Five Things I Love About The BBC

I am a little bit on my high horse this week and telling jokes from such a beast is particularly difficult so please excuse the dry nature of this post.

This week there has been a lot of debate about cuts that the BBC face mainly due to the unique way in which it is funded. The Murdoch media seem to want rid of the BBC sighting reasons of competition. This could be an extremely persuasive argument but for the fact that I am choosing to stick my fingers in my ears for two reasons: One, my extremely limited understanding of economics and two, my belief that the Great British public occasionally need to be treated like a hyperactive toddler reaching for a fist full of lolly pops. Let loose in the sweet shop I believe that commercial TV would quickly pander to the lowest common denominator leaving us with hundreds of channels chock full of reality TV reruns and sham docu-soaps.

The BBC does things that no other commercial broadcaster would do. Why wouldn't any other broadcaster do these things? Simple, they would lose money. I am talking about programs that are either so extortionately expensive to make or programs that cater to such a specialist audience that no advertiser would touch it with a sterilised government issued socialist barge poll. Here are five things that I love about the BBC and you should too.


1. News Coverage at home and abroad.

The news coverage provided by the BBC is world famous for its quality and reliability. There is no reason that commercial news channels shouldn't be able to match this quality but I am always far more suspicious of hidden agenda's buried within the stories of ITN and SKY. That being said the BBC isn't exactly a bastion of unbiased opinion. It does sometimes lean shamelessly to the left and its science reporting on magazine style news shows is often as suspect as its competitors but overall there is a quality about the BBC not replicated elsewhere. To sum up its news coverage I would simply say “I Trust The BBC.”

2. It's British

We British like to think of ourselves as being a complicated bunch, in fact we like to flatter ourselves into thinking that we are one of the most complicated nations on earth. This is unquestionably untrue and smacks of an anti-Copurnicus attitude steaming from times of Empire. However, untrue as it may be this is the spirit of our nation and the BBC captures it perfectly with Snog Marry Avoid on BBC3, QI on BBC 2, Eastenders on BBC 1 Behind the Scenes at the Museum on BBC 4 and Pincidh Dincidh Du on BBC Alba. the last of these channels producing programming that is only comprehensible to 0.5% of 61 million people. Even an advertiser that specialises in producing whiskey filtered through haggis flavoured kilts wouldn't support BBC Alba yet it exists. Because of the way that the BBC is funded it can cater to these audiences that would otherwise be totally neglected.

3. Live Music Programming

When the BBC record a live band it sounds amazing. Always and without exception. Years of know how, quality equipment and the best engineers have made television and radio broadcasts of live music on the BBC simply the best.

4. Documentaries

The BBC's nature and science documentaries are exported all over the world because they are brilliant. The BBC would be able to continue its flagship natural history documentaries due to these sales even if funding was cut entirely. What they wouldn't be able to do would be to continue in the production of the niche and obscure documentaries that just this week have covered subjects as diverse as quantum physics, the social history of the sitcom, an in-depth look at the process of putting on a ballet, the beauty of diagrams, the history of the working classes, medieval religious architecture the blues and farming to name just a few. The BBC gives us British the option to be better educated and expand our horizon and our sphere of knowledge to places that only a university education might otherwise have taken us.

5. Radio Four

It's mental. Turn it on right now. I bet you learn something. Or hear something odd or something funny or engaging or incomprehensible. Go on do it. Start listening to it in your car and the quality of your chat will improve by at least 50% that isn't an opinion that is a cold hard untested scientific fact.

I'm on holiday next week but your normal program of low brow poo slinging will resume shortly.

Wonders of the Depravity of Reality Tv Producers.

I'm back! What do you mean was I gone? I've been gone for weeks and your saying that you didn't even notice that I was away! Well that's just fine! No I mean it. Fine! To make up for my being away for so long this post was going to be epic. It was going to make you laugh and then cry. It was going to contain a nipple slip and a clip of a symphony that I have composed made up entirely of brown notes and notes oscillating at a frequency that would tickle you pleasure centre like a dildo covered in sexy ants. And only then, after your cacophony of shitting ecstasy, would you get a pissey review of a film with which to remind your selves how lost you were without my guidance.

But seeing as though you have barely noticed my being away (I have web statistics as evidence) I will proceed straight on to the reviews with none of the aforementioned grandstanding.

TV is awful at the moment. Usually I have around four shows with which I try to keep up with but at the moment that number is down to just one, that being the reintroduction of Prof Brian Cox and his wonders of the universe. The wonder of wonders is the wonderful way in which it avoids dumbing down. Brian Cox stands behind you coaxing you along “come on, you can do this, I know it's hard but trust me, stick with it look, see, you do get it you cleaver bastard. Now go down to the pub and talk about the reverse entropy involved in downing a pint. Go on your friends will love you for it.”

