Britain's Got ADD

Rare is it that I board the flight of popular fancy, but in the case of Britain’s Got Talent over the past couple of evenings I’ve had my passport stamped - in danger of sounding like a heather brandishing gypsy here - “for the sake of the children”.

Outside of my charge, my kids are exposed to all manner of questionable ‘entertainment’ - BGT being one such example. And just as stand-up comedy became the new rock n’roll and football became the new religion, Idol/Factor/Talent shows have morphed into latest swinish fever to polarise and galvanise public opinion. The next ‘new’. And if you don’t have an opinion or a favourite on these shows, you’re somehow regarded with the kind of suspicion/revile usually reserved for alleged kiddie-fiddlers.

What makes such lazy programming abhorrent to me is not the child labour ‘camp’ pressures that the moral majority will be frothing over with sexual fervour since poor little Hollie‘s near meltdown in the Semi‘s of BGT. Yes, absolutely, the parents of such talented little creatures should be stringently profiled as to their true motivation for sacrificing anything approaching a normal childhood for their offspring, for I’m sure that many have failed to do the math: prize money minus rehab + lifetime of parental resentment = one glummy Mummy and/or Daddy. But if the prodigy really does have a dream & a passion (and some talent) to perform - each to their own destiny.

I’d be more on-side if such shows were to see a true return to gladiatorial entertainment - i.e. the reinstalling of chucking Right Wing Christians (and Big Brother Contestants/WAGS etc.) - to actual lions. Please - just tell me where to sign…

But ‘Britain’s Got Faux Sincerity’ has already become a battery farm of the weird and the wonderful. Much like the Factor’s/Idol’s of past/present - it’s merely churning out future fayre in the perpetual cycle of I Was A Tentative Celebrity At Best, Please Remember Me parent shows.

Lately I’ve learnt to forgive the cynical pantomime judging that makes so-called ‘good TV’. The target demographic may on the whole be duller than a box of accountants put through a hot wash, so in a way I’m sure SCowell grifts a perverse pleasure from their adverse reactionary numptitude. Fair play.

I do question the validity of armchair ’judges’ that sit in every Saturday (or Monday through Saturday in some cases) night to watch lite-entertainment instead of frequenting the theatre or a real gig. That’s like having Right Wing Christians reviewing porn.

It irks me upon hearing the herded Great Idiot Public/studio audience, who bray and boo at the merest hint of constructive criticism. Left to these morons we’d have close to a million people jostling on stage at the Finals…

Then before Warhol’s sanctioned time is up, the celebrity Alzheimer’s kicks in. Joe & Josephine Public idly cast aside their hero(es) of choice as soon as a fresh batch of meat is paraded for their prime-time viewing pleasure, their fleeting favourite suddenly languishing in the career bargain bin of fickle feckwits. To paraphrase the words of Laureate Noel Gallgher; “please don’t put your life in the hands, of suburban Mum’s and Gran’s - they’ll piss it all away…”

Which, despite all my fear and loathing of such manipulative media - is a real shame.

For what I experienced from my TV these past two evenings wasn’t some tribal need to ‘vote for my favourite - or die!’ bully complex.

It wasn’t discovering some new Act that I’m likely to follow beyond the weekend.

It was to be introduced to a surprising and refreshing array of role models.

Here I saw the humble, the nerdy, the awkward - ordinary people with a passion and heart and just enough self belief to grasp at their dreams whilst others sit on their Domino‘s sponsored assess and revel in someone else‘s living life.

I witnessed people who lived and would clearly die (or die trying) for their family. Folk from all colours, creeds and across the spectrum of age, gelling and dancing/singing/gooning about in the face of what’s ‘cool’.

I hope that it inspires kids in desperate situations to realise there are alternatives to drugs, knife crime, superficial status etc. (Do seek out the superb documentary Favela Rising about Brazil’s inspirational Afro Reggae, which is a wonderful depiction of this).

I hope that it reminds people that our families are worth more than trophies and all the shiny prizes that the media would have us covet.

And I hope that those millions tuning in - were really and truly entertained.

For the most insightful piece of commentary that came out of the whole BGT Final was this:
SCowell remarking (of high-brow criticism of the likes of Stavros) how it should be about “how it makes you feel”.

It’s entertainment. It’s an art form (as tenuous as the form allows). It embraces that punk ethos that - you might not be qualified in the traditional sense - but no-one’s going to stop you but yourself. Battle lines have not been drawn. Settle down. Relax. Set aside your daily woes. Escape. Enjoy.

So whilst I despair at the easily led legions of such lazy programming, I have nothing but respect for those brave souls that suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous prejudice to follow their dream, brightening the lives of dullards & quitters in their brief wake.

It’s all end of the Pier stuff granted, but isn’t a harking back to the heyday of British Variety what BGT’s all about? Maybe it’s that eccentric, indefatigable spirit that once made us Great (invasion, exploitation and colonisation notwithstanding) and maybe recapturing and embracing that can drag us back out of these ‘noughties’ doldrums.

Wouldn’t it be nice therefore if BGT put it’s money where it’s arse is and looks into pumping some of the funds from phone-ins & cash cows like the national tour and ubiquitous cd releases - back into music halls and theatres in depressed sub-urban areas and struggling seaside resorts? The kind of no-hope communities that breed many of the hopefuls paraded for our BGT pleasure? It could provide a heckuva showcase for the plentiful unsung talent that these fair shores have to offer. All it takes is the cash and the brand. Better that surely than a soulless proliferation of Super Casinos and Bingo Halls?

Remember - it should be about how it “makes us feel”. Wouldn’t it be nice for Britain to feel Great again. And not just for Saturday.

