Merry Christmas Everyone
The choice of watching BBC television all night or undergoing canal root surgery performed by a cataract-ridden amateur dentist with a drinking problem has, for the normal, well-adjusted individual, always been an easy decision to make, yet, worryingly, some people still choose to tune into Auntie. And risk public ridicule. “That’s him. That’s the bloke who watches it. Needs his head tested.’
The choice of watching BBC television all night or undergoing canal root surgery performed by a cataract-ridden amateur dentist with a drinking problem has, for the normal, well-adjusted individual, always been an easy decision to make, yet, worryingly, some people still choose to tune into Auntie. And risk public ridicule. “That’s him. That’s the bloke who watches it. Needs his head tested.’
As, weighed down by its own prejudices, the BBC sinks slowly into the sunset, there are those who sadly cannot accept its inevitable fate.
As, weighed down by its own prejudices, the BBC sinks slowly into the sunset, there are those who sadly cannot accept its inevitable fate.
It’s said that small groups of BBC fanatics secretly meet up one or two evenings a month to watch the beleaguered channel. A room in an unmarked rural hotel is surreptitiously hired for a few hours and there such programmes as the rip-roaring comedy Here We Go and the heart-stopping The Bidding Room are eagerly devoured. The hotel manager is bribed to look the other way, but that’s not always enough. Last month, acting on a tip-off, police raided a Hull establishment to find seven devotees watching a third repeat of Wanted Down Under Revisited. Each was ordered to attend a Get-A-Life Management course.
It’s said that small groups of BBC fanatics secretly meet up one or two evenings a month to watch the beleaguered channel. A room in an unmarked rural hotel is surreptitiously hired for a few hours and there such programmes as the rip-roaring comedy Here We Go and the heart-stopping The Bidding Room are eagerly devoured. The hotel manager is bribed to look the other way, but that’s not always enough. Last month, acting on a tip-off, police raided a Hull establishment to find seven devotees watching a third repeat of Wanted Down Under Revisited. Each was ordered to attend a Get-A-Life Management course.
One recovering addict, who wished to remain anonymous, said: ‘I’ve been clean now for a couple of years. I’ve not watched a single BBC programme since 2019’. Others were not so lucky. Mabel, from Basingstoke, was in a bad way. She had even once watched an episode of Miranda. At her wit’s end, she had gone to a back-street acupuncturist for help. He’d charged Mabel £4,000, but the ‘treatment’ had failed. Later, still addicted to the channel, she had joined a self-help group but, foolishly, during the interval, had nipped outside to have a quick look at Eastenders on her mobile. She was caught and asked to leave.
One recovering addict, who wished to remain anonymous, said: ‘I’ve been clean now for a couple of years. I’ve not watched a single BBC programme since 2019’. Others were not so lucky. Mabel, from Basingstoke, was in a bad way. She had even once watched an episode of Miranda. At her wit’s end, she had gone to a back-street acupuncturist for help. He’d charged Mabel £4,000, but the ‘treatment’ had failed. Later, still addicted to the channel, she had joined a self-help group but, foolishly, during the interval, had nipped outside to have a quick look at Eastenders on her mobile. She was caught and asked to leave.
A telephone helpline manned by reformed BBC watchers was set up, and only then was the scale of the problem fully realised as overloaded telephone lines crackled and fused. Something had to be done.
A telephone helpline manned by reformed BBC watchers was set up, and only then was the scale of the problem fully realised as overloaded telephone lines crackled and fused. Something had to be done.
And it was. The head of BBC’s ‘Televisual Acceptance of Diversity, Black Lives Matter and Woke Awareness’ department, the gluten-free Precious Ahmed, was immediately ordered to appear before a select committee to explain the rapidly receding station figures. She pointed out that the figures had in fact gone up. ‘Last year.’ she explained, ‘our approval rating was minus 86%. It has now dropped significantly to minus 81%.’
And it was. The head of BBC’s ‘Televisual Acceptance of Diversity, Black Lives Matter and Woke Awareness’ department, the gluten-free Precious Ahmed, was immediately ordered to appear before a select committee to explain the rapidly receding station figures. She pointed out that the figures had in fact gone up. ‘Last year.’ she explained, ‘our approval rating was minus 86%. It has now dropped significantly to minus 81%.’
It was, of course, a step in the right direction, but there were greater concerns, notably that BBC cameramen were now working from home. Inconvenienced actors fretted as they took the morning tube to Fulham Broadway to record the storm scene from Lear in a cameraman’s kitchen. Opera singers, forced to rehearse in the two-up, two-down home of a Bradford cameraman, were told by neighbours to keep the noise down. It wasn’t pretty.