At the other end of the scale there has been a slightly worrying trend in reality competition TV. That being the inclusion of additional elements into the mix making shows all the more convoluted and often sinister. In the early days of reality TV we had shows like Airport. Where we followed the lives of those working in the airport. There were no winners, no losers, the show took a loose documentary format and became what was termed a docusoap. Were that to be broadcast now the passengers on the plane would probably vote on the quality of trolley dolly service with the winner receiving a book deal and a meals on wheels franchise and the looser being ejected from the plane some where over Greenland.

This week my attention was drawn towards a frankly frightening program broadcast some where deep in the realms of Sky TV. I am going to outline the concept of the program, but you wont believe me. You are probably going to think that I have ripped off a joke from Allan Partrige or Jack Donaghy, but I haven't. It is true, every word of it.

The Show is called Bridalplasty and it combines elements from The Generation Game, America's Next Top Model, Big Brother, The Apprentice, Extreme Make Over, Amazon DOT com and The Book of Revelation. Brides to be live together in a house and vote weekly to get rid of the other brides until one remains and is declared the winner. So far, so standard. This is where it starts to get what can only be described as 'fucked up.' Each of the 'brides to be' has a grizzly 'wish list' of plastic surgery. These typically contain nose jobs, boob enlargements, tummy tucks, face lifts and other stuff that I don't know about nor care to discuss. Each week there are a series of generation game style challenges, the episode I was subjected to had quite a quaint game in which the brides were presented with two of various foods associated with weddings, one of which was of a premium variety and the other was from a dollar store with a little extra ingredient such as compost in the cake. The brides would then have to successfully identify the quality product. Imagine this on Bruce Forsyth's generation game and you will see smiles and gentle encouragement from the host and fellow contestants alike. Not so on Bridalplasty! The host berates the contestants and keeps asserting that the purpose of the game (or test as she refers to it) is to determine who is the classiest and who is trash. Footage of the game is intersected by cut-aways of contestants bad mouthing each other in interviews recorded after the event. The winner of the competition becomes top bride for the week is whisked away to have her surgery and can't be voted out that week. Later she is returned to the house to stay in the recovery room (usually looking something like Frankenstein's monster, cue more bitching). Then some kind of vote takes place and one bride is eliminated. In the long run those eliminated early are unquestioningly the winner as they get to return to their fiancé unscathed by surgery.

I don't think the show requires a review the above description will suffice.

Don't have nightmares.

I should be talking about the Oscars I really should...But I'm not.

I could and probably should be blogging about the Oscar nominations and the strange absence of Chris Nolan from the best director category. I could, should but won’t. I will save this discussion for Oscars night.

Instead I am going to bore you with a favourite topic of mine, the infantilization and anti-intellectual prevalence of those programmes lauded by ITV. The looking glass for this post being this year’s British Television Awards.

Let us cast a casual eye over some of the categories, have a moan and maybe even suggest our own less popularist winners. (I have actually started this post without looking at either the winners or the nominees, poor journalism I know but I work for a company that prints the Daily Mail so I think some of its journalistic rigour has rubbed off on me… And now I have had a look at the nominations and the list is massive so I will instead just focus on the winners.)

Serial Drama: Eastenders

So the award went to the misery porn that is Eastenders. Apparently those in the know at the Olympic committee settled on London for 2012 after being locked in a room and subjected to the ‘enders. They then decided that London needed something to smile about so gave them the Olympics, little did they know that the Eastenders misery would spread to Coronation Street and Emmerdale this year and we would be now planning for a budget games with such events as pushing in the dole queue and hunting tax avoiders on hijacked horse back.

I declare the alternative winner for this category to be… Reading. Each day the TV is taken over by soaps for about 75% of the evening this is the perfect time to pick up a book, or to pick your nose or an STD or pretty much anything other than to watch telly.

Drama: Waterloo Road.

Watching Waterloo Road is like watching a greatest hits compilation of actors from the bill (RIP)and other long running soaps. Surely Being Human or Downtown Abby would have been more expected/deserving winners. But looking down the list cinematography and script really aren’t top of the criteria for whoever was voting.

