Slime

Slime

In full:

I am gross and perverted

I'm obsessed and deranged

I have existed for years

But very little had changed

I am the tool of the government

And industry too

For I am destined to rule

And regulate you

I may be vile and pernicious

But you can't look away

I make you think I'm delicious

With the stuff that I say

I am the best you can get

Have you guessed me yet?

I am the slime oozing out

From your TV set

You will obey me while I lead you

And eat the garbage that I feed you

Until the day that we don't need you

Don't got for help...no one will heed you

Your mind is totally controlled

It has been stuffed into my mould

And you will do as you are told

Until the rights to you are sold

That's right, folks...

Don't touch that dial

Well, I am the slime from your video

Oozing along on your living room floor

I am the slime from your video

Cant stop the slime, people, look at me go

BLISS was moved to Tweet, regarding the abomination that is the Eurovision Song Contest. She's a lot more forgiving of the TV set in the corner than I am, yet she was moved to post.

There's a number of feelings her tweet brought to the surface:

WTF's going on here? That's thought number one. Why, when things move on forwards relentlessly, elsewhere, do certain aspects of terrestrial television remain with both feet firmly planted in the late sixties / early seventies? Why do certain aspects of terrestrial television remain. Period. The Eurovision Song Contest was recognised for the godawful rubbish it is decades ago, yet for some reason it persists. Not the Nine O'clock News, over thirty years ago, came up with something like this:

“Traffic is slow on the northbound M1 after a Pebble Mill At One on the southbound section.”

“A 'Pebble Mill At One'?”

“Yeah. An accident that's absolutely awful, so bad you can't help watching.”

Now, I'll admit to a mental blank on the 'so bad it's good / funny / worth wasting time on' thing, largely because of the wasting time aspect. Okay, after two minutes I've got the picture, and I don't really need chapter and verse of how awful it is. I've always had that feeling that there's better things to be doing.

Operation Yew Tree. Savile. Lee Travers. Stuart Hall. Rolf. Yet we still have to suffer Cowell, Ant, Dec (involved in the gameshow ripoff and let off the hook), Clarkson (on his last, last, last chance – until the next last chance), and the rest of them. Time for a cull of this sort of rubbish telly and a real and proper attempt at attaining some sort of quality? Not a chance. Here's the entry from Israel (Euro-how?) “Binga-Dinga Bong-Dong” by some people who idolise Bucks Fizz.

I watched the BT Sport presentation of the Harlequins v Bath game yesterday. A full hour before the game, the show started, and had respected and knowledgeable current and ex-players in the studio, interviews, previews, season reviews. All good stuff. Terrestrial struggle to find a miserly fifteen minutes before kick off for the Six Nations games. Uninterrupted coverage of the game. No banners telling me that the X-Factor's coming up next, just as soon as we get rid of these pesky blokes running around that muddy pitch, we can all get back to the Ant and Dec love-in. Then an hour of analysis, game reviews, a look forward at the playoff semi-finals next weekend. If you're going to cover sport, do it properly and give it the respect it deserves. If you're just going to penny- and time-pinch and treat it like something you're having to endure, don't bid for it in the first place.

My biggest complaint is this: there's nothing edgy on the channels I'm forced to pay for but never watch. Everything's safer and cuddlier than a very soft cuddly toy that satisfies every kitemark and safety standard known to toyshops the length and breadth of the land. Denis Potter plays would not be hitting the screens today. Sky recently broadcast a series of short Checkov plays. Today, the BBC are still trotting out Songs of Praise and The Antiques Roadshow.

Jeebus.