Daisy, Daisy

Coverage of the Wedding of Prince Wills and Kate/Catherine was blanket. Both ITV and BBC shared camera images broadcast. What did they think this was? The World Cup Final?

And just as with the World Cup Final, both channels put their own commentators and summarisers in place. Unfortunately no Clive Tyldesley however. Huw Edwards (BBC) and Phillip Schofield (ITV) were our anchors.

Considering the shared pictures - the comparison of the two styles was intriguing.

The BBC went with a formal approach of the historical importance and an narrative arc of humble, could be any one of us, commoner Kate pupae transforming into the beautiful regal Princess Catherine before our gawping, tear dripping faces. Of course, aside from the semantics of the term "Commoner", this was massively contrived.

From just the humble background of a family worth an estimated £30 million, Kate's life was just like yours and the BBC was at pains to underline it. Dr. Schama sat in the studio to talk about how William, in marrying Kate, was looking to unify the country: Commoner hand in hand with Royalty. Huw Edwards was soon referring to Kate's Father as: "A humble son of an airline pilot" which was stretching the point just a little. Hardly a miner's son.

This was eerily reminiscent of a comment piece by Stewart Lee who, in turn, I will spookily paraphrase when I say that Kate was being made out to be the Susan Boyle of Social Class Movement.

Kate - naturally - is not common. Actual common people don't look that good. Cheryl Cole is the exception that proves the rule. Actual common brides don't have sisters who arguably look hotter as their Maid of Honour. Research the quickly emerging Facebook groups about Pippa if you don't beleive me. Actual common girls don't marry the most eligible member of Royalty in the world. Ask the numerous students at St. Andrews who tried to catch the eye.

When Huw Edwards told us that Commoner Kate asked for Paul Mealor's Ubi Caritas et Amor as it was "a favourite of hers" surely he even new the jig was up. A true commoner would have had chosen Enya's Orinoco Flow.

Throughout the day the BBC sent forth presenters and Radio 1 DJs into the crowds to ask them how they were enjoying the day. Here too, the idea that Kate was one of them and could be emulated was pervasive. BBC journalists described how they were getting "tingles" seeing Kate becoming every girls' dream: becoming part of a Royal family from nothing. The lady presenter from the ONE show asked a bride-to-be: "Have you picked up any tips from Kate for your wedding day?"

Really - what sort of question is that? Why, yes. I have decided I will wear the Queen's tiara as my somethings borrowed too.

In the end the poor girl cheerily went with: "I will do my own make-up, just like Kate did."

No such false hope springing on ITV. I changed to its coverage just as Phillip Schofield spoke over a scene of lavish grandeur: "There will be many weddings taking place this weekend. None of them will be anywhere near as good as this."

Jeezus, Phil - break it gently why don't you? There is a woman on BBC right now thinking doing her own make-up will at least bring hers up on par.

So ITV decided to go with the bitter coverage of an evening guest's plus one, then. This was most apparent when they cut to their outside correspondent for the day, Mark Austin.

Mark looked bedraggled when I first saw him. Jacketless, tie askew and hair ruffled he blustered: "I have just been unceremoniously kicked off the Mall. We had a great vantage point - but what can you do? I must admit I thought there would be more people here. It's quite disappointing."Later Mark could be seen talking to the folk in the crowds. Not that he particularly wanted to: "I have been... caught... in the crowds... I can't... seem to get out... there is no... way... There are scouts all around me!" He pleaded as if on a hostage tape posted to Phil.

It was true. A scout group, sensing fear, had surrounded him and was trying to put a neckerchief and woggle on him: "I don't... I can't put this on! Alright, if I put the woggle on, then will you let me go?"

Phillip linked to Mark - Our eyes on the ground - Austin 20 minutes later: "I still can't get out the crowd. There are people trying to climb barriers to jump the queue. The police should... just over there! Good, the police are moving in. Forcing them back..." Good work, Mark.

For someone disappointed in the size of crowd - he seemed fairly perturbed by it.

He was last seen shouting at 2 elderly women to: "face the camera, not me!"

Thing was, I kind of empathised as he stood with crazy eyes screaming directorial instructions and flailing his arms at those two old ladies. The wedding, for what it was, was fine. It was very colourful to watch. Nothing went wrong. But it was the public that spoiled it.

We were introduced to various banner weilding oddballs and flag waving fantasists by the single virtue that they had stayed up for 8 days to get to the front of the barriers. We heard what they thought of the day. Invariably that Kate was "stunning" and a "Princess for the people" and "It was the best day ever" and from one couple who had been married on the same day last year: "When we heard the date, we knew we just had to be here. We won't ever forget our wedding anniversary now!"

