christopher Biggins on Celebrity Come Dine with Me (don't say you haven't seen it, that's bollocks and you know it). What did he do? Bought a trout mousse from Sainsbury's and lied about it to Edwina Currie. Then, while eating a souffle she made, asked inquisitively, "how many eggs are in this, Edwina?" If you don't find this funny, you need to do research here. This is two-way traffic you know, I expect you to do your bit, i.e. learn political history.

Apparently Edwina didn't know the eggs were dodgy.

Also, Biggins has a hysterical laugh, sends him red and everything. And anyone that pisses off Edwina Curry is alright in my book.

Scraping the barrel.

2009-05-25T00:02:00.007+01:00

Channel 4, what the hell is going on?

I know Big Brother is launching soon but there's no reason to lose the plot. Some of these upcoming programme setups sound absolutely ludicrous.

First up, I'm Running Sainsbury's, where trolley pushers get to run the company for a while. So... people doing a job they're not qualified to do and messing it up? Or maybe a rags to riches Secret Millionaire style inspiridoc? Hope it's not the latter, getting nauseous at the thought of it. I hope they get someone really thick to do it. Knowing Channel 4, I probably won't be disappointed.

After that, live operations. The autopsy one was gross enough, with that mad German professor. Then again, if someone dies on live tv, could be an interesting moral question raised there. I'll stick with it, sounds like a laugh. Like watching someone playing Russian Roulette.

Oh wait, Derren Brown did that already, and that just ended up being a big load of bollocks. Then again, Derren Brown is a bit of a bellend, which I think changes everything. I think my disappointment came from the not losing bit.

Talented?

2009-05-23T23:41:00.009+01:00

Ok, playing catch-up as I missed Britain's Got Talent, luckily it's on the website. Didn't want to miss this one as it's the last one with freaks in.

Good old Britain's Got Talent to cheer me up on a Saturday evening. What other programme showcases an OAP from a pudding factory singing 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' followed by a man simultaneously juggling and eating apples? Helpfully backgrounded by the New World Symphony (Hovis theme tune to common people) as the music of choice. Erm, he works in a PUDDING FACTORY. Bread factory, fine. Baguettes, maybe. I'd even permiss sweetbreads. But PUDDING is not the same. Tits. Ever the pioneer, Simon helpfully suggests 'you should probably move it up to something bigger, like grapefruits or melons, something like that'. Well done Simon, always thinking.

Next up, Julia the naked Latvian belly dancer. Amanda Holden looks genuinely upset at the competition, although it doesn't take a naked Latvian to show her up, let's be honest. Also, didn't she marry Les Dennis for a bit? The mind boggles as to what the hell happened to her in those... 8 years. Poor cow. Turning over and seeing that mess of a human being next to her must have been an experience that would break the best of us.

Brother and sister dancing, pretty good, but, bit weird, no? Genius Simon concludes 'you have a great connection'. What, like SIBLINGS?

Anyway, I was desperate for a freak, and I got one. Nick Hell from Sunderland. Background music? The Addams Family. Fanfuckingtastic, I'm salivating waiting for this one. Accompanied by his fiancee, Sharon, or should I say Frodo? Ok, he's hanging shit from his ears. Sharon watches, great assisting. How the fuck is having loads of holes in yourself a talent?! Feel a bit nauseous now. Nick's words: 'I think the Queen will love it!' Seriously, what is wrong with that woman's face? Piers says yes to piss Simon off.... ooooh... rebel much?

Next up, man who can't play guitar, and OPERA TRANNY. Social worker is removed by security.

Oh wait! It's the cute kid bit now. Parents seem to be hippies, don't think they sent him to school, taught him drums instead. 'We love him, he hits drums instead of kittens like he used to'. Turns out to be quite good, although standing ovation by Amanda is a bit much. Ant screams 'HE'S A REALLY GOOD DRUMMER!!'. Jesus, alright. No need for the fucking S Club 7 'Never Had a Dream Come True' cliched bollocks. Stop fucking crying! I hate cute talented kids, they get on my fucking nerves. God, I feel sick. It's this bit in these talent shows that make me need to torture small animals to make the world right again. Even Michael Jackson kid gets in! What fucking parent would make their kid follow Michael Jackson as an example? Oh sorry, this is BGT. Negligent parents.

