I think I might be a BBC 4 viewer.
Now when you're a cunt, at least in the manner attributed to me, it's important to exercise caution when labelling yourself. It is important to try and avoid making a tit of yourself. It's precisely the reason I have no intention of thinking of myself as a blogger, teacher, spiritualist, singer, Robson Green impersonator, Oliver Neve, or an “I'd rather be watching Celtic” window sticker, knowing that my attention span may not even let me finish this sentence. Oh, it did.
However, I think I'm on relatively sturdy ground with my new sort-of-interest in highish-brow digital television. I've been a viewer for upwards of two weeks now, much longer than I tend to remain a teacher, a teacher, a teacher or a teacher on any particular attempt. Besides, my current job tends to lend itself to this new behaviour. Indeed it wasn't until I became a Gypsy Saviour, with the unusually high amount of time on facebook that the job allows me, that I actually began watching this much television. Except during unemployment. The fact that I've spent the last couple of years as a Sky Sports News viewer is broadly the result of 2 factors. Firstly, I like sports, I hope more importantly, the shocking revelation that I do not hate Jeff Stelling. Who does?
My initial distaste for Stelling was, with hindsight, little more than an assumption based on brief exposure to the company he kept. Phil Thompson, Frank McLintock, and Rodney Marsh all seemed like complete tossers. Whilst never having been one to allow a complete lack of knowledge get in the way of a strong opinion, the first few laughs in response to actually listening to his show caused me great concern. A complete search of my car (you may have thought it was a yellow tanktop, but I just had the windows rolled down) reassured me that no-one was there to point out I'd been wrong all along, and I've been enjoying the show ever since. Shouldn't really watch TV in the car, but what the hell, eh?
The unfortunate side-effect of this discovery is that I lazily found myself watching Sky Sports News whenever I was driving, or not, convincing myself that the other shows were similarly entertaining. I even found myself perfectly content listening to the cavalcade of shit that came out of the loud, smug, mobile-phone-sales-men-looking-pricks mouths. I really have no idea what triggered my switch to BBC 4, but I'm fairly certain I'm a happier person for it. Alex James of Blur appears to be a perfectly nice fellow, a real success story of 90s BritPop in fact, but he's not once used the phrase "svelte paedophile" whilst I've been watching. And why would he? I've never met the man.
I'm aware it's hardly a revelation to point out that BBC 4's programming is rather more intellectual than Sky Sports News. What surprises me is how suddenly I've found my taste switching from 1 to the other. A couple of weeks of quality, in-depth news reporting and the vapid, twatling on about sports that aren't football by people reading off an auto-cue and laughing inanely at jokes you wouldn't even get at the end of an episode of Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles, has become unbearable. Driving home to the witty and informative "PM" show has finally made me stand up (opening the sunroof first, obviously – making it look even more like a tanktop) and say no to the eminently punchable Simon Thomas. Perhaps BBC 4 is a sign of life progression. A rite of passage through which one can never return. Once you've watched Mark Lawson on "Mark Lawson meets Dolly Parton", or a fascinating documentary on ELO, it's hard to imagine yourself meekly allowing the Sky to force Aussie Rules Football through your skull again.
Does watching BBC 4 make me a better person? Yes. It also makes me feel slightly smugger [fucking hell] than I did before. It's a smugness I'll think I'm keeping inside me though, secretly looking down my nose at the millions of Sky Sports News viewers I was ranked among just a fortnight ago. So secret, in fact, that not even the reader(s) of this blog will notice. Casually ignoring the fact that I still laugh every time Jeff Stelling says “NIL!”, in order to maintain this new intellectual self-image. I think it's harmless enough. Having said that, if you ever catch me humming the Birds Of Britannia theme tune I simply ask that you use my descent into middle-age, middle-class tedium as a cautionary tale to the younger generation. Just make sure you present the story with a loud dramatic noise, 56 information bars swishing around in multiple directions (getting pissed off because you keep reading about some NFL shit when you just want to see the Premier League fixtures) and a twat in a suit saying things he doesn't appear to know anything about.