This is something both BBC and ITV shared more than any camera angle - a belief that the viewer wanted to see other people who could have been viewers too if only for a slight difference in motivation. Not only see them, but listen to their prosaic opinions. I don't need to have the quasi-experience of standing next to these nutters. I don't need to be told that I am basically marrying Wills through Kate to engage with the event.

Tuning into a Royal Wedding I kind of want to see right posh folk and the Royal Family more and Commoners less. I can see commoners out my window any day of the week. Actually - I better go check to see if commoner Pippa Middleton is standing at the bus stop waiting for a bus to ASDA, you never know.

[Channel 5 went with a themed Wright Stuff and a film called William and Kate: the Movie - which was hideous and featured Arizona as St. Andrews - in case anyone cares]

Sony thinking

I was reading, with passing interest, the developing news that Sony managed to have their systems infiltrated and the files they keep on their online gamers pilfered. 77 million - at least - online gamers have had personal credit details and more revealed to all sorts of "underground" criminal organisations.

I have never been an online gamer. If you want to play against humans at computer games that is what, Tuesday nights, friends and SuperMario Kart is for.

Many people have been surprised that Sony apparently did not think too much about double secure means of keeping their customer information safe.

However, in their defence - some signs of this type of thing almost being inevitable was in evidence. They did, after all, include the Cranberries' song Zombie in SingStar 90's.



Not exactly a video for a lambrini-fuelled house party. Although to achieve "SINGSTAR!" on it, is pretty tough to do.

Na, na, na, na, na nah Blog-Man!

With China looking at banning tv shows which relate to time travel because they fear young people will not take history seriously enough: "Some of the time travel dramas nowadays are made in a very shoddy way and are irresponsible in not respecting history" and have "monstrous and weird plots [and] use absurd tactics" so "should by no means be encouraged anymore", it is refreshing that those in the West do not have such hang-ups on being dangerously influenced by science fiction and fantasy media.

In particular, it was an article I read a little while ago about the phenomenon of amateur “superheroes” in small American towns which sprang to mind.

These ordinary folks - and they are, in keeping with the superhero mythology, ordinary: no actual skills or professional training - look to aid the small police departments in local crime fighting. They even have superhero names [which, as a homage to the comic origins, I put in bold here] and outfits.

The mental idea is actually supported in an online forum and website known as the World Superhero Registry. There people can find the rules would-be superheroes have to follow.

*You must have an appropriate alter-ego name
*You must have an appropriate, non-trademark infringing uniform (preferably home made)
*You must not be sponsored or otherwise funded by an external company or body
*You must not use or carry offensive weapons (to ensure you are not charged as a vigilante)
*You must have a specific mission as a superhero with appropriate means of accomplishing it

A good example of this is the bloke who calls himself The Angle Grinder. He springs open, what he deems illegal, clamps on vehicles in his town.

However it is not all happily springing wheel clamps, being a superhero has its pitfalls. And the article listed them.

There was Mr. Invisible who’s grey Lycra suit, he was pleased to report, did render him invisible. At least to the drunk who stood and urinated on him in an alleyway. [which I incidentally think is pretty much the only time someone must be pleased that they are getting urinated on by a drunk: “Yes! I am so invisible right now! – must keep silent… urinate ‘till your heart’s content, unaware citizen” – of course the drunk might have known exactly what was going on]

Mr. Invisible gave up his activities though. His thing was to split up arguing couples after nights out. One girl didn’t like being “saved” outside a club and hooked Mr. Invisible, by day a mild mannered 29 year old insurance worker, in the face, breaking his nose.

There was also the Dark Owl who required calling his daughter up to confirm he wasn’t insane and could be let out of the psychiatric unit. His daughter explained: “Just for a very short moment my Dad, absolutely momentarily, forgot he didn’t have actual super powers and could not simply fly over the cops who had him surrounded.”

Other supposed superheroes have found the going tough as a hobby. As Kevlex [I am thinking by day he is known as Kevin] of Arizona revealed: “I can only really go out on cold nights or in the rain as my suit itches when it is too hot – I hang about all the bad corners but nothing really happens. The drug dealers don’t seem to go out in the rain and the police in the town are really very good. Often they have the situation well in hand by the time I have even got my suit on.”

Master Legend, too, has given up the crime fighting superhero business. He proved little match for his arch nemesis, which turned out to be just simply an angry man with a hammer. Didn't even have a super villan name.