Comedy Programme: Benidorm

Was this on again? I do quite like it when I sit down to watch it but not enough to regularly make time in my busy days. The stereotype of a Brit abroad does seem a little tired, that is until you visit Benidorm or where ever the middle aged hang out to eat steak and ale pie in 30 degree heat. Personally this year I would have given the award to The Inbetweeners for their three solid series of tongue in cheek cringe a minute humour. The Inbetweeners did win the digital choice award but I’m not entirely sure what that is.

Entertainment Presenter: Ant and Dec

My winner for this would have been an equally popular choice. I would have gone with Mr Dermot O’Leary whose sly knowing looks and wink and a nod charm showed intelligence above the format of and history of X-Factor. Ant and Dec are starting to look a little old and a little tired and for the life of me I don’t know why they are still so loved. What exactly do they do? How much of their scripts do they write? Do they act, sing, dance or do anything other than read half-heartedly off an auto cue and giggle to one another as they have another year spared the final celebrity indignity of appearing on the stinky side of the I’m a celebrity divide.

And Finally… Best Factual Programme: Top Gear.

What the fuck. It was clearly The History of Horror with Mark Gatiss, end of discussion.

Episode Featuring A Planet of Quite Interesting Prospective House Wives

All of the sport in the world seemed to be happening this weekend. But, if like me you only have basic cable then the only spot that you could feast upon was the snooker. Snooker when placed alongside the plethora of steak and caviar on offer this weekend definitely looks like the Iceland own brand party pack of vol-au-vents that the cheap skate brought to the dinner party as their ‘pot luck.’

So bereft of sporting options, the rain lashing down outside and with no one to visit the cinema with I settled down to see what the BBC iplayer had to offer.

QI is the programme which in my opinion sparks more pub debate than any other programme. Though it can be tedious to listen to someone regurgitate verbatim some interesting fact or anecdote they saw on the show to be that fella is never dull. QI is without a doubt my favourite long running TV show. The show started humble and without any fan-fayre and over the years it has changed nothing. This further endears the programme to those who were fans from the start and the new fans who can watch the incessant feed on Dave. Flicking between Dave and Dave + 1 to observe Stephen Fry’s yo-yo weight is worth a laugh once before you realise that one should never laugh at Stephen Fry only with him. The anti-intellectualism of many of the channels means that QI is a programme that could only have been conceived for the BBC. Watch it here http://goo.gl/lUvO3

Next on my bedroom TV marathon was Episodes. Episodes is a new sit-com starring Matt Le Blanc (yes him from Joey and a little watched spin off called Chums), Stephan Mangan (I most recently watched him in a version of Douglas Adams’ Dirk Gently) and Tamsin Greig (You know the one who was in Black Books). The eclectic cast isn’t even the most interesting thing about this project that honour falls to the distribution. The show is being shown in both America and the UK at the same time.

The show follows an award winning British husband and wife writing team who have their show commissioned ‘to be made for an American audience’ with the kind of consequences that often come about when such a thing is attempted. I’m going to hold off making a judgement about this one until we are a little further down the line but the transatlantic mix of cast and humour gives the show a really interesting dynamic and I have high hopes. Watch it here http://goo.gl/lnSLe.

Human Planet is yet another fantastic BBC natural world documentary but with us knuckle dragging humans as the subject matter. The show really is amazing in both its visuals and the stories that it tells. As has become the tradition with BBC documentaries there is a little ten minute documentary extra at the end which only serves to add further colour to the show. Get yourself a cup of coffee turn up the speakers and watch in awe http://goo.gl/y7OVG

Now over to ITV where, after the horrors of ‘Take Me Out’ Dinner Date has come into my sphere of awareness, doing so in the manner of an ill kept fart on a crowded public bus in the height of summer. It really is a stinker with gender politics taken straight from the 60’s, the 1860’s. I am now going to describe the premise of the show, no jokes, no exaggerations just the premise. The review will then end and you can draw your own conclusion whist I go and research the history of feminism just to check that I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. So, a young man (usually of the nicely mannered rugby playing meat head variety) is presented with five menus which have been prepared by five hopeful ladies. The man, we will call him Harry, then picks three of the menus to be cooked for him by the hopeful ladies (at their houses) in a blind date style. After Harry has been cooked for and cleaned up after by all three of the dates he then gets to choose his favourite to take out to a restaurant. The ladies also rate the man out of three after he has attended their date but this doesn’t have any effect on anything other than to allow the programme makers to claim that the opinions of female participants were taken into account.