Dancing dog now. That dog is not fucking dancing. I don't care what anyone says. Simon's suggestion 'teach it to tap dance'. To be honest, might pay money to see that. Billy Elliot kid = urgh.

Man with shiny guitar now. Is that really a talent? Booooring. Oh jesus christ, he's trying to sing 'I Want to Break Free'. Bad move, even with ultra-shiny LEDs. It's like, erm, noone gives a shit about your lights? Why do people like him? HE PUT LIGHTS ON A GUITAR, then butchered Freddie Mercury. What a twat. Angry mum reaction is funny: 'oooh, you NASTY MAN'. He goes through but mum gets the arse and tries to help her son get more confidence by going out on stage and saying he has a confidence problem to the BRITISH PUBLIC?!

So, we're at the end of the auditions. Series highlight for me? Parrot that won't sing Take on Me. That said, his owner failed at it pretty badly too. Parrot win? I think so.

Oh BGT, shame it'll be shit from now on. Am I the only one who doesn't care who wins? I only watch these things for the freaks in the audition stages. Everyone knows Susan Boyle's going to win. Blergh, how typically British of us all.

Loose.

2009-05-22T16:54:00.005+01:00

Why hasn't Loose Women been pulled yet? It feels like it's been going for centuries. Maybe it has, its effect on weekday mornings has made time lose all meaning for me. Never before has a programme had such an ironic title in my life. The only one the term 'loose' applies to is that 'butch' one, you know, the one that drinks pints and that and not gin and tonic or some other equally old-fashioned drink. So the point of this show is airing on the premise of something feminist whilst portraying the masculinised one as a freak in an attempt to take us back to 1920s gender politics? Something tells me that power like that shouldn't be in the hands of such dense people. The rest of the coven are just a bunch of hormonal freaks who shout 'we don't need men!' one minute, then write love notes to send to George Clooney's fan club the next. Three married women; two of which baby machines, one barren, two spinsters who like it that way, a couple of nymphos and a lesbian. Representative of the British female population. Good. Well researched, you bunch of backwards lab specimens.

Denise Welch fronts the feminist campaign by getting her tits out for Russell Brand.

What's worse, now they're auditioning female hopefuls to add to their pack. Am I the only one who thinks they need more than a new panel member to turn that car accident of a show around?

Then again, this is ITV so... we should be thankful that their daytime selection is there to make us all go out and get jobs.

Jeremy Kyle seen in Sheffield playground.

2009-05-21T14:11:00.006+01:00

Not content with verbally berating the less intellectual members of the British public on his show, Jeremy Kyle has been let loose on the streets of... Sheffield to single-handedly tackle knife crime. Never before has a television premise promised so much and delivered so little.

The result ended up being Jeremy driving around with a black man telling him 'how it is on the street', chasing after teenagers in balaclavas in playgrounds and getting angry at drug dealers.

Then, in some kind of Sister Act-esque plotline, he decides to solve the problem of knife crime with... a disco. I can't fucking wait. 'It won't be like any club, it'll be open late and everything'. God, why didn't anyone else think of that? Because it's a shit idea, that's why. In fact, does it even classify as an idea to make a club for teenagers who like to stab each other? It sounds like more of a sport to me.

Funniest moment on the show? Jeremy confronts a teenager who threatens to smash up his camera. Jeremy retorts 'I'm not scared of you and your little threats', to which the kid replies that he means it. Jeremy responds by running to his car, muttering some excuse about not achieving anything here.

Way to go Jeremy, you just got owned by a 12 year old.

But I was in the army!