The Devil may have the best music but he sure hosts mediocre TV shows

[Is 1800 words too long for a blog entry? As a man who stands for experimental science, there is only one way to know]

For anyone wondering where the Devil has got to these days, I found him. He is on a talk show on a cable TV channel numbered so high that most God-fearing folks would never reach it. How very Devilly of him. And he has taken on the form of an annoying after dinner coffee wit. An annoying after dinner coffee wit, with big ears. That’s Classic Devil Shenanigans.

To explain: I was at a friends’ place and he went to check on his toddler upstairs. He left me the remote to his cable TV.

Not knowing how to properly work the futuristically sleek device, I began Neanderthal jabbing the + button. BBC1 then BBC2 and on: ITV4 and still I went on: 5-Star then Music Channels then Shopping Channels then Parliamentary Channels: on and on: News channels and Animal Documentary channels whirred past my senses – always on further, higher, faster, more lurid [My god, it’s full of stars] until I came to a slamming halt.

I had climbed to a channel called Controversial TV. A bold screen ident read:

Controversial TV takes no responsibility for the views expressed through its programming. These are solely the personal views of those being filmed and not a representation of the broadcaster.

For a channel that has a warning as enthralling as this, it turns out to be woefully cheap television to the point of almost certainly being transmitted out from the inner rim of the Euro Central Bank Zone sinkhole. Their premise is that they film people who talk and discuss without your “mainstream” censorship and with the minimum of distraction for the viewer – programming without boundaries – the reality is more that they film people without any editorial control or production costs – programming without budget.

My friend returned to find me watching two elderly women being single lock-cam filmed taking formal English afternoon tea together (in what I could only surmise was one of the elderly women’s sitting rooms) and discussing their place in the Universe and the ever smoothing life lines on their thin skinned palms, all over the gentle sound of bone china against bone china and intermittent soft bites through French fancies.

“What are you watching?” he rightly questioned.

Just exactly what is on the screen. It is nothing more and nothing less. And because of that, it is rubbish. It is a programme where you can simulate being in a waiting room without needing to have the excitement of an appointment for anything. Or perhaps one of those reverse snuff movies that Ken Loach is so fond of making, in where the people on screen live through such depressingly stark real life scenes that you kill yourself.

But, I said, look at the blurb of what is coming on next…

[For those who can’t read this too clearly here it is again – in truth it is worth just reading it again anyway]

"In a sound byte society Red Zone provides an alternative. Celebrity guests have to spontaneously react to surprise issues chosen at random, with no rules except those of civilised debate."

What a concept that is! Although, giving it a little thought, the conventions of civilised debate do usually have rather a lot of rules attached. No matter – this just has to be ace TV, right?

That the Celebrities on this episode of the Red Zone were Lawrie McMenemy, Derek Laud, some maturing eye candy for the older gent called Chelsea (a writer, model, actress, speaker and entrepreneur – allegedly) that I – tellingly – cannot even find a Google hit for and Gary Bushell only seemed to make the concept, in my mind, better.

The 4 celebrities are sat on 2 plush red leather sofas around a coffee table with wine and cigars on. The host sits between the two sofas on a large single plush red leather chair (symbolising his “chairing” of the debate, cleverly). 6 Cameramen (despite being in dressed in black are disorientatingly visible in the unlit murk) shuffle around, undulating their cameras behind them. It gives the impression of being filmed in a warehouse. Quite possibly because it is.

The host introduces the guests with a couple of what I am sure are very witty dry remarks with a delivery the consistency of Dulux paint (example: “He was asked to run the England 2018 World Cup bid, but he couldn’t run fast enough. Welcome, Lawrie McMenemy”) and quickly gets down to business, asking one celebrity to pick a “Devil” card. They then get to discuss the topic on the card which the host reveals in his one-coat, gloss finish tone “without the limit of time”. That doesn’t even make any sense. Unless this is purgatory. Then it makes perfect sense.

The topic was “Social care”. Oh it’s controversial alright. The guests are invited to smoke cigars and drink red wine as the debate rages – civilly so, naturally. And the debate did feature such forthright views such as Chelsea: “I want to state that I have no opinions on anything involving politics and have never voted”. McMenemy: “The problems today in this country is all coming from that Internet”. Bushell: “We have lost our way in this country – we should look to be going back to how things were dealt with in the 50s and 60s when times were better” [and we had the fu**ing Krays? you hairy fu**ing moron!]. And Chelsea again: “I think that healthcare in Brit-.” [No, I don't believe you get to say things now – please always refer to your first statement].

