A few days ago, I came up with some absurd ideas for television shows that could replace Big Brother. This wasn’t one of them.

I am actually speechless.

Rejoice! It was announced this morning that Channel 4 will not be renewing Big Brother when their contract with Endemol expires next year – and it really will signify the end of an era.

The show that has single-handedly caused the demise of quality television and allowed the sight of idiots shouting at each other to be deemed ‘entertainment’ is finally coming to an end, but will leave a four month gap in Channel 4’s heavily Big Brother-orientated schedules. It awaits to be seen how they choose to fill the void, but here are my ideas and suggestions for some inevitable hits:

CELEBRITY SUICIDE: LIVE
Four D-list celebrities and Big Brother housemates compete simultaneously in front of a studio audience to commit the showiest suicide live on air. Viewers at home get to join in by hitting the red button and choosing whose demise to watch, and the bereaved relatives of the celeb with highest viewing figures win a caravan. Hosted by Vernon Kay, for an added sense of self-loathing.

PHONE-IN
Cheap and easy to make, Phone-In consists purely of two premium rate phone numbers charged at £1.50 a minute, displayed on a title card for an hour. The phone number that receives the most calls wins, and goes on to face a different phone number next week. Admittedly, this is more likely to fall within ITV’s remit.

FOUR WEDDINGS
Like Come Dine with Me, but for bastards. Four brides attend each others’ weddings and attempt to ruin their magic day by awarding points and complaining about everything including the dress, food and relatives using a xenophobic array of insults. The bride who awards points the most tactically to the others wins a free honeymoon.

Oh, hang on…

DANNY DYER’S ‘ARDEST MATES
Danny Dyer fronts an hour where six of his best mock-cockney mates attempt to discover which of them is the ‘ardest by taking it in turns to beat him up. This will always end in a tie, and require a re-match in the following week’s episode, forcing the series to continue until the coming apocalypse.

SACRIFICE
Twelve wannabe models and irritating tosspots are dropped off on a desert island where they must survive for three months on a bare minimum of sand and water. Every week, somebody is voted off by the viewing public, and subsequently sacrificed and eaten by the remaining contestants. The series’ eventual winner receives a lifetime of free counselling.

NOTHING: LIVE
A single camera stares at an empty room, 24 hours a day. Absolutely nothing happens, but millions tune in out of sheer curiosity, gripped to their television set and awaiting an insect to pass the screen so that they can complain about it to Points of View.

BRITAIN’S MOST INSECURE
Each week, an attractive but insecure twenty-something female is forcibly shown photoshopped pictures of actresses and glamour models, and repeatedly shouted at for being ugly by Amanda Platell in an attempt to make her break down and cry on television. If scheduled correctly, she can then be whisked to the studio next door and appear on Celebrity Suicide.

PASS IT ON
Every home in Britain is forced to have a camera attached to their freeview box, and spends an hour watching a random stranger live their life, eat their food and scratch their balls. Meanwhile, another complete stranger watches you doing the same thing, and a chain is formed around the country. It’s simple but compelling, though it is limited to a lifespan of 60 million episodes.

AUDITIONS
Endemol put out a casting call for their latest show, billed as the NEXT BIG BROTHER, and require half a million idiots to send in audition tapes. The show is subsequently cancelled, but the audition tapes are broadcast in full to accurately display the level of idiocy this country has to offer. This will also be the first show beamed into space, serving as a warning against any potential alien races not to bother visiting.

The sad truth is that several of these are probably already in development. But the fact remains that with the demise of Big Brother, things really are looking up. The reality TV bubble is finally starting to burst, and maybe – just maybe – we might see a return of the thought-provoking and well-rounded documentaries this abortion of a show killed off.

Earlier today, culture secretary Ben Bradshaw outlined plans to share part of the TV licence fee with ITV – a proposal that couldn’t be any more shambolic if it tried.

ITV is supposed to be an independently funded broadcaster. As such, it is supposed to deal with any funding shortfalls via its own means – and that includes the £5.7 million fine incurred from the phone-in scandals.

It doesn’t help that the BBC is still in a somewhat vulnerable position after the non-stop harassment of the Daily Mail – a.k.a. Sachsgate – when the choice daily paper of right-wing nutjobs blew everything out of proportion. They launched a tirade against the corporation and the licence fee, claiming moral outrage, and felt smug as they watched the media circus come to town. As a result, anything the BBC does now comes under rigorous scrutiny.

