Saturday, May 8, 2010

Three Way Wrestling In The Mud Pit Of Necessity


As Europe stands on the brink of economic meltdown, Britain can only look on in horror at the no-headed chimera, spawned in the full glare of the TV cameras, that it will soon be forced to drop into the bloodbath of international politics like a crippled chick flung too early from its nest.


Or at least, that’s how it might have gone if I had access to the leader column in The Guardian. Or even the Throbbleton-on-the-Trick Argus.

I did try to post yesterday, honestly I did. Let’s face it, here in the UK, May 6th was a day of spectacular import — and a night of much hurling abuse at the on-screen witless — but sadly, when my trembling fingers greeted the keyboard at a drearilerious 8am, I found them capable of rendering naught but drivel. So instead, I made myself a swift cup of cocoa and tried to sleep through the sound of my house being reduced to rubble by men with drills the size of Renault Meganes.

On reflection, I discover that what I really want to comment on is the trio of BBC pundits, Dimbleby, Robinson, and Vine. Paxo, I’m omitting for necessity — something I urge you not to try at home when you have the family round for Sunday lunch to consume an ASDA chicken.*

* This kind of joke has probably been cracked more times than Humpty Dumpty’s virtual shell, but I’m leaving it in as it allows me to link to this recipe. Apologies for the custard yellow text — the blog had a black background in those days. And yes, Protrudio will be back very, very soon.
Dimbleby wins out every time over any other pundit. He’s incisive without being rude and objectionable like Robin Day, David Frost, or Alan Carr, and I have a sneaky feeling that if you spent the afternoon with him in the snug of some rural pub, he’d take you into his confidence round about pint number three by producing from his pocket some bizarre curio like a hair plucked from Churchill’s ear during the Blitz, the heel tip from one of Thatcher’s stilettoes (prised free with her nail file while he was flattering her with his affable charms), or a bottle containing the gasp that issued from John Major’s lips when Edwina Currie first said, “don’t just stand there, big boy, blast the Salmonella from my eggs with that cricket bat of yours...” The best thing about Dimbleby, of course, is his immaculate taste in socks...


I realise this is probably a copyrighted image, and will take it down if required. In the meantime — go and buy the DVDs.

I have to confess that before Thursday night, Nick Robinson had never struck me as being any different to all the other political correspondents the BBC regularly lines up to deliver its informative yet slightly risque analysis. But when the debate turned to the likely austerity measures any future government would need to implement, I found myself being impressed by his apparent grasp of the facts, and the more I warmed to him, the more I realised that the BBC could have saved itself thousands by doing away with all those expensive computer graphics. A simple sink plunger stuck to Robinson’s head would have worked wonders as a Swingometer, particularly if he’d been able to operate it with his own ears. Maybe next time.

Jeremy Vine, as ever, tossed like a poncy salad.

It’s still too early to say what will happen as a result of the votes cast. We don’t have any idea who will be prime minister a week from now, let alone the composition of any new cabinet — or the wallpaper in Number 10. One thing, however, is certain. Even if I make it to the ripe old age of 153, I’ll never be rid of TV footage, trailed out in every retrospective about 2010, elections, bad hair and shouting, of The Angry Woman From Sheffield Hallam.

15 comments:

Old Kitty said...

OH. A yellow duck just waded across your eye...

hmm.

Anyway - my favourite Dimbleby Moment was his interview with the rather scary Gore Vidal during Pres-to-be Obama's election.

Now that really was a classic.

The air is so pale blue tinged with orange. The reds, I'm afraid came on too strong - or too feeble. Whichever, the skies are suddenly darker.

There goes that duck again.

Take care
x

fairyhedgehog said...

I didn't see much of the coverage but I have to agree about Dimbleby. I didn't know you were sock twins with him.

Whirlochre said...

Old Kitty
What's very scary is that we don't have a leader at a time when we really need one. Oh, and that after moaning for 11 years about Blair being "all style and no substance" we choose a 2-for-1 knockdown offer on the Truly Vacuous.

Wonderhog
Sock twins with Dimbleby, Judo black belt twins with Anthony Worral-Thompson...

JaneyV said...

Love DD - I think that his handling of the TV debates was infinitely superior to any of the others as he kept the candidates on target by reminding them of the question they were asked. It doesn't surprise me in the least that he has such wonderful taste in socks.