All the time the host sits back, smoking from a calabash pipe of all things! The host’s role –I gathered – was to add in counter points, stir proceedings, and argue against statements using proven facts. At points he did try to add in angles of argument. However, he was rendered mostly mute against the powerful rhetoric skill flowing from his guests. His factual words simply hovered above in the tobacco smoke.

At some point – any point – I was hoping he would lower his pipe and interject with a more controversial “surprise” issue. You know: perhaps in keeping with the synopsis given of the show?

“Yes Social care is good and bad – but what would it take for any of you to eat a priest?”

But nothing. He sits back, his red shirt crumpling at his gut-riff, puffing on his “character insinuating” pipe. The plastic chandelier above them didn’t even come crashing down on the infernal Bushell. It didn’t come down on any of them.

In the entire hour, [yes, I watched this at a friends house for an hour – a lesson there, I am sure you will agree, for all my friends] the most provocative the host gets is when he says to Derek, after he makes an error in blaming European policy for a UK legislative held power (the scruple-less cad!): “You are the lower intestine of the Conservative Party or something” to which Derek takes umbrage at this inexplicable [though very dry and witty I am assured] statement and immediately retorts, with equally ludicrous blustering through the fog of his large stoggie: “Sir! I am alive. I: Am: Alive!”

Is this really the pinnacle of civilised debate and conversation?

My Friend’s wife walked through to the room. “What are you both watching?” she astutely asked.

My friend explained that he had left me for just 5 minutes with sport on TV and when he came back he found me watching this channel. Now we were both watching it.

“This is dreadful” she accurately summarised – simultaneously increasing the quality of intelligent talk in the room, “It is mocking our HD TV”. And it was.

The host goes ever-so-predictably back on his first elaborate construct and drew things to a close with a verbal brush gloop stroked: “Now, I am afraid we have run out of time for this debate. I want to say thanks for joining us this evening and I want to thank my guests for their, stimulating, conversation”. The show ends with a close up of Chelsea hurriedly finishing off her (and possibly the others) wine glass dregs, then fades to an animated silhouette of the pipe smoking host which morphs into the silhouette of the Devil!

Ah-ha! The host was the Devil! The Undying Shrew! I bloomin’ knew it!

Hmm... I would have bet on there being more sodomy with a show hosted by the Devil. You live and learn.

Before we could grapple with the enormity of that, the next programme was introduced: Eerie Investigations.

Synopsis: Karen meets Peter who tells her about his main interest and much more.

Well, it seems we weren’t going to change the channel just yet with content lined up like that.

The programme opens as if setting up a gallows humorist skit. Karen is standing in the cold middle of night [so cold even her microphone has a little matching hat on] in a single streetlight lit London back alley, she is introducing the show while beside her is a man, around 10” taller, dressed in clothes typical for a cold night out – long black coat, black gloves, black hat and a cane. He’s looking at her, side-on, a couple of feet from her.

Or, ambiguously, a man, dressed in a long black blood spatter shielding Mack to be dumped in a skip later, black murderer’s gloves to be dumped in a skip later, black hat to offer a prosaic disguise during a murder to be dumped in a skip later, and stabbing stick to be dumped in a skip later was staring at a lady, around 10” shorter, to be dumped in a skip later. She hasn’t even seen him creeping up, and he’s right close now.

It was hard to tell.

She turns to him: “So, Peter, what are you?”

“I am a Ripperologist, Karen” Ambiguity solved!


[By the way – Karen’s bio on the programme is this: Karen is a qualified science laboratory technician, and has worked as a lab tech assistant. She is also a trained medium and psychic artist. Noted that it doesn’t say nothing about being a TV presenter, but then again she might have a talent for it...]

Karen is a terrible TV presenter. And possibly worse interviewer. Peter talks in monotone about one of the most sensationalist crime stories in the world – turning it into the most mundane sensationalist crime stories in the world. “Of course, as she was getting murdered, she must have thought ‘oh, if only I hadn’t spent my room money on that 2nd glass of gin’ and then – she of course died”

As Karen cranes up at him trying to look interested, “Back then, they wouldn’t have had that CCTV up there, would they?” she asks pointing to a CCTV camera bolted above a backdoor to a club.

“No – they had nothing like that anywhere” he informs Karen and us “remember this was 1800’s, when murderers could often continue operating because of the lack of evidence that we see routinely found on the CSI series’ of today” he droned on, referencing a make-believe show with non-real concept technologies as he went.

My friend’s wife gesticulated to the screen: “This woman is awful. Butcher her!” Now three of us were sitting watching it.

Turns out Peter didn’t tell us “much more” or carry out a ripper-lite murder. He basically stuck to the Ripper story.

So then. Controversial TV: bit of an anti-climax in the end.