Month: July 2007

As we all know in the UK there’s nothing on telly these days but soap operas and reality programs. Sorry I forgot about the gritty police dramas that exist purely to give older, under appreciated stars a bit more coverage.

Rather than hark back to the old days of variety (whether that be literally by bring back old 70s comedians and men with puppets or figuratively in terms of challenging drama and frankly just brining back James Burke) I feel we should just take it to next level.

Let’s start making programmes where we try and fix the damage done by reality TV in the first place. House made over by GCSE qualified idiots who think bedrooms should look like brothels? Let’s film it being done over by people who care about interiors, know what real wood looks like and don’t have a crushingly tight deadline.

Appeared on big brother? How about a show that treats you how to develop a TV personality or maybe a photo shoot that doesn’t involve you having to flash your “average” cleavage whilst a slimy man asks you questions that sound normal but willappear in the mag in the form of “do you take it up bourneville avenue?”

Appeared on daytime TV having declared your lust for your brother, maybe speed dating with a room full of look-a-likes.

Sadly the only program I can think of for someone who has wanked off a pig is a porcine version of blind date. I’m buggered if I can think of the questions they’d ask their potential piggy dates.

Maybe that’s a new quiz show right there. “Bugger me until I can think of a question to baffle the panel of brainiacs”

Endemol are free to approach me whenever they’ve filled enough sack of cash.

It’s a double whammy of lies and deceit on UK television this past week. First it was Liz in a tizz over photo biz. The impression was that the Queen stormed out of a photo shoot after being asked to remove some of the bling. It later turned out that the storming bit had happened before the photo shoot. So was she storming to the photo shoot instead? Are her crown jewels really cheap, was she rushing to the photo shoot before her crown turned green and gave her a nasty rash?

That was bad enough but the real shock falsehood came later.

It turns out that pug faced, walking swear box Gordon Ramsay didn’t catch his own fucking fish! They hired a fisherman to catch fish beforehand in case Gordon didn’t catch enough. Amazing, a fisherman to catch fish, crazy idea.

Instead of being very still and quiet whilst trying to catch the fish Gordon wasn’t seen waving his arms violently shouting “get in the fucking net you wanky, useless, gilled shitflakes before I punch your cunting fins off.”

Of course in the old days Floyd would have spent all of 10 minutes in a boat taking the piss out of some French sailor mate of his whilst drinking copious amounts of rum before cutting back to the kitchen to show him shoving something he scraped off the bottom of the boat into a huge pan whilst slurring abuse and in-jokes at the camera.

Maybe the reason Gordon couldn’t catch any sea bass was because they were all on the seabed drinking like a Floyd.

For the record, I’d like it stated that whilst I didn’t invent these words I didn’t employ somebody to go out before me and catch them and they are in the same order they originally fell out of my head. This is especially obvious in the long rambling sentence about Floyd.

I’m afraid I missed live earth today as I was too busy planting plants in our garden. If only I cared more about our planet I could have better spent the time watching super-rich popstars flying into arenas round capital cities in front of thousands of people who’d travelled miles to see them.

Of all the people I thought would love global warming, Bono was top of my list. Sure everybody sweltering under an unforgiving tropical heat isn’t great but at least Bono could walk around wearing sunglasses all the time without looking such a twat.