I am obliged to the Torygraph for a plethora of pointless stories this morning, that have inspired me to shower my wisdom all over you.
Firstly, a Mr Rhys Jones, a comedian from the last century, whose contribution to that art was worthwhile but not outstanding, has complained that the BBC commissions programmes based upon how popular they are in terms of viewing figures. As you all know I am no fan of ‘market forces’, but it would seem that this policy is not entirely lacking in sense. They want to make programmes that people want to watch. I am as much of a snob as the next man when it comes to television programmes, and seldom watch or record anything that is on terrestrial television of a Saturday evening. I am, however, indebted to the BBC and ITV for providing fare for people who find ballroom dancing, Ant and Dec, Celebrity Guess The Turd and so forth entertaining. It reduces the risk of my running in to them when out and about, and having to engage them in conversation. Further, I am not interested in the kind of programmes that Mr Rhys Jones wants to make – uninteresting quasi-documentaries hosted by third rate ‘celebrities’. I have no interest in going to the places favoured by the makers of these programmes. Any desire to do so that lingers is diminished by the prospect of running into Rhys Jones and his ilk poncing about in front of a film crew while I am there.
In keeping with its new impetus as being at the forefront of modern culture, the Torygraph carries an article about the Beatles. So modern is it that there is not even an explanation about who the Beatles were or are. If I open my window, I can hear the sound of heads being scratched in nearby Winchester and Guildford. The revelation is that the Vatican has forgiven the fab four for their trespasses and recognised their contributions to music. I am all in favour of reconciliation. I shall reciprocate. I pledge here that if I live for another seven thousand years I shall forgive the Catholic church for the Inquisition and for my having to pay for Ratty on his forthcoming UK tour. I may even attend one of his events, and in homage to the Beatles will sit at the front and scream throughout, hopefully with enough gusto to cause me to urinate on the seat.
I have been dabbling with Twitter again, for no reason that I can readily comprehend, and have found that there are many otherwise sensible people there who keep referring to something in the Daily Mail. I don’t want to read it, but there is no way of telling where some of the links posted on twitter might lead. Anyway, I was fooled into clicking one such link. Regular (i.e. habitual rather than unconstipated) readers will have linked to my new friend Dan in the previous article and his witty song about the Daily Mail, featuring a number of suggestions about what might cause cancer. I took this as being satirical. However, Mr Scaryduck supplied this link. If you don’t want to read it, it suggests that if you get up in the night to go for a pee and turn on the light you will get cancer. More alarmingly, they want you to vote Tory.
OK. I read the article. It was about TCM again, and I just can’t help it. Professor Charalambos Kyriacou has reached his conclusions based upon experiments on mice. He is probably correct. I have never heard of a case of a mouse turning on an electric light; they must know something that we don’t. Dr Rachel Ben-Shlomo, of the University of Haifa (crazeee name, crazeee gal) backs up this research. Don’t turn on the light! My advice is that if you visit the house of a noted scientist you eschew getting out of bed in the night at all, as you are likely to find yourself tramping through acres of piss-sodden carpet trying to find the bog.