Magic Catch Phrases and Polar Bears

It is true to say that I don’t watch a great deal of ITV. This is for three reasons. Firstly, I don’t have any children. Secondly, I am in full control of most of my mental facilities and finally I don’t give a shit about Coronation Street which seems to be at least a quarter of their output. However every so often you have to go back and try something, just because you didn’t like it in the past doesn’t mean that things haven’t changed. Your tastes may have developed (who likes their first sip of wine or taste of olives?) the product may have changed (Channel Five no longer shows erotic thrillers on Friday nights and Huba Buba isn’t made of Whales) or you may have just been wrong about something the first time you saw it (Chris Jefferies…too soon?). With this is mind I have watched not one but two ITV prime time shows each achieving varying degrees of success.

Fool Me

If you had asked me a few weeks ago if there were any ‘magic’ programmes on television I would have said no and I don’t see a comeback for the genre any time soon. However both the BBC and ITV must have spoken to the same focus group (how do you get onto a focus group?). What came from these groups (or group) was a keen desire for Magic shows on TV and to have them hosted by past it presenters. Fool Me is what ITV came out with. Making use of Jonathan Ross and Pen and Teller the magicians of Great Britain come out and perform their best trick to Pen and Teller who then try to cryptically describe how the trick was achieved. If they are unsuccessful in doing so then the acts that fool them get to go off to Las Vegas to open a show. Think of it like Jonathan Creek but without a murder or anyone punching a tramp neither of which would be appropriate on this show.

Depending on the success of having someone who plays a mute as a judge maybe the idea could be extended to Luis Walsh who could judge the x-factor in a gimp mask and gag. All in all the programme was very entertaining and gave some very talented magicians a chance to show off their talents without having to be in the same room as Simon Cowell.

Take Me Out

Let us get straight into the important issues with no dallying about. Who the fuck told Paddy Mcguinness that “No Likey, No Lighty,” was a catch phrase that was of sufficient quality to appear on British TV or to be even uttered in the English language. Just having written this napkin scrawl of a swollen fuck wit’s half idea on this page is annoying me. Even lines away from where it appeared my attention is drawn to it by the red squiggly lines that are the curse of the illiterate. I will not however let my slight OCD tendencies win on this issue and I will not be adding these words to the dictionary gifting it the legitimacy of appearing as equal with the real words of the English language.

For those who aren’t aware of the premise of the show Paddy Mcguinness (off of the back of being mates with Peter Kay and marrying a model fifteen years younger than him) is the ring leader of the ‘flirty thirty.’ Some fella is brought out and the ladies giggle, wink and pout to within an inch of their lives each trying to look more like a sex crazed cartoon adolescent than the previous. The ‘lucky fella’ (although I would say there are rarely any winners in this show) is then judged worthy or otherwise by the ladies, he shows off a ‘talent’ which in some cases can be as amazing as being quite tall or looking a little like someone famous. Finally the power goes back to the man who gets to cast an eye over each of the ladies like a butcher at a meat market before deciding which one he is going to take out on a date.

I could look at some quite questionable gender politics here but I am not a good rider and that horse is a really high one to attempt humour from.

Spy on the Ice

Flamingo Land in Yorkshire used to be home to a Polar bear, it didn’t do much. In fact it looked so sad in its white painted concrete prison that my mum stopped walking us through that side of the zoo. When I saw that the BBC was showing a documentary about the hapless creatures I wondered how interesting they could be. The answer was very. “Polar Bear: Spy on The Ice” achieved what the BBC do so well: that perfect balance of informative footage, narration, a slight anthropomorphism of the subject and moments that just make you go awww. With Mr. Attenborough hanging up his microphone and empire hat the race is on to find the next king of the wildlife documentary and the throne has a number of suitors. Leading the pack are David Tennant and Stephen Fry. I have now seen quality documentaries narrated by them both and I have complete faith that either one of them will continue to keep BBC wildlife documentaries as the source of worldwide envy that they deserve to be.

The TV schedules are a little thin at the moment but if you have spotted something that I haven’t then please let me know and I will give it a watch and spew forth my unwelcome opinions.

Christmas TV and all the Trimmings

Ah Television, the saviour of Christmas. The well welcomed distraction from conversation, the cause of argument, the void into which we can stare as we pretend that we didn’t all just hear Grandma fart, the preoccupation that allows for all the beer to be drunk, all the Bailies to be consumed and quality streets to be mindlessly munched without any of the judgements that would be passed on any other day of the year. Is it co-incidence that John Logie Baird, the father of television was himself born like Christ on Christmas Day? Co-incidence? I think not! For those fact watchers amongst you this is a lie but my point stands.

