Listen to Granny because Granny always knows best!
Reality television is a concept that leaves much to be desired, though I suppose it’s relatively cheap to make and panders to the human love of schadenfreude. But it’s so getting on my nerves. To the extent I’ve started only watching live football and people making pots.
But what has so wound granny up?
I will elucidate.
Me and Gyp happened to turn on the flat screen the other night in time to be ‘entertained’ by some old guy doing the splits on ice and persuading a diverse panel of celebrities to jump through a hole in said ice and halfway drown in water colder than my late unlamented’s feet in bed. All of which is, apparently, going to help with their mental health. Excuse me if I cry bullshit…
Then there’s a show where a swearing man decides who he is going to help start up a catering business. Which involves a shitload of swearing and posturing by the very annoying host and a load of challenges designed to make the contestants look inept. I have some advice for whoever wins: run away as fast as you can, or you will have swearing man sitting on your back like a monkey until the day you go bankrupt.
We can follow that with the chance to be mentored and invested in by a short, tetchy man with fat fingers. This is a programme in which a group of dislikable young people vie with each other to see who can be the most unprincipled, being whittled down one by one until only the truly least admirable remains. That floats doesn’t it…
But it’s not a patch on the social experiment that sends couples to stay in a fairly grim looking ‘hotel’ where a ‘life coach’ encourages them to ‘experiment sexually’ under the eye of a camera or two. Even Gyp brought up his doggomeat.
My final example of televisual inanity comes in the form of a show where a contestant picks someone to go on a date with, based on the visual appeal of their genitalia. It almost makes me long for the days of ‘Blind Date’ at least the contestants thereon spoke – even if what they said was mostly embarrassing and clumsy innuendo.
I really don’t have one, except to say I’m sometimes very glad to be old and not to have misplaced the tv remote.
Don’t have nightmares