Monday, 26 December 2011

Thanks, Jim. (Shane).


Today is Boxing Day. I hope you didn’t go shopping, for the sake of your own soul. Watching the news was like bearing witness to the first few hours of a global pandemic, or the coming of the apocalypse. Or the savage sacrifice of a baby animal.

I was a little bit sick in my mouth when I saw hordes of humans bursting through the front doors of Next (on TV, I didn’t go there), because a) the things they received yesterday were not the right things or b) they were the right things but they needed a shitload more of them.

At least the TV was good tonight. One of the highlights for me was the bizarre reimagining of ‘Jim’ll Fix It’ hosted tonight, by Shane Ritchie. The concept was both uplifting and exciting for TV viewers in the seventies, eighties and nineties but tonight’s perverted doppelgänger culminated in a macabre sing along where kids stood around a semi famous opera singer, not really singing, while a six year old girl hung suspended in a harness above, dressed like an angel, but looking more like a cumulus cloud motionless and ignored.

I’m not sure Shane fixed anything, but at least he gave a six year old girl an attention deficit complex.

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