When the Christmas schedules came out there was much condemnation from the tabloids who went ahead and ran their usual “it’s just a load of repeats” stories, predictably targeting their anger at the BBC. I’m not entirely sure what they were after Christmas really isn’t the time for avant-garde television for a number of reasons. One you will inevitably be drunk, Two, you will be talking over it, Three, you will be leaving the room to top up on crackers and posh cheese, Four, If the annual family argument erupts during the program and you are not centrally involved then you need to be able to follow both the argument and the accompanying program. Five, it needs to be snooze proof and must be therefore something so simple that a farmyard animal can follow or a repeat so you can fill in the food coma induced gaps with the memories of last Christmas. It is with this in mind that I don’t have any complaints with the Christmas scheduling except from that old bird spraffing on about sport that was frankly condescending in the extreme.

As always a great deal of this Christmas was given over to the soaps and come boxing day I found myself summarising plot points to family members who must have been napping through previous episodes. I was then asked how I knew so much about what was going on. Having not consciously watched any of the soaps I could only offer cultural osmosis as a rather scary hypothesis for my knowledge. In summery there was a lot of shouting, hair pulling, some guy living in a conservatory, some lass stabbing herself and no one having a particularly merry Christmas.

Channel Four was born to be the channel of the contrarian. It has been living up to this remit less and less of late so it was nice to see that the (once) controversial sit-com Peep Show dominated their Christmas Eve output. Easily missed documentaries gave way to the first Peep Show Christmas special and three ‘best ever’ episodes as chosen by ‘the great British public’ who, if this selection is to be extrapolated from love magic mushrooms and pissing in church. For me the genius of Peep Show is how the characters lead each other from the safe and mundane to the ridicules in so few steps that we could conceivably with only a few poor decisions find ourselves with the making of an episode. For Mark this year Christmas started with the family coming round and ended in the exiting of his Girlfriend, the breaking of a patriarchy and the shredding of a Christmas dinner. To describe the Christmas episode as being a parody of the soaps would be unfair to both as, if played straight, the script could be almost identical to the story lines of the Soap Trinity.

Other noticeable comedy came from the Royle Family whose characters are so enduring that we are more than happy to jump back into their lives once a year for a catch up and Just William which proved to be the turkey in this year’s selection box raising only a brief smile before being turned off mid flow. However I hope this doesn’t affect the progress of the show’s star Daniel Roche who was as excellent in this as in his previous role in Out Numbered.



The final stop of this festive fist of fudge fumble through the Christmas schedule is Top of The Pops. Thank God that the BBC resisted the advances of Mr. Cowell. Yes the show looks frankly a bit cheap when measured against shows such as the x-factor results shows but its classic format and the earnestness and excitability of those that come to perform on what they still class as an institution makes its once a year outing a real treat. Cee Loo Green, Elle Golding, Katy Perry, Plan B and Coldplay were all really great as was Jason Derulo’s wardrobe when he appeared looking like a black Freddie Krueger had fallen into the Tron machine.

I did also intend to include in this post the conclusion of all the reality TV shows that had their finals in the lead up to Christmas but as is the nature of these things who still cares? Not I. For when I tried to recall the name of the winner of X-Factor (let alone the runner up) I found myself heading to Google, a sure sign not to bother if you ask me.

I hope you all had a Happy Christmas and I will be back on a more regular footing come the New Year.

All The Best,

Matt Baker Mates His Sheep, One Direction Are Ploughed Down By Ann Widdecombe who is Being Hunted By Hounds

It’s the weekend, it’s way past pay day, it’s snowing like a “muva fuker” outside (or so I am reliably informed by my brother’s facebook status.) the result of the aforementioned being that it has been a weekend of intense TV viewing. All those jolly festive songs fail to sum up how tedious this can be.

The weather outside is frightful,
The TV is so inviting,
And Since we’ve no place to go,
We can watch a drawn out results show.

This week someone sneezed in the direction of Casa de X-Factor causing all contestants to be struck down by what is known in the biz as the snivels. Boo Fucking Hoo! I’m not saying that people shouldn’t moan about getting a cold. It’s fucking awful and the only way to find happiness in such a situation is to spread your misery by telling people how shitty you feel. BUT there has to be a line drawn somewhere and using ITV as your germy, moaning, woe is me mouth piece has to be crossing that line.

One Direction (who must surely now be the favourites to win this year) performed chasing cars which was fitting for a band made up of five lads who look like puppies. But we all know what happens when you let puppies play on the road, accidents happen and this week’s accident happened over on the BBC where Ann Widdecombe (of backward bigotry fame) got voted off, meaning that the British viewing public will no longer have the option of seeing a graceless homophobe being dragged around a dance floor by a man with presumably enough gay friends to warrant dropping her on her noggin.