Stay positve!
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Big Issues… Or - Why Does Every Woman I Go Out With Turn Into A Homeless Person?…

…because there comes that time in a relationship where the demand for ‘change’ becomes like the mantra of a zombie hobo. And it’s kinda driving me nuts.

Oh, hello, by the way…

Once was a time where I’d get so giddy over the affections of a lovely lady that I’d invariably wake up married. Then dawned an age where the slightest hint at relationship earnestness had me spinning for the hills like a gyroscope on acid. Recently on a boozy night out with a great chum, I joked about remedying this by proposing to a random passer-by and was swiftly bundled into a cab by said friend and promptly frog-marched onto my train.

So I find myself caught between a rock and - at times - a lonely place. And partially I put this down to the aforementioned overriding desire for change.

What is it about human nature that drives us to take something we’re perfectly happy with only to stamp one’s mark all over it in some nihilistic customisation job, f***ing up beyond recognition what attracted us in the first place?

Whether it be partners, office space, cars, mobile phones - we seem to have this primal need to spray our ‘territory’ with taint; activity that purports to be driven by individuality to the point that the only true individuals are the ones shunning such pressurised rituals.

‘Change’ is a relationship black hole, sucking in all individualism so that all those things that drew you together - the things that once made all the cheesy & trite love songs on the radio ’so true’ / the things that now somehow through a bizarre twist in physics - physically repel one from the other …so that all those traits, quirks & foibles have to go, or you do.

There was a musical comedy playing a few years back with the wonderful title; ‘I love you, you’re perfect, now change!’ Now I’ll hold my hand up to some personal qualities that I’m not too proud to have as the tombstones of my past that I’ve since cast into the abyss. We all have the capacity to self improve for the better, this I don’t deny. But beyond that, to entertain demands for the retraction from personal tastes, wants and likes to make you more ‘easier to live with’ - like some anaesthetised Stepford Spouse? Surely if you truly love someone, you wouldn’t ask them such a thing?

See, my fear now, with a few long term relationships/marriages under my belt, is not of commitment but of seeing someone I love turning in on their self, devolving into some succubus of banality - and expecting me to follow suit.

I’m just not wired that way. I don’t see that as being selfish - more as ‘self’ preservation.

Now I just need to find someone of a similar mindset - and force them not to change…

Stay unique.
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Carpe per diem (or - What Would Howard Beale Say?)

21 years to the day - nearly half my existence ago - unbeknownst to me at the time, was the eve of one of the most momentous - er - moments - of my life. For 21 years ago tomorrow saw the birth of my first born and my life changed forever for the better.

Characteristic of any new parent, I took this as a cue to save the world by pledging my (un)wavering penmanship and a monthly standing order to a smattering of worthy causes. For at the time, those with science and conscience on their side were trying to make the world listen to their cries of ‘global warming’. Whilst the world went back to spraying it’s collectively impressive hair, to the soundtrack of Nero’s fiddling…

My how a lot has changed (hasn’t it?).

But I’m glad to say, whilst I was but a mere boy back then (albeit with a slightly more impressive crop of follicles) - I’m still very much a boy at heart to this day. Not (or so I kid myself) in some commitment-phobic/embarrassing Dad arrested development, but an adventure seeking, life embracing, challenge seeking individual.

And to a larger degree I have my wonderful kids to thank for this. Whilst it’s broken my heart to be relegated to weekend Dad, it’s commonly regarded that this has made our relationships stronger (although my overdraft weaker). I’m very lucky to count my kids among my best friends and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.

Thankfully for all parties concerned, their mother’s do a grand job in planning for their future’s, whilst we suck the marrow out of celebrating the here & now. Living in a fractured family unit has taken the pressure of conformity from me and allowed me to stay true to myself, an implicit lesson and one I hope my offspring absorb through their genes.

I’ve not fallen foul to the trappings of my former spouses - the caravans, holiday villas, property moguldom etc. Regardless of my lacking the means - lead me not into middle class Hell…

By not ticking my way down this List I’ve also avoided the cynical networking of folly such as Golf Club membership; the fabricating of hollow friendships built on the prevarication that you’ve both dreamt since boyhood to spend weekend mornings following a tiny white ball across the countryside like a confused stalker in pimps clothing.

There may be some of you out there that truly enjoy what some laughingly describe as a ‘sport’. But seriously. Take a good hard look at yourself… Hitting a ball as far away as possible, so you can catch up to it only to hit it far away again. That’s like a dog throwing it’s own stick…
Okay, each to their own and tastes/needs change over time, but for me - I’d still rather lay in a meadow watching the industry of ants than fall into building my own decking upon which to host the sub-swingers cult of forced neighbourly barbecues. Maybe I’m just a bit simple. And anti-social.

I’m not sure who wrote the unwritten rules of life, but I’ll always give favour to doing things I ‘like’ as opposed to those I’m ‘obliged’. Not to the point of tardiness or poor personal hygiene, but to secure a quality of life that doesn’t have me constantly looking to the horizon of an annual summer holiday as my one ‘break from it all’.

It’s not that I refuse to ‘grow up’. I do credit myself with a certain amount of personal growth and introspection over the years. But I do refuse to disconnect with that sense of wonder and excitement, the limitless possibility that each day held when we were kids. Life should be filled with things that set you all a-tingle, not ‘Oh, I suppose I’d better’.

My eldest finds herself at an exciting crossroads and I hope that any worries of becoming ‘an adult’ are fleeting. That age equals responsibility to a degree is true. That age equals banality and routine doesn’t have to be founded.

Sometimes we set ourselves mountains to climb, which is fine if you happen to be a mountain enthusiast, otherwise a rather futile exercise for an existence that in cosmic significance is but a gnats sigh.

Let’s not let our enjoyment of our time here be dictated by fragile scratchings across a calendar.
Even if only in some small way, let’s make each day an adventure.

Stay positive.
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