So Brian Hanranhan died today. He was a BBC reporter and the BBC went big on it, in between their fervent protestations that because it had snowed, it was the end of everything ever and life itself would never be the same again. It's hard not get caught up in the apocalyptic panic of the rolling news, if only because there are so many reporters posted around the country, standing next to snow-covered roads, next to snow-covered fields, next to snow-covered cows, that the news becomes one gigantic pissing match to see which region can come up with the most alarming statistic to guarantee their 30 second slot on the 6 o'clock news.
In fact, they should just make it into a dance-war musical extravangaza, West Side Story style. Northern Ireland do the record-breaking low temperature soft-shoe shuffle. Scotland counteracts with the highest inchage of snow slinky clicking-fingered jazz walk. And then London beats allcomers with its sprawling, disturbingly sexual interpretive representation of the anguish of having to wait more than 8 minutes for a plane to Mauritius.
Anyway, Brian Hanrahan died, but with the greatest of respect to everyone who has ever lived or died, I don't really know who he is. But he did remind me and four million other people on Twitter of the great Peter O'Hanra-Hanrahan, from the annoying prescient news-splang The Day Today. Which would have baulked at the coverage of the snow-pocalypse today as being too ridiculoud even for them. See, everything's linked. I don't just throw this together, you know!
Sorry, I'm just getting something in my earpiece... Oh, apparently, yes I do. Apologies for that.
Here is Peter O'Hanra-Hanrahan and his spider.
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