This is what I've heard - people, as a breed, are meant to be 100% happy and contented all the time. That is supposed to be our natural state; grinning inanely at the empty space inside our heads, like an acid-house smiley, or a post-shitting baby. (Please insert your own postal strike gag here, depending on geographical location) Which is great. Fair enough. But if all our behaviour is reward-based, as a genus, we don't half spend a lot of time deliberately making ourselves miserable. Something as simple as looking at beautiful Facebook pictures of long-lost lovers until your heart aches and your insides churn and your brain does a sudden bluescreen data dump, or as complex as writing an offhand comment about gawping over long-lost lovers on your blog in the knowledge that your partner may read it, and not ever mention it, but file it away among a litany of other slights which will eventually lead to the irretrievable breakdown of the relationship and all the myriad unexplored facets of misery that will result therein.
I'd never do something that stupid, of course. He doesn't read it. Checkmate.
Or you could do something as ridiculous as subjecting yourself to a TV programme that has previously enraged you utterly for the purposes of squeezing some rancid blog juice out of it, especially when that involves you missing the last in the series of House, and another hour of truly, truly awful screen-kissing. Good on you, Hugh! American in every way but you show your true Britishness with your sexual inadequacies. Thus I salute you with everything but my similarly inadequate genitals.
Gird your loins, people. Charley's back for another pointless jolly at the taxpayers' expense. This time he's going from I don't care to I DON'T CARE via the method of DEAR GOD, REALLY, I ACTUALLY DO NOT CARE and again, the BBC are filling a large plop of Sunday night real estate with it. To explain to the uninitiated: Charley Boorman filled the sidekick/dunce role in a show where Ewan McGregor rode some bikes into small villages and spread his Scottish charisma among them like rampant cholera, whilst raising money for charity. And Boorman and his Richard Herring face is now inexplicably on his second - SECOND - series of a similar travelogue adventure. But without the charity aspect. Oh, no: this is just for our "entertainment." My, what good children we must have been.
As the hour of miserable television settled heavily upon my shoulders, there to loom angrily at me for days and days until it could be shifted by repeated Peep Show viewings, the following observations smacked me round my sad little face:
- Boorman has nothing to say about anything, except for a small set of excited ejaculations and obvious facts. "Brilliant! Amazing! Australia is a big place, and it takes a while to get anywhere! Fantastic!" It sounds like it should be on CBeebies. At one point, he visited an Aboriginal community riddled with alcoholism and broken people, due to years of institutional human rights abuses, and said nothing and did nothing but rattle about noisily, messing up stuff that didn't belong to him, like a toddler in a Tesco Extra. Why are the BBC subjecting us to this non-entity?
- He whines and whinges almost constantly, almost as if he isn't being given a free six-month holiday where everything is pre-arranged for him and all he has to do is get up every morning, do a great big self-satisfied shit and put on his stupid boxfresh Converse trainers. (I know about the shit because a good two minutes of the show was dedicated to him telling us. It was a beautiful synecdoche. Ohhhh yeah. I'm a tit)
- He blundered dangerously close to death on so many occasions - being bitten by a snake, wandering idiotically into jet engines - and it so mirrored the innermost desires I was unknowingly screaming incoherently at the screen that I began to think the production team were just toying with me. Teasing, tempting... "Oh, look! Look at the imbecile! Wouldn't it be nice if he just...just dropped off the cliff he's walking along? Yeah? Just lost his footing, and down he'd go? Bones crumbling, flesh rending, heap crumbled? Well...he ain't gonna! How does that make you feel? Nauseous, is it? Bile-ridden?"
It was at this point that an eerie calm washed over me. I realised that's probably been his whole life. Born into privilege, veering through life with nary a care, trouble and strife sliding off his Teflon form. I can't fight it. He's invincible. Of course he's got *another* series. Of course I've watched it, contributed to the ratings, made it a little bit easier for him to be recommissioned. He is evil. He is the Antichrist. Stuff Derren - he has nothing on this guy.
And that, my friends, will be my last ever post. I have a holy mission now. It must end! He must cease to be!
No, I'm only kidding. It was quite good actually.