Greekings,
Its been getting more unstable, grumbling, occasionally rifling off a crack of aporetic revilement, enough to vent the ire back to manageable levels and bury any memories way down deep in my fractured subconscious.
But on Saturday, in a moment of stupefying absent headedness, I switched on BBC1 before I had checked if the coast was clear, and ran smack bang into Anton Du Beke and his collection of shiny suited gimps on Hole in the Wall. The resulting towering column of bilious gall, spewing from my lum will, in all honesty, not be noticed by anybody at all, but it will make me feel better.
Anton Du Beke, he has the face of an upended dinner table. Its a big face that, if you were up close to him, I don't think I'd know what bit to look at or talk too, its a bit like standing right at the gable end of a Belfast council house and trying to appreciate the mural.
Not that I would try and talk to him, no, I might give away my intention of seeing how many tap shoes I can force in his mouth and down his throat before his oesophagus splits open. I don't think it would be too many, maybe only three, for despite his massive Easter Island face, he has the mouth of a guppy. He doesn't smile like we humans that have descended from apes, but those that have lizards lurking in the family tree. If you look at his "smiling" mug on TV, or better, in a still picture that you can examine more closely, you will see that its actually a dislocated set of teeth he has, that project forward in the presence of flash bulbs, like Alien without the charisma and paternal instincts.
No reek about our Anton would be complete without considering his wardrobe. I'm no style guru, no Trinny or Gok but I can only imagine that the BBC in these austere times, is trying to save a few pounds by digging up and cracking open the costume chest from Pro-Celebrity Golf.
Tom O'Connor, Tarby, Brucie, little Ronnie, OK, maybe not Ronnie Corbett, but I'm positive he is wearing their clothes.
BBC, your fiscal governance is to be commended, but that will only work if you have eliminated all the original viewers of Pro-Celebrity Golf, or fed their minds 30 years of neuron numbing drivel that has brought on early althzeimers or a spectacular suicide. Suddenly Eastenders makes sense.
It has to be said though, he would have to wear something that Lady Gaga turned her nose up at to look anymore ridiculous than the Hole in the Wall contestants.
Silver suited, with no forgiveness for the muffin tops, man boobs and unsightly bulges, this lot look like the worst aliens ever. Imagine if they climbed out a shiny cigar shaped object in Hyde Park one night, asking to be taken to our leader, I think we would be justified in thinking we were the most intelligent beings in the Universe.
If I walked down the High Street in that get up, I would fully expect to get lifted by the police, and have an angry mob outside my house, with pitchforks and blazing torches, daubing catchy slogans on my door in dog crap, like F*#K OFF PAEDO B#ST*RD.
And we put them on telly, before midnight, no wonder kids take drugs and kill each other.
My suggestions to improve the format of the show, offering a little more entertainment and laugh out loud moments have not yet been acknowledged by the director general, but I'll give it to you and maybe if you suggest it as well, like those programmes that illicit complaints from two licence payers and get taken off the air, they wont be able to ignore us either.
Anton Du Beke, in his Farahs and sweater and all his gimps stand in front of a real wall, made of big blocks of granite, this is slowly nudged over by me, in a huge bulldozer, and because we have cemented all their feet to the floor, the contestants get to wave, and frantically contort their bodies in comical ways, until the wall collapses on them.
That feels better.
Lang may yer lum reek.
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