I’m pretty proud of the fact that up until now, I haven’t required a Television category on this blog. I am dragged in by the glowing tubes, but I’m not happy with the situation, and thus I do not want to have it as a category. Hence, this goes in London.
I say all that, but I’m still in thrall to it in certain situations. When I find a programme such as The Apprentice, that just about sits on the right side of can’t bear to watch vs. can’t bear not to watch, I’m sucked in (cf. Lost, Dragons Den, et al). And it’s a joyous thing, bewildering in its damning indictment of the human condition, vast in voyeuristic guilty pleasure, pillow-shreddingly embarassing in its selection of the self-aggrandising dregs of the business world.
The show is a testament to the skill of BBC editors: while focusing ‘on the team as a whole’, and their varied arsenal of mixed metaphors, it always becomes increasingly obvious who is going to be one of the final few set up for eviction. The plums vs. lads rift was played up, the dark horses touched on but only subtly and the toff got his comeuppance. But it’s only the start of it; I know of one who (through second hand news) is a compulsive liar that still owes rent to a landlady in Harlow. Exclusive Fact, beat that, The Sun!
In other news, my personal icon Chris Hollins has been promoted to anchor on BBC Breakfast - a sterling development, the man’s a have-a-go hero.
0 Responses to ““I can’t have a conversation about football””