Archive for the ‘Yawn’ Category

Building the Smug

Sunday, April 9th, 2017

It all started quite promisingly with ‘Grand Designs’. An occasional fix of outlandish property porn fronted by the urbane Kevin; surely one of the twenty first century’s most influential figures when it comes to design. A whole generation now aspire to underfloor heating and sheep’s wool loft insulation thanks to our Kev.

Kevin ain’t getting any younger though. His boyish locks, luxuriant in the early shows, have gradually greyed and shrunk. As his bank balance has increased, his teeth have gotten more perfect and his casual jackets more designery. He’s become more shiny, self-assured and, I believe, a tad complacent in that “I’m at the top of my game” way which eventually affects the Star Host. [ Cf Ross, Wogan, Titchmarsh etc, etc yawn ]. Kevin may now, at least partly, believe his own publicity and it is the programme commissioners who are to blame.

There is a whole generation of TV People who, it would seem, have all done the “How to Build on Success” module as part of their Media Studies degree. The secret to building the ratings is basically ‘more of the same’. If that slick quiz with the dramatic lighting effects and pulsing synthesiser soundtrack pulls in the punters primetime, make another version! [ Only much cheaper and shove it on every day at teatime when you’ve got a captive audience of overstimulated schoolkids and semi-comatose pensioners ]. “That Antiques Roadshow has been doing well for fifty years. I know, let’s make a cheaper version for the unwashed masses. They can flog all the old tat they would’ve taken to the boot sale and we can get that nice Scottish lady that everyone loves to coo over everything.” “That Simon Cowell is on to something, let’s make a talent show with a twist! How about punk pensioners / garage grandads or hip hop hooray henrys? We need to workshop this in the thought pod on the sixth floor – bring your ipad Tristan.”

Gradually, the clone TV sausage machine has filled the schedules with different versions of the same thing. The presenters change, the music is tweaked, the budget heads ever southwards but it’s basically the same idea.

So now it’s not just Kevin. It’s Caroline and Piers swanning around the globe in search of ever more iconic houses. “Yes, we’ve found a mountaintop mansion made from marble helicoptered in during a snowstorm!” It’s George – ( he’s an ‘Arkytec’ you know ) – he sheds a tear as you re-tell the story of your war wound / emotional loss / chronic constipation that lead you to buy this pile of rubble and mortgage your spleen to do it up. How about Grand Designs in half an hour? We can get that scouse bird off Brookside to pritt stick the B&Q wallpaper onto the ensuite during the commercials. Film it fast and no-one will see it fall off when we get the hell out by teatime. And so it goes on, more property shows. Always ‘Will they do it in time?’, ‘The doubtful host’, ‘The Reveal’, ‘How much is it worth’? Zzzzzzz.

Kevin may be on the downslope. He’s no doubt, paying an army of pre-Brexit Eurobuilders to construct his porcelain retirement complex on a sunny hillside somewhere. He may have peaked. That mansion made of mud a few series back was big enough to be seen from space without magnification. Grand Designs has spawned many many progeny.

Least attractive of these is “Building the Dream”. A half-baked concept about half-baked houses. The owners pretend that they haven’t already ordered the avocado shower tray and Diamonique pedal bin. They call in ‘Architectural Designer’ Charlie to ‘advise’ on how to make their dream home even more dreamy. Charlie rocks up wearing an anorak and looking smug. They all sit round the table in their caravan (they spent the entire ice age there you know) and Charlie doodles a few ideas on their expensive CAD drawings with his Pentel. The rest of the show is a gradual revelation that they’ve ignored everything Charlie suggested and stayed true to their original snot green vision. Charlie returns, even smugger than before and pretends not to be bothered. He does a little Kevin-style homily at the end (though never as sanctimoniously as RevKev) and then walks off to collect his fee and do a closing smugshot. Meanwhile the owners fester in their mucous mansion looking equally smug. Everybody’s happy and the viewers hit ebay for bargain bogey shower trays.

Middle class morons: no2

Sunday, August 30th, 2015

Middle class morons: no1

Wednesday, August 19th, 2015

Tedious linguistic clichés of the moment

Sunday, October 9th, 2011

I’m growing tired of hearing so many people who can’t speak normally any more. They pepper their speech with stock, media-derived phrases which are glued clumsily together into cliché-ridden sentences. The glue is usually the word ‘like’. The filling is comprised of a mix of standard English, spoken in a pseudo-Jamaican accent with the following seasonings:

‘For free’, ‘Awesome’, ‘Massive thankyou’, ‘You / guys’, ‘Fantastic’, ‘Legend’, ‘Oh my days’, ‘My bad’, ‘It’s a big ask”.

I wish they’d all just bugger orf and get some elocution lessons innit?

Yawn

Thursday, July 7th, 2011

Annoying tossers on trains and buses drivelling into their mobile phones.
Annoying tossers in shops drivelling into their mobile phones.
Annoying tossers in the street drivelling into their mobile phones.
Annoying tossers checking their mobile phones when they arrive / depart / shift in their chair / fart / breathe.
Annoying tossers talking about their new mobile phone or their unsatisfactory mobile phone company / contract or the mobile phone they want to get and are planning their life around getting like it is some sort of life goal which is actually important to them. Tossers.
Phone hacking. Take an axe to the bleedin lot of em.
Annoying tossers who say ‘end of’.
Annoying tossers who say ‘end of’, ‘dude’, ‘awesome’ etc into their mobile phones in the street / on buses and trains / in shops. THIS IS NOT AMERICA. YOU ARE NOT AMERICAN. OR JAMAICAN. SPEAK PROPERLY.
That is all. End of.