I have a confession to make, that will shock and stun many of you, and I can only apologise for the trauma caused. I am not normally given to this level of public intimacy, but fear that my actions may be symptomatic of a decline into lower levels of consciousness that might detract from the value of the advice and counsel that you derive from these pages.
Many years ago, I experimented to see whether it was possible to sit through an entire evening of Saturday night ITV television programmes. I never made it. In fact, if the evening began with Ted Rogers and “3, 2, 1” I couldn’t last 10 minutes. I dismissed the whole lot as drivel, trash and crap, and went to watch a Samuel Beckett play on BBC2 or something. From what I can tell little has changed over the years. The schedules have been taken up by Bruce Forsyth, Cilla Black, Ant and Dec, game shows for the lobotomised, the dying remnants of what was called “Variety”, and latterly appalling celebrity shows. These are all to be avoided for the sake of one’s well being, in the same category as syphilis, English cuisine and the Tory party.
For the last few weeks, however, I have found myself watching a programme on Saturday evening ITV. There, I’ve said it. Please stay to help me redeem myself. It is at times such as these that friends are invaluable. The item in question is called “Harry Hill’s TV Burp”. I like it. It makes me laugh. On Saturday, I laughed out loud. My name is Vicus and I am a low-brow.
Thank you. Your advice will be welcomed and noted.
If you would like to read some first rate apology, then go over to my new friend Reg’s site.
If you would like to read something worthwhile, then see what Foilwoman has been up to. I read it regularly, but seldom sully her jottings with my dross.