2009-05-20T23:48:00.003+01:00

Ben Clarke is gone from the Apprentice. Thank Christ. Then again, I'm still a bit annoyed that motormouth Debrah Barr didn't go. When is she going to stop blaming everyone else for her own mistakes?

Also, surely nobody can forge a career in business when they talk like a Brixton teenager? Then again, at least we don't need to hear about Sandhurst anymore. Finally Alan said what we have been waiting for, for about erm... 6 weeks?

"When are you going to shut the fuck up about Sandhurst? I don't give a shit!".

Ok, that's not exactly what he said. I embellished it a bit. I'm sure that's what he would have said if he didn't have Ofcom breathing down his neck.

Saucily barbed.

2009-05-20T23:30:00.009+01:00

HellOOO theaar! I hope you'll be WAtching thees since I have an amAZingly FRUIty voice!!

What on earth is it with all the mental voice overs nowadays? It started off with that Geordie on Big Brother. Then it was the E4 'oh look at me and my comedic voice' man, and now with Come Dine with Me being all about the talking man and the fact that the poor sods of contestants can't hear him.

This is the Come Dine with Me Man. I bet you've never seen him before have you? Here's a quote from his online portfolio.

"Down-to-earth & engaging. Sarcastic & great timing. Well known voice of C4's Come Dine With Me: "Dave Lamb's saucily barbed voice over is a gourmet delight in its own right". Metro, 20 June 2008."

Saucily barbed voice? LOL.

It seems that you need either a northern accent or confused intonation to work in Channel 4 as a voice over artist. Fuck Attenborough, we've moved on.

Political gameshows minus politics = FAIL.

2009-05-20T21:40:00.017+01:00

Ok, I have to do it. It's an important part of our heritage. What makes the British... well, British. And that thing is, being shit at Eurovision. Seriously, not only are we there year after year, but we're funding the thing to the point where we can't duck out because they need us to keep the thing running. We're actually paying for our own humiliation.

I heard the BBC decided against public opinion to publish an apology before the airing of Eurovision 2009 about Graham Norton doing the commentary. Apparently he was the only person dickheaded enough to think he could fill Terry Wogan's boots. Jesus wept. I don't intend to run down every single country, because most of them were shit. Russian woman singing whilst simultaneously aging and weeping? I was almost in tears by the end, but not because I actually cared. In Soviet Russia, Eurovision sings you! Anyway, here's some highlights:

Israel

Going a bit political with a Palestinian and a Jew doing a duet about the crisis in the Middle East. Caused a bit of a stink with the Arabs apparently, who wanted Palestinian Mira Awad to step down from Eurovision, which they called 'propaganda for a racist state'. It just looked like a lesbian love song to me.

Denmark

Dane Brinck enters with 'Believe Again', written by... RONAN KEATING? Come to mention it, kinda looks like him to. So that's where he's been... I guess the only thing to do now is hope that the poor bastards keep him there.

Finland

Bomfunk MC rejects do some kind of 'F-f-f-freeSTYlah!' thing. But with fire breathing. But rubbish fire breathing. Should've stuck with Lordi, that was class. Ugly teenagers behind rubber masks and keyboards = instant Eurovision rapport.

Norway

Norweigan Zac Efron steals the competition with 'Fairytale'. Now ready for a career in Hollyoaks. My mum voted for him. Did yours?

Albania

Girl in tutu dances tango with potential rapist in Mystique outfit flanked by moving ventriloquist dummies. Proof if any that we need to keep a watchful eye on those developing nations.

United Kingdom

Seriously. World's most dull woman Jade sings boring song written by cheese-faced lizard Andrew Lloyd Webber. Next year's entry will probably be like Albania's entry, except with Graham Norton in the tutu. Improvement? Possible.

So, after seeing the results, my conclusion? None. My point? None. Kind of like Eurovision. What's the fucking point without Terry Wogan getting drunk and being casually racist towards the contestants? Politics broke the man. And what's Eurovision without the politics? Evidentally from this year's show, BORING.

