Skip to main content

On not watching GMB

"What are you doing?" I asked Cornelius. He was staring at a wall with a fixed air, as though concentrating.

"I am protesting" he replied.

I took a while to think about this, it wasn't like I had a great deal else to do, so I might as well give this some consideration. Cells died, an early bee whirred helplessly against the window, Empires rose and fell, my breakfast digested a trifle further. Eventually, I asked "Why?"

His expression didn't alter. "I am taking a stand for free speech." I gave this a bit more thought, it passed the time. Being pro free-speech is, I tend to assume, one of those things one simply is, it's not like its a position which needs airing. It's like being pro blood circulation.

"How, exactly?" Cornelius turned briefly to look at me, he looked tired. Clearly protesting was taking it out of him.

"I am not watching Good Morning Britain"

"Do you normally watch Good Morning Britain?"

"Of course not. But I am deliberately not watching it today in protest at the disgraceful treatment of Piers Morgan."

"But Piers Morgan's a complete arse."

"I know Piers Morgan's a complete arse." I was confused, I had not hitherto discerned any level of Morgan fandom in the personality of my friend, and here he was confirming that.

"So, why are you protesting his treatment? and what treatment is it anyway? he shot his mouth off, was a complete dick and then flounced off, probably to another job"

"Practice" 

"Practice for what?" He nodded toward the kitchen table, and I wandered over to it, taking the long way round to kill a few more seconds. Next to my slowly cooling tea was a piece of paper, with the heading "HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH OF EXPERTS?" It was an application form for the position of Contrarian Talking Head, the successful applicant would be required to do the rounds of TV studios providing balance to the views of someone who knew what they were talking about on whatever issue was exercising people on that given day.

I looked at my friend admiringly, it was just like him to go the extra mile and really put the research in. Which, of course, meant he was eminently unsuitable for the position he was applying for. But I kept these thoughts to myself as I sipped my now cold tea reflectively. It is always better to travel in hope, I always think.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The School Run

I've got two humans in tow, differently-sized each a parcel of traits and possibilities likes and fears one wants to be an artist one wants to be a superhero both wrapped up  against the first cold day of Autumn A clean moon in a washed sky the novelty of breath and we stand and wait at the side of the road  for the tide of one tonne metal boxes towering over the littlest's head each carrying one person to belch and fart past us, inches away a seemingly endless stream of personal choice dreams of individual freedom as an act of collective madness doing their bit for the two humans' future
Post a Comment
Read more

Up in smoke

"I observe that the Prime Minister has decided that in future, smoking will be banned" said Cornelius, looking over his dead legacy media artefact whilst indulging in a cheroot of vulgar length. I entertained private thoughts about the wisdom of having a heat source so close to a flammable object, but refrained from voicing them. "That is within his purview" I replied, primly. "And one could make the argument that, libertarian concerns aside, it's not the worst idea he's had" "Indeed not" replied my friend, who had now swapped his cheroot for an indecently large Meerschaum Pipe of the classic Sherlock Holmes style (the proper one in Black and White, none of this modern nonsense where they repress their homoeroticism in the Tate Gallery or somesuch before eating hummus) "For he has had at least four truly terrible ideas this week alone  The man's an arse." "Indeed he is" I replied, "and one could furthermore ma...
Post a Comment
Read more

Pounds and ounces

Bushels and pecks and barleycorns a glorious inheritance chains, leagues, gills the tides of history the great rolling mass of history, our reclaimed birthright one holds back a tear while ordering a quarter of humbugs for everything is quantifiably British now, we can measure our waiting lists in leagues, count our dead by the hundredweight observe the roods of sleeping bags and cardboard the queue at the food bank is ten perches long (or ten rods, if you prefer, either way, it's 250 links) two gallons to the peck of tears four to the half bushel emphasise the Imperial ahead of the measurement, and why stop there? why not count the flow of money in florins settling gently on the floors of offshore counting-houses Universal Credit, reduced by guineas but a thrupennny bit for nurses, be grateful have a shilling, console yourself that even if there's no food on the shelves at least we can measure nothing in ounces
Post a Comment
Read more