I can't watch Paxo. He makes me cross. I think he and John Humphries should be put in a rooms full of fluffy cute things until all the meanness has been pushed out of them. I expect it's only take about a thousand years.

Whirlochre said...

Janey
Problem is — how many fluffy cute things would be destroyed before Paxo and Humphries were subdued?

DJ Kirkby said...

We stayed up far too late watching some of the results and drank too much wine which left me very tired for work the next day. Bad idea...

fairyhedgehog said...

Jane, that's such a good idea. I think you should send it in to the BBC.

JaneyV said...

Oh goodness I wouldn't just let them loose on the furry lovelies. Obviously we couldn't allow cruel and dangerous men like them the abllity to stamp, strangle or bite so I suggest darting them first and when they're under binding and gagging them. Then let the cuddly creatures out to rub up against them and fall asleep on their chests.

As we are humane and doing this for their own good I suggest feeding them through a tube so that their teeth were never bared. They'll thank us for it in the end.

Robin S. said...

I love that guy's socks!

Don't know much at all about British politics, but I do know the UK and the US are rolling down the tracks toward being broke from over-promising, over-spending 'governing' morons. We're constantly being told over here how many thousands in debt each American is right now, from the over-spending.

As one who has been careful with money all of her adult life (the first ten years of which, I watched my pennies because I was an inch away at all times from being stone cold broke), I do not accept my 'debt'. Fuck that shit.

I say, put the a-holes who voted us into continual debt through give-away 'entitlement' programs and pork projects for constituents, put them in prison for stealing our money, and see how the next batch of self-righteous thugs does.

Not that I'm pissed off or anything.

ril said...

You know how it is with a toddler where he/she does something cute and everybody laughs and claps and the toddler squeels in delight and does it again and everybody laughs and claps and pretty soon that "cute" one thing is the noly thing the toddler does and she/he can't figure out why no one is clapping anymore so he/she keeps doing it but in an ever-more crotchety and unbecoming fashion? That's Paxman, that is. His take no prisoners "interviewing toughness" has been clapped into a sad caricature of itself and he can't figure out why the trick isn't fun anymore.

I'm disenfranchised. Been outside of the UK too long to vote anymore, and don't have the vote here where I pays me taxes. I watch the descent from a distrated and disconnected distance...

Tell me though, has the UK really become the hellpit that mass media would have me believe?

Whirlochre said...

There are moments when maintaining a blog becomes a little like brushing your hair — too many distractions and you end up looking like you've been dragged through a bramble bush.

And so...

DJ
I made it as far as Cameron's speech and it was clear by that stage nothing was going to happen until morning. What I didn't know then, of course, is that by today (Monday) it still wouldn't have hasn't.

Fairy Jane
Do I detect the beginnings af a bold new grass roots campaign? I'd love to see Orla Geurin wrapped up in fake panda fur.

Wrobin
I suspect we may be in for a very long haul indeed.

Ril
I suspect the real truth about the UK is that it's still like watching Corrie — even if you leave it for a few years, the moment you watch a couple of episodes, it's like you've never been away.

As for the hellpit, it's not been so bad on the whole. My favourite two recent analyses of the situation (a 'before and after') are over at Stephen Fry's blog.

http://www.stephenfry.com/

ril said...

Unless Ena Sharples is still nursing a half in the snug, it'll be like I've been away...

Bernita said...

Thankfully, Britain's wit is unimpeded by econcomic and political crises.

Is that guy another sock puppet?

Peter Dudley said...

...when my trembling fingers greeted the keyboard at a drearilerious 8am, I found them capable of rendering naught but drivel...

Thus proving that you have all the talent needed for deadline newspaper journalism. Particularly on the opinion pages.

Whirlochre said...

Ril
If the ratings ever bomb, they could construct a storyline based around Sharples' reanimated corpse. Sally Webster discovers it under her bathroom floorboards when she's having a new shower fitted, and for weeks, keeps it hidden in the cupboard under the stairs. But corn flakes and cuppas don't keep its desire for brains sated for very long and it bursts into the Rovers and downs a whole pan of Betty's hot pot, thus revealing the true nature of her 'secret ingredient'. Mayhem ensues as neighbour fights neighbour in a battle for control over the Street...

Bernita
Not sure about the sock puppets, but if there's such thing as a sheer silk hosiery puppet, Mandelson is it.

PJD
True — but the unashamed biliousness of the gutter press is an artform.