Sunday, that was cold. So cold that I watched countryfile. Which always reminds me of Sunday visits to my Gran's, where we would be shushed whilst the weather was on so she could concentrate on the taking of copious notes. She would then consult this book to check the weather for anyone professing an interest in visiting her during the next week. She is a bit of an odd lady but bloody organised, may I suggest a role for her in government, transport secretary perhaps or snow tsar.

This weeks countryfile consisted of twinkle toes Durham darling Matt Baker mating his sheep and spreading his hay. So far so countryside. Next was hunting with blood hounds, sounds controversial? yes? Well not to worry they dodged this bullet by hunting a woman. So, not controversial atall you see.

Next week will be the jumbo x-factor results post Ooo I bet you can hardly wait.

Take Away Those Children In Need

Children in Need, X Factor, The Trip



Children in Need (It’s Charity/10)
When I was wee my family always had a Children in Need/Red Nose Day tradition that I have carried on, but now that I am older and more cynical it really isn’t that nice and I don’t want you to judge me for it.

We order take away!

We sit in our warm house and gorge ourselves on the best of grease in a box and watch those hungry unfortunate blighters until we feel bloated and guilty enough to donate. Just a couple of quid mind, not the value of the take away we couldn’t possibly afford that.

But we shouldn’t let cynicism effect traditions, just ask the pope.

If it makes you think better of me this year’s takeaway was pretty poor. We were staying in the countryside you see and the problem with ordering ethnic food in the country side is that there is no one from a relevant ethnicity to cook it. The only Indian that I have seen in the town is an accountant and I am reliably informed it would be counter to good race relations to expect him to be able to cook a curry let alone deliver it. When I once raised the lack of ethnic diversity it was pointed out to me that a gentleman on a neighbouring farm had started breeding alpaca, so I guess things are improving.

Anyway back to the Idiot Box:

This year’s award for the most genuinely amusing skit goes to Coronation Street and Eastender’s who offered up not their usual tongue in cheek musical number but a mini sit-com which saw the inhabitants of aforementioned areas partaking in a cultural exchange. Highlights included an Asian off between the two soaps Indian families, (think goodness gracious me in reverse) and one up man ship between Gail ‘the Gerbil’ Platt and her Eastender’s counterpart on the subject of who married the biggest psychopath.

The news casters put in their usual amount of effort, but it was disappointing to see the male newsreaders take a backseat to the girls. Has Jeremy Paxman ever partaken in a musical number? I would personally donate very generously to see him singing a song of disproportionate joy to his personality.

X Factor 5/10

X-Factor exposed two things this week the first being the train of stupid that is Cheryl Cole and the genuine (as opposed to pantomime) nastiness of Simon Cowell.
Following Wagner’s performance Cheryl Cole decided to unleash some rehearsed fury on Wagner sighting some remarks that he had made to a journalist about her being from a council estate. Whilst this wasn’t the time and the place for grievance to be aired Wagner handled it brilliantly pointing out the unreliability of the British media and talking about her as a role model in glowing terms.

On a separate note they have obviously decided to continue to mispronounce Wagner’s name as some kind of joke, not only is this unbelievably rude it also makes them all look rather stupid as Wagner isn’t exactly an uncommon pronunciation. World famous composer, anyone? I don’t think that even the most ignorant of the panel isn’t aware of this.

Cheryl Cole, the ‘mentor’ of Cher Lloyd (you know the one who raps a bit and was looking slightly relevant at the start of the show). We were led to believe that this week John Lennon’s Imagine was chosen for her to sing by Cheryl, we were also led to believe that Cheryl (as we are with all the mentors) chose the cleaver spiral stair case staging. For those of you who didn’t know a spiral staircase was pertinent as it was modelled on that of the Bank St apartment shared by John and Yoko. Mr. Cowell clearly was aware of this and pressed Cheryl on her reasons for making the choice knowing full well that the choice hadn’t been hers and that she was clueless about its relevance but also knowing that she had to act as though the decision was entirely hers. For anyone still under any illusions that ‘mentors’ actually play much of a role I think this is some more evidence to contradict that script.