It was, of course, a step in the right direction, but there were greater concerns, notably that BBC cameramen were now working from home. Inconvenienced actors fretted as they took the morning tube to Fulham Broadway to record the storm scene from Lear in a cameraman’s kitchen. Opera singers, forced to rehearse in the two-up, two-down home of a Bradford cameraman, were told by neighbours to keep the noise down. It wasn’t pretty.
Forced to intervene, the Prime Minister threatened to transport all persistent watchers of the channel to Rwanda before all hell broke loose after a long-lens photo, taken through a Downing Street window, surfaced, showing him watching The Graham Norton Show. The Prime Minister was forced to issue a grovelling apology. A moment of madness, he said.
Forced to intervene, the Prime Minister threatened to transport all persistent watchers of the channel to Rwanda before all hell broke loose after a long-lens photo, taken through a Downing Street window, surfaced, showing him watching The Graham Norton Show. The Prime Minister was forced to issue a grovelling apology. A moment of madness, he said.
Troubled BBC programme schedulers, sensing unrest and possible redundancies, conferred and promised change. It was decided that a white person should in future be added to their 200-strong team of reporters ‘to show diversity’. Furthermore, it was decided that of the 100-odd street interviews conducted each week, one would in future include the views of a white person, no matter how stupid their opinion may be.
Troubled BBC programme schedulers, sensing unrest and possible redundancies, conferred and promised change. It was decided that a white person should in future be added to their 200-strong team of reporters ‘to show diversity’. Furthermore, it was decided that of the 100-odd street interviews conducted each week, one would in future include the views of a white person, no matter how stupid their opinion may be.
Then, inevitably, in a distant country, an acute mind stirred and a calculator reached for as business opportunities were recognised. Shortly afterwards, boat trips from Dover to Calais with further passage to countries unable to receive the BBC were offered for £10,000. The response was staggering. Thousands, seeking a life free from Auntie and her TV licence, made their way to Dover, bringing the port to a standstill. Incoming immigrant-heavy Border Force vessels struggled to land against an out-going flotilla of overloaded rubber dinghies. Conflict seemed inevitable. Again, the Prime Minister stepped in. Addressing the House, he announced that anyone caught leaving England to escape the BBC would be immediately sent to live in Wales. Or forced to watch a women’s rugby match. It was a masterstroke. Horrified would-be boat people quickly put their tickets on eBay. A crisis had been averted.
Then, inevitably, in a distant country, an acute mind stirred and a calculator reached for as business opportunities were recognised. Shortly afterwards, boat trips from Dover to Calais with further passage to countries unable to receive the BBC were offered for £10,000. The response was staggering. Thousands, seeking a life free from Auntie and her TV licence, made their way to Dover, bringing the port to a standstill. Incoming immigrant-heavy Border Force vessels struggled to land against an out-going flotilla of overloaded rubber dinghies. Conflict seemed inevitable. Again, the Prime Minister stepped in. Addressing the House, he announced that anyone caught leaving England to escape the BBC would be immediately sent to live in Wales. Or forced to watch a women’s rugby match. It was a masterstroke. Horrified would-be boat people quickly put their tickets on eBay. A crisis had been averted.
Oldtimers recalled when, back in the day, the BBC was the BBC. Then, half-a-billion viewers worldwide tuned in to watch any one of the 52 consecutive Grand Nationals it covered. Julian Wilson, their rock-solid racing correspondent, fronted the programme from 1967 to 1997. Articulate, knowledgeable and silken-smooth, he was very much a man of his time, content to promote his sport rather than himself. He deplored the dumbing down of racing. When the BBC called a halt to its racing in 2012, Wilson said: ‘For us, racing was a serious business. We weren’t interested in gimmicks, people dressed up in purple suits and schoolboy humour.’
Oldtimers recalled when, back in the day, the BBC was the BBC. Then, half-a-billion viewers worldwide tuned in to watch any one of the 52 consecutive Grand Nationals it covered. Julian Wilson, their rock-solid racing correspondent, fronted the programme from 1967 to 1997. Articulate, knowledgeable and silken-smooth, he was very much a man of his time, content to promote his sport rather than himself. He deplored the dumbing down of racing. When the BBC called a halt to its racing in 2012, Wilson said: ‘For us, racing was a serious business. We weren’t interested in gimmicks, people dressed up in purple suits and schoolboy humour.’
All fields have a god. Music had Mozart. Drama, Shakespeare. Painting, Van Gogh. Racing commentators had the peerless Sir Peter O’Sullevan. With a voice and calmness gifted from a distant heaven, he first broadcast in 1948 before going on to cover 50 Grand Nationals and 14,000 other races.