Treading water.

2009-05-19T22:16:00.008+01:00

Who watches ITV? Anybody? No, me neither.

The only thing that really surprised me about ITV sacking a huge proportion of their staff was that they didn't do it earlier. Or just shut down. In fact, I'd go as far to say that they're trying to market ITV2 as a better channel than its terrestrial counterpart nowadays, with adverts featuring an array of money-hungry fashion victims who seemingly make programmes for free if it will guarantee them a perfume contract. Maybe that's how they're still in business.

Troubled times seem to continue, however, as it seems that their two brightest celebrities, Peter Andre and Katie Price have now split up. Christ, I didn't see that coming. Anyway, it's really put a raincloud over the ITV barbecue, seeing as Katie and Peter: Stateside is only halfway through airing, and some fear it may affect viewing figures when audiences know their 'relationship' is a sham. Then again, in my experience, I don't think it's as bad as they imagine. After all, what's more fun to do on a weekday evening than watch the crumbling relationship of two people that you wouldn't be able to promise that you wouldn't set fire to if you met them?

Peter's attempts to bring up someone else's disabled child is certainly admirable. Sadly, nobody's fooled. Not even Harvey.

So except for a bit of car crash tv, what does ITV have to offer us? Simon Cowell. Which basically equates to more car crash tv. People willing to trade in their dignity at the door to be humiliated on a stage as they try desperately to impress despite a complete lack of anything which could be described as talent. Luckily the producers had the foresight to give this show the most ironic title that could possibly be imagined: Britain's Got Talent.

So this is pretty straightforward freakshow fare, we position ourselves as the superior ones for not being on the show, taking pleasure from the deluded members of our society who will perform for us. But a few weeks ago, the oh so simple positioning of us and the performer was twisted out of shape with the arrival of Susan Boyle.

Now, those with eyes will notice that she's not the most attractive lady to grace this planet. In television talent show terms, this generally means some kind of inbreed who's decided to have a go at becoming Britain's next chart-topper. Cue hysteric laughter. But no, she ruined everything by being talented. Although, I would argue, not particularly talented, it's just the anomalous correlation of beauty vs. talent makes it necessary for everyone to herald her as some kind of musical Messiah who will take us to a higher level of appreciation for music. All bow before the singing hairy cornflake.

So, great, people have learned that music's about the music, and not the looks of the artist. Forums were filled with praise for this woman, and tabloids hyperbolised her talent. However, all struggled with the issue of actually describing the situation as was, which was: 'Oh my GOD she's so ugly yet can sing! A miracle!' Obviously, nobody wanted to say that, and this woman was somewhat of a revolution in what we thought was an established television format. An aborration, maybe. So those that praised her, got her to have a makeover.

Wow! I barely recognise her! Get that woman a recording contract, the haircut's cinched it.

Dying on their arses.

2009-04-07T21:37:00.004+01:00

We're living in a country with an atrocious education system, and not a sniff of a decent health service. Whose fault is it? Tony Blair's? 'The Economy'? The Daily Mail? Christ no, it's those damn teenagers (again).

Channel 4 has helpfully produced a programme with a not-at-all-blinkered insight into a hospital ward full of the type of louts you see stumbling around the city centre of [insert town here] on a Friday night. Not only are they drinking themselves silly and pumping their veins full of smack, they're using out hospitals to fix them so they can go out to do it all over again the following week. Thanks to 'The Hospital', we know who to squarely blame for our health crisis.

Luckily, their researchers seem to have misplaced the facts and figures about what is draining the NHS. I guess it would spoil their angle a little. Dare I say it, I think they consciously decided to omit the stuff that contradicted them. Like that the majority of alcoholics (you know, the ones that need new livers and the like) are middle-aged, middle-class adults. Nah, can't remember them mentioning that. Or that 50% of smokers die from their habit, usually needing several operations and frequent hospital care during their lifetimes? Darn, they forgot that too. Careful, soon people might start to think this educational piece of television is in some way biased.