The Trip 4/10

I’ve decided. I don’t like it that much. The melancholy drama is genius but the improvised dialogue in the restaurants gets a little tedious.
I’m going to see Harry Potter tonight… Just so you know…

Like Chucklevision with swearing or The Taming of the Shrew with jokes about buzzing off caffeine

The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Todd Margaret (More4) 7/10

New Look, be the trend… Not from what I have seen of the place and put them clothes back on sharpish you nympho lynx shoppers and you Mr. Lenny Mole Face pick up the pace, play the song how we want to hear it and don’t try telling me you actually like the equivalent of Michael Bubble in French beverage form. I’m watching The Increasingly Poor Decisions of some bloke on 4od so have to sit through the adverts. Skip on through them you think, wield your mouse of power. Not on your nelly! The crafty buggers at channel four have put a stop to this flippant disrespect for the craft of the ad man unless of course you’re watching it on Virgin in which case please skip away. Richard Branson pays schools of African children to watch the ads so you don’t have to. Good to know your rocketing subscription fee is going somewhere, eh.



Anyway fuck up shut tard, here we go with the TV review.

The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Todd Margaret… Really already, fuck of Mr Cluny I don’t want one of your la de dar coffee’s nor do I require a monkey sim…At least I don’t think I do, though I’m not entirely sure what it is. It may be integral in some way not known to me, though I doubt it… … … Yes definitely not necessary…And the program is back on. Where was I? The increasingly poor decisions of Todd Margaret is a frolic of a sit-com starring and co-written by arrested development’s (which, by the way if you haven’t seen you should) David Cross.

The set-up is willingly and so obviously contrived but forgivably so in what is essentially a farce (think Chucklevision with swearing or The Taming of the Shrew with jokes about buzzing off caffeine). I will issue you a consumer warning at this point: If you see the first few minutes and think “er what the fuck! I’m not watching this shit,” then go with your instincts, this good sir isn’t going to be for you. What follows is twenty minutes of falling over, foot in your mouth humour and the building of a house of shit made with sloppy bricks of stinking lies that you know will tumble sometime soon.

Fish out of water humour along with some satirical elements are sprinkled like lucky charm’s marshmallows over the episode and clocking in at just over twenty minutes I won’t have a problem tuning in next week as for the rest of the series, we shall see.

As is de rigueur a quick opinion on the X Factor: This week I don’t even care enough to be snide about it. That is all, Au revoir.

A Partridge Taster Menu with Extra Cock au D'Affaires

The Apprentice 7/10
Alan Partridge: Mid Morning Matters 8/10
The Trip ???



So this is a little bit late (again), but I don’t care and neither should you. We all have lives away from the internet. Get off my back will you, you’re not my boss. Just fuck off. I’ve brought more to this team than anyone. I have given 110%, alright. I have worked my arse off since moment one, I really am the best person for this job and I have so much more to give.

You may have guessed that ‘The Apprentice’ is on again and whilst still enjoyable it does seem to have moved yet further away from its original concept. The early series would pit savvy decision makers against salesmen and strategists. The most recent series cast Nobs against Cocks and like in any fencing contest between two baloney ponies all participants end up looking stupid once the event has been edited and broadcast stressing not the sporting intention of the contest but frankly making the whole thing look a little bit gay.
Contestants this year are on the whole conforming to the following statements: Arrogance over Ability and Rhetoric over Action. Which, if any of the producers had done the maths they would have seen the result:

Ability=a= 4
Arrogance=g= 77344
Rhetoric=r= 1740240
Action=n= 45
(g/a)+(r/n) = (77344/4)+(1740240/45)=58008
Now turn the calculator upside down, and there you have it Boobs.

All the same humongous dicks are funny to watch although when we are honest we are all glad we don’t have one to work with (titter).

Last week saw the internet return of Mr Allan Partridge. Sadly Mr Coogan couldn’t be cajoled into another series featuring the hapless chat show host (or thankfully a film) wanting to instead cast off the character and move into film. However the money must have been right from Fosters who have sponsored a series of ten minute shorts from Partridge’s 'show' on North Norfolk Radio. It is basically all the best bits of foot in mouth fun without the narrative drama that accompanied the series. The quite brilliant Tim Key makes an appearance in this first episode and all in all the show provides a great coffee time chortle. The choice of format is interesting and I wait to see if it is judged to be a success.
Watch it here and drink some bland Australian beer http://goo.gl.n23cZ

Also Coogan was out and about on the telly with Rob Brydon in Episode Two of The Trip (Directed by no less than Michael Winterbottom). I still don’t know what to say. It is one of those comedies that you don’t laugh at and is therefore difficult to talk about. I have decided that I like it… Other than that I really don’t know. Feel free to contribute your own feelings on this one. I may actually write a proper review of it one day…

A Horror History X Factor Trip

X Factor 3/10
A History of Horror 9/10
The Trip ?/10

Simon Cowell’s personality is a vacuous cavern so deep that it is playing havoc with the studio’s acoustics. Either that or the sound engineers only previous experience working with microphones was at the karaoke night in a Mcloed Gauge, “More echo Frank, you really need it to create an atmosphere in here.” (Oh yes I did. That was a Joke that requires knowledge of historic lab equipment used in the study of Vacuums, big up to the chuckling geeks.) But really what the fuck is going on with that echo. This week there was only the one outstanding performance, that of Rebecca Fergusson who oozed class although the fawning over Cher Lloyds performance from Simon Cowell suggested that he has picked his winner. However, I believe that Satin’s geometric haired smug monkey was more pleased with the fact that Cher will toe the line than with anything relating to her stretched vocals.

