Generally the kind of pain which we’re used to in the Scottish independence movement is the emotional pain that comes from witnessing the likes of a newspaper which would be the periodical of choice of a Sith Lord posing as a great defender of moral values. Or there’s the pain incurred by our sensibilities on being informed by the BBC that next week they’re going to broadcast an hour long documentary about one of the great love stories of the 20th century, which they’re trying to tell us in all seriousness is the marriage between Liz and Phil. Ohhhh kaaay.
So that’s an enduring love story if you consider glowering at one another across the state banquet table and telling a flunky to pass the salt as a tale of sacrifice and devotion to each other that’s on a par with Romeo and Juliet. This is the kind of crap that makes the rest of us call the BBC out as a propaganda outlet. Honestly BBC, stick to glossy documentaries about the mating rituals of the lesser spotted great-tit, because you’re fooling no one with your glossy documentaries about the mating rituals of the all too frequently spotted posh person.
A gushing documentary about the love that Liz and Phil have for one another is every bit as fictional as just about any rom com starring Gwyneth Paltrow, only Gwyneth is far less demanding. It’s even less engaging than one of those afternoon television brain boilers about star crossed lovers one of whom is dying of cancer, which is so bad that you find yourself cheering on the tumour. It’s even less believable than any movie with Woody Allen as the decrepit auld romantic lead to whom young and attractive women are inexplicably attracted, and it doesn’t even approach the plausibility of one of those movies in which a beautiful, confident and successful woman ends up falling head over heels with her creepy stalker who has a body odour problem and always wears dirty t-shirts with suspicious stains on them.
All of this makes me wonder if I’m fated to end up in a loving relationship with the creepy stalkerish stamp collector guy who keeps sending me emails telling me how much he hates me. I’m sure he only collects stamps because he loves licking the Queen’s behind so I won’t be surprised if this blog post provokes another missive. Well I say missive. It’s the internet equivalent of a note scrawled in green crayon on a torn piece of hard and shiny toilet paper. (Talking of notes – just a wee note for you, stamp collector guy. If you’re going to write to someone telling them that they have a poor command of written and spoken English, try to use its and it’s properly. It won’t do much for your credibility because that ship has long since sailed, but it will give me one less reason to mock you.)
You can be pretty certain that the gushing documentary won’t be addressing the persistent rumours that Phil and Liz have scarcely been on speaking terms since the 1950s and the claims that each of them allegedly has had their own love stories involving other people. That’s why some were saying that when Phil was celebrating his 90th birthday he only wanted close family to attend, so he didn’t invite Andrew or Edward. That’s the kind of joke you won’t find on prime time BBC telly.
Actually, why am I calling it a documentary? In comparison to this programme Doctor Who is a documentary. What the BBC is telling us is a documentary is really the kind of intelligence insulting fiction that a Brexiteer wouldn’t even dare to write on the side of a bus.
You won’t be surprised to learn that I won’t be watching the programme as I’ll be fully occupied doing something more productive and meaningful, like howking out the dirt from underneath my fingernails or trying extract a particularly irritating and persistent nasal hair. The only redeeming feature about this glossy whitewash job is that it’s not going to be presented by Nicolas Witchell because he’s still fully occupied trying to persuade Prince Charles that his creepy stalkerish love is true and pure. Possibly he should take up stamp collecting.
Anyway, it’s not like there’s any shortage of posh people on the telly pretending to be in serious relationships with one another, Made in Chelsea is going to be on E4 at the same time and no one is going to insist on putting its regulars on a stamp. But E4 doesn’t make Made in Chelsea using money that has been extracted from us all on pain of criminal charges. It’s only the BBC that does that. It’s not just that the BBC pumps out propaganda that we find objectionable. What really sticks in the craw is the fact that we’re expected to pay for it. That’s why the BBC ends up being the subject of so much ire and anger. The Daily Mail and the Express are propaganda sheets that spill bile and dreck all over the body politic, but those of us who find them objectionable don’t have to pay for it. The BBC doesn’t give us that choice. If you’re going to take our money, then we expect you to reflect our views, and that is precisely what the BBC doesn’t do.
Putting up with the pish is all part and parcel of the mental pain that comes from the British state, but no one told me that campaigning for Scottish independence was likely to hurt so much physically. The other week I was doing a talk in Rothesay which involved an overnight stay, and afterwards was walking the dog. My good shoes don’t have great grip, the dug lunged at something, I slipped on some wet leaves on one of Rothesay’s many steep hills and went flying. Ever since I’ve been nursing a cracked rib. It’s even more painful than listening to Fluffy Mundell avoid questions from Scottish MPs. At least Fluffy has a soporific effect, a cracked rib keeps you awake at night. So you might have noticed from the tone of this blog article that I’m a wee bit tetchy right now. I’m sure there will be plenty more to crack me up before the rib heals.
The Wee Ginger Dug has got a new domain name, thanks to Indy Poster Boy, Colin Dunn @Zarkwan. http://www.indyposterboy.scot/ You can now access this blog simply by typing www.weegingerdug.scot into the address bar of your browser, the old address continues to function, the new one redirects to the blog. The advantage of the new address is that it’s a lot easier to remember if you want to include a link to the blog in leaflets, posters, or simply to tell a friend about it. Many thanks to Colin.
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