All fields have a god. Music had Mozart. Drama, Shakespeare. Painting, Van Gogh. Racing commentators had the peerless Sir Peter O’Sullevan. With a voice and calmness gifted from a distant heaven, he first broadcast in 1948 before going on to cover 50 Grand Nationals and 14,000 other races.
Then, from nowhere and unannounced, came The Change - surreptitiously at first and, in a Theresa May kind of way, somewhat opaque. But it was there. Bubbling beneath the racing establishment. Waiting to catch you off-guard. And it did. Suddenly, like a playground bully, it smacked you in the mouth when you weren’t looking and a new breed of presenter had arrived.
Then, from nowhere and unannounced, came The Change - surreptitiously at first and, in a Theresa May kind of way, somewhat opaque. But it was there. Bubbling beneath the racing establishment. Waiting to catch you off-guard. And it did. Suddenly, like a playground bully, it smacked you in the mouth when you weren’t looking and a new breed of presenter had arrived.
It may have started with Clare Balding.
It may have started with Clare Balding.
Allergic, by definition, to change, traditionalists tutted and fretted whilst feminists’ breasts and pulses heaved and raced as Clare, with her bullet-proof hairstyle and sensitivity, stepped into the spot vacated by Wilson. Totally professional and always well researched, she was, nonetheless, a woman, and this caused a problem to many, in the same way that a woman referee would upset so many male football fans today.
Allergic, by definition, to change, traditionalists tutted and fretted whilst feminists’ breasts and pulses heaved and raced as Clare, with her bullet-proof hairstyle and sensitivity, stepped into the spot vacated by Wilson. Totally professional and always well researched, she was, nonetheless, a woman, and this caused a problem to many, in the same way that a woman referee would upset so many male football fans today.
But the daylight had been let in.
But the daylight had been let in.
Old School values became disregarded, and, like any decent plague worth its salt, this dumbing down, as many saw it, spread to other racing channels which began to hire a menagerie of self-seeking presenters to grace, or disgrace, our screens. Each brought a various level of talent, usually around sea-bottom, to support a one-out-of-ten personality. Woman presenters were meticulously auditioned: those with a witch’s cackle a laughing hyena would die for were immediately hired.
Old School values became disregarded, and, like any decent plague worth its salt, this dumbing down, as many saw it, spread to other racing channels which began to hire a menagerie of self-seeking presenters to grace, or disgrace, our screens. Each brought a various level of talent, usually around sea-bottom, to support a one-out-of-ten personality. Woman presenters were meticulously auditioned: those with a witch’s cackle a laughing hyena would die for were immediately hired.
The debasement of racing presenters was complete when an ex-jockey turned TV racing commentator, whose fashion sense needed a little work, once covered Royal Ascot wearing fetching pink shorts over white plimsolls and a colourful Hawaiian shirt, an ensemble thoughtfully topped by a flat brown cap the size of a circus ring. Nice.
The debasement of racing presenters was complete when an ex-jockey turned TV racing commentator, whose fashion sense needed a little work, once covered Royal Ascot wearing fetching pink shorts over white plimsolls and a colourful Hawaiian shirt, an ensemble thoughtfully topped by a flat brown cap the size of a circus ring. Nice.
So where are we now?
So where are we now?
We’re with the likes of Matt Chapman, whose sledgehammer approach makes him a hard man to avoid (though it’s well worth the effort).
We’re with the likes of Matt Chapman, whose sledgehammer approach makes him a hard man to avoid (though it’s well worth the effort).
But I’m a realist.
But I’m a realist.
Times and attitudes move on and change: standards maintained by one generation will be stood on their head by the next. As indeed they should be. Right or wrong - who wants to wear yesterday’s fashion, however well they may still fit?
Times and attitudes move on and change: standards maintained by one generation will be stood on their head by the next. As indeed they should be. Right or wrong - who wants to wear yesterday’s fashion, however well they may still fit?
Yet, thankfully, some things never change.
Yet, thankfully, some things never change.
Alastair Sim’s immortal piqued portrayal of Scrooge and Jimmy Stewart’s square-jawed righteousness and trembling angst in What A Wonderful Life defy time. As do Mozart, Shakespeare and Van Gogh. They will outlast us all.
Alastair Sim’s immortal piqued portrayal of Scrooge and Jimmy Stewart’s square-jawed righteousness and trembling angst in What A Wonderful Life defy time. As do Mozart, Shakespeare and Van Gogh. They will outlast us all.
Have a great Christmas. And a peaceful, healthy New Year.
Have a great Christmas. And a peaceful, healthy New Year.
George
George
Founder - Jockeypedia
Founder - Jockeypedia
Email me:
Email me:
george.g.wheeler@gmail.com
george.g.wheeler@gmail.com