A warning to those who found this review by googling something relating to the X-Factor I am now going to talk about a documentary shown on BBC4. If you are one of the aforementioned go on find BBC4 on your telly you might learn something… Mark Gatiss (of league of Gentlemen fame) has produced what can only be described as a wonderful three part documentary series in which he looks at the three golden ages of Horror cinema (Fuck off Eli Roth you’re not invited). All his enthusiasm for the subject comes across without him going all Louis Theroux with the interviews. If you are quick you can still catch it on iplayer along with a few of the films discussed in full. I wouldn’t usually advise such unwholesome viewing but watch the documentary first and it all the guts and gore seems somewhat justified.

Here’s one to watch. The Trip is a sit-com starring Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon. Playing themselves the pair go on a road trip together to review a restaurants in ‘The North.’ Just one episode into the series and I am withholding judgement until I have seen some more. I advise you tune in just in case you are missing something special, so far it could go either way.

Do you have the X Factor? No but I do have a massive wang.

The Inbetweeners Series Three 8/10
The X Factor 6/10

This week’s TV digest will focus on some nobs acting like pricks and some dicks singing in front of a panel of golden wangs. In honour of one (or both) of these programs it may also contain one or two phallic references.

So let us get started with the Inbetweeners. For those of you who don’t know the Inbetweeners follows some ‘typical’ teenage boys (typical in that they are colossal wankers) and is written by at least one of the brains that brought us ‘Flight of the Conchords.’ Will, a socially awkward geek has to transfer from a private school to the local comprehensive to complete his A-levels. There he is befriended by three misfits: lovable but easily led Simon, brash and boastful Jay and Neil who is as thick as two short planktons. Series Three finds the quartet in the upper sixth and still pre-occupied by the holy trinity of booze, parties and ‘clunge’ (a new word for me but one that apparently refers to a vagina as in the phrase “Balls deep in clunge.”)

I am so ashamed that I like this program that was I to be watching it in your presence I wouldn’t laugh, quite the opposite. I would dig my nails (specially grown for the occasion, you didn’t just drop in) into my thighs and think of Gordon Brown speaking on fiscal prudence instead of letting you know which nob joke or teenage sexual fallacy I found so amusing. I have to admit that the show does parallel some of my school experience (although the characters do seem to be a little old for some of their behaviour) I certainly met a Neil and the Jay character can be found in all schools private or comprehensive. In honour of Jay I will leave this section with my top three sex boasts that I remember hearing at school:

3. “Yeah we do all sorts, last night she tit wanked in front of me.” It turned out he believed a ‘tit wank’ was when a girl QUOTE: “Wanks her nipple till milk comes out.”
2. I had sex at the top of the Eiffel Tower with a French girl I met in the lift. I don’t have her name or number because she didn’t speak English.
1. I broke my wrist when I was fingering a bird on the bus and it hit a bump.

Now that we have dealt with that filth let us move on to the glitter infused, self-congratulatory public stooge fest that is the X Factor.

The X Factor is currently in that awkward phase of the program where most of the nutters have been weeded out but the field still stinks of mediocrity. Few of us in the public have much invested in any of the acts and at this point we can all pick out at least five contestants who will be making their way to the openings of grim shopping centres over the next five weeks or so. Yet we watch. This weekend’s shows offered the following highlights:

• The Arctic Monkey’s arrangement of ‘Diamonds are Forever’ being dragged out from somewhere.
• Katie singing a song from the jungle book.
• Rebecca Fergusson appearing with what appeared to be her abscess twin attached to her hip.

I would like to comment on one final thing, the length of the program. Where the hell is all the extra content coming from? The format certainly hasn’t changed. I have a theory; let us look at the Cream egg: 1.They are definitely getting smaller each year. 2. You can’t destroy or create energy. Conclusion: that bastard Simon Cowell is shrinking our cream eggs and using the left over energy to make the X factor longer than ever.

Tut tut Simon Tut tut.