Luckily, teenagers won't be offended by this media hyperbole, because they're too busy out drinking themselves to death and stabbing strangers in a drug-fuelled frenzy, rather than watching documentaries like this. To hell with it, let's raise those top-up fees! That'll teach the little bastards.

Nightmare.

2009-04-06T21:18:00.005+01:00

Whilst money is scarce, it appears that our British formats are fleeing to more affluent climes. It seems I can't turn over to the last bastion of decent British television that is... E4... without seeing my 'favourite' reality TV shows suffixed with 'US'. This, to me, a guarantee that they'll be even lower brow than they were before.

We have a full-scale national crisis on our hands. That is, that Gordon Ramsay will not stop until his name (and scarred, melted Stilton-like face) is on every TV show, book, game, CD and bottle of gin in the country. And abroad. Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares USA is in its second season, and is showing no signs of stopping. Fortunately for those who enjoy watching it, the participants seem to prioritise the thrill of an hour on telly over their own livelihoods, especially when taking into account that 50% of the restaurants shut down less than a year after Ramsay took his sweaty ham fists to their businesses.

It's arguable as to what is being achieved in each episode anyway. If you squint hard enough and press the pause button at the right moment, you'll notice that:

'Someoralloftheguestsfeaturedmayormaynothavebeenpaidtoeatatthefeatured
restaurantandtheshowmayormaynothavebeeneditedtogetherinacompletely
differentordertothatinwhichitwasfilmed.'

So, in short. The entire episode was fictional. Do you feel robbed? I can understand how many hearts went out to the restaurant manager with 'daddy wasn't there' issues. Luckily they solved it with a Rocky-esque montage. Forget the food. Teach that man to box.

Speaking of which, do they cook? Actually, I can't remember. Maybe that's where they're going wrong.

Bring on the freakshow.

2009-03-30T18:10:00.008+01:00

I foresee many weeks of trashy television ahead. It seems that if we're no longer satisfied by endless panel shows and cheap reality TV, we should all just get lost and watch something else. Like programmes about freaks, thinly veiled by the documentary format, fooling us into thinking we've moved on from the Victorian freakshow.

We have Channel 4 to thank for our endless stream of educational heart-wrenching documentaries about people battling with rare diseases, disabilities and health conditions. How lucky we are that this education is also extremely funny. They call it 'extreme biology'. I prefer to think of it as television giving us the ability to stare at those we wouldn't be able to in the street.

For those in doubt, switch over to Five and see the same poor bastards, but with a less sensitive title and a rendition of "Yakety Sax" set to a narcoleptic trying to climb a staircase. Case in point, a programme documenting the struggle of a teenager suffering with hypertrichosis; the title being "It's Not Easy Being a Wolf Boy".

Kudos to Five, at least they're honest.

Channel 4, on the other hand, seem more concerned with meeting their public service output standards. They have the upper hand when it comes to this sort of thing. After all, who is going to write to Ofcom saying that they found this week's freak too funny? The only people who don't watch these types of things for entertainment are the ones who are lying. There's a limit, however, and C4 leaves that to Five, who are more than happy to stick "I Gave Birth to a Mummy" into their schedule. Not before "Extreme Fishing with Robson Green", though. That goes without saying.

Fat people are easier to make documentaries about. There's less of a problem with poking fun at obesity. After all, it's almost always self-induced, and even if it isn't, we assume these people are liars. Editors seem to have a great amount of fun when piecing together a documentary about fat people. There seems to be a textbook equation for the genre (which can be succinctly described as the 'ChubDoc'); leave the swimming pool underwater shot in. Make sure their rolls of flab are rolling as they cry, to destroy all credibility in what they're saying. Film them eating as much as possible. If they look like whining porkers, job done.

If that fails, get Gok Wan in to tell them they're going to die (and so he'll probably be the last person they see). That'd be enough to put anyone off their chips.