Now when you're a cunt, at least in the manner attributed to me, it's important to exercise caution when labelling yourself. It is important to try and avoid making a tit of yourself. It's precisely the reason I have no intention of thinking of myself as a blogger, teacher, spiritualist, singer, Robson Green impersonator, Oliver Neve, or an “I'd rather be watching Celtic” window sticker, knowing that my attention span may not even let me finish this sentence. Oh, it did.
However, I think I'm on relatively sturdy ground with my new sort-of-interest in highish-brow digital television. I've been a viewer for upwards of two weeks now, much longer than I tend to remain a teacher, a teacher, a teacher or a teacher on any particular attempt. Besides, my current job tends to lend itself to this new behaviour. Indeed it wasn't until I became a Gypsy Saviour, with the unusually high amount of time on facebook that the job allows me, that I actually began watching this much television. Except during unemployment. The fact that I've spent the last couple of years as a Sky Sports News viewer is broadly the result of 2 factors. Firstly, I like sports, I hope more importantly, the shocking revelation that I do not hate Jeff Stelling. Who does?
My initial distaste for Stelling was, with hindsight, little more than an assumption based on brief exposure to the company he kept. Phil Thompson, Frank McLintock, and Rodney Marsh all seemed like complete tossers. Whilst never having been one to allow a complete lack of knowledge get in the way of a strong opinion, the first few laughs in response to actually listening to his show caused me great concern. A complete search of my car (you may have thought it was a yellow tanktop, but I just had the windows rolled down) reassured me that no-one was there to point out I'd been wrong all along, and I've been enjoying the show ever since. Shouldn't really watch TV in the car, but what the hell, eh?
The unfortunate side-effect of this discovery is that I lazily found myself watching Sky Sports News whenever I was driving, or not, convincing myself that the other shows were similarly entertaining. I even found myself perfectly content listening to the cavalcade of shit that came out of the loud, smug, mobile-phone-sales-men-looking-pricks mouths. I really have no idea what triggered my switch to BBC 4, but I'm fairly certain I'm a happier person for it. Alex James of Blur appears to be a perfectly nice fellow, a real success story of 90s BritPop in fact, but he's not once used the phrase "svelte paedophile" whilst I've been watching. And why would he? I've never met the man.
I'm aware it's hardly a revelation to point out that BBC 4's programming is rather more intellectual than Sky Sports News. What surprises me is how suddenly I've found my taste switching from 1 to the other. A couple of weeks of quality, in-depth news reporting and the vapid, twatling on about sports that aren't football by people reading off an auto-cue and laughing inanely at jokes you wouldn't even get at the end of an episode of Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles, has become unbearable. Driving home to the witty and informative "PM" show has finally made me stand up (opening the sunroof first, obviously – making it look even more like a tanktop) and say no to the eminently punchable Simon Thomas. Perhaps BBC 4 is a sign of life progression. A rite of passage through which one can never return. Once you've watched Mark Lawson on "Mark Lawson meets Dolly Parton", or a fascinating documentary on ELO, it's hard to imagine yourself meekly allowing the Sky to force Aussie Rules Football through your skull again.
Does watching BBC 4 make me a better person? Yes. It also makes me feel slightly smugger [fucking hell] than I did before. It's a smugness I'll think I'm keeping inside me though, secretly looking down my nose at the millions of Sky Sports News viewers I was ranked among just a fortnight ago. So secret, in fact, that not even the reader(s) of this blog will notice. Casually ignoring the fact that I still laugh every time Jeff Stelling says “NIL!”, in order to maintain this new intellectual self-image. I think it's harmless enough. Having said that, if you ever catch me humming the Birds Of Britannia theme tune I simply ask that you use my descent into middle-age, middle-class tedium as a cautionary tale to the younger generation. Just make sure you present the story with a loud dramatic noise, 56 information bars swishing around in multiple directions (getting pissed off because you keep reading about some NFL shit when you just want to see the Premier League fixtures) and a twat in a suit saying things he doesn't appear to know anything about.
LOLOLOLOL. Yellow tank top. DUMPY!!!
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