The plans outlined stated that any funding taken from the licence fee would be spent on public service broadcasting, the result being that ITV Local News could see itself handed £130m from the BBC’s budget. Success, it seems, for the Mail’s campaign.

Except it’s actually a much bigger victory than you might think. All of ITV’s news output is provided by ITN, which is privately owned. Whilst ITV hold the largest share, the Daily Mail themselves own a 20% stake, and would actually benefit if the plans went ahead.

Now let me make this clear – I’m an avid supporter of the TV Licence fee. The BBC is a unique institution that this country is privileged to have, in that it provides creative content without fear of having to keep shareholders happy. It can actually take risks on daring shows that might not necessarily work without fear of losing advertising revenue. Things such as Blue Planet, State of Play and The Office, all of which are almost unanimously loved, but could never have been commissioned by another broadcaster.

For an independent network whose output consists almost solely of reality shows and talent contests to be given a massive amount of public service funding to help cover the cost of its own mistakes would be utterly outrageous, especially given the agenda of those involved.

If the proposals go ahead, then quality broadcasting faces a very dark future indeed.

Jon Gaunt is an obnoxious prick.

Here’s the legal disclaimer. This isn’t a scientifically proven fact (though fret not, they’re working on it), but rather my own personal opinion.

Ergo, I’m exhibiting free speech.

On Monday, The Sun – everybody’s favourite children’s magazine – launched it’s very own online radio station, SunTalk. Billed as the “home of free speech,” Gaunt is fronting their daily three-hour dose of right-wing drivel.

Gaunt was fired from TalkSport in 2008 for calling a councillor a “Nazi” when he defended plans to stop smokers from becoming foster parents with some silly notion about ‘not wanting them to die.’ To be fair, it’s only a short step from imposing a fascist regime and exterminating six million people in cold blood.

Gaunty (as his moronic followers call him) spent the station’s inaugural hour speaking to David Cameron. To his credit, it was no mean feat given how far up Cameron’s bottom he’d managed to lodge his tongue, constantly referring to him as “Prime Minister,” and generally making clear his political stance. So much for Ofcom’s impartiality rules.

But therein lies the problem – Ofcom can’t touch them. As an internet-only broadcaster on a website belonging to a news organization, SunTalk answers to the Press Complaints Commission. It’s something Gaunt keeps proudly banging on about, as it means anybody can say what they like and there will be no repercussions. Take that, glaring face of government oppression!

Except everyone involved seems to have misunderstood what ‘free speech’ actually means. The British people are not oppressed, and anybody in the UK can criticise what the government does without fear of repercussions. That is freedom of speech, unlike in Zimbabwe where being openly critical of those in charge could very well cost you your life. It most certainly is not an excuse to air your ignorant right-wing views.

But let’s roll with it. An hour after he’d left the studio, an older-sounding gentleman phoned in with the view that Cameron hadn’t said enough about the elderly. Great! Only a few hours in, and SunTalk gets its first opportunity for a full-on political debate!

“I disagree,” said Gaunty, before accusing the caller of giving misinformation and promptly cutting him off.

Now ignoring the irony involved of The Sun accusing somebody of ‘misinformation,’ it seems you’re only allowed to express your opinion on the condition that you agree with those in charge – which is exactly what their whole imaginary crusade is supposed to be fighting against!

Ultimately, the station is probably harmless. For the most part, it’s just Sun columnists blabbering on about nonsense in their usual way – one of them expressed their opinion that the government shouldn’t have bailed out the banks, but the football clubs instead. But given it’s only accessible via their website, it should hopefully do nothing more than preach to those already converted.

Though ultimately, everyone involved needs to realise that just because you bang on about ‘free speech,’ it doesn’t give you license to talk out of your arse.

There are a number of things that only make sense to students. David Hasselhoff is one of them, and there’s a new addition to the canon courtesy of Pot Noodle.

If you’ve ever eaten a Pot Noodle, you’ll know that they represent one of man’s lesser achievements. They aren’t exactly know for their nutritional value, and the people that eat them tend to be of a somwehat lazy disposition – they are the ones who can’t muster up the energy to boil some noodles and add a few peas. Unilever – the company that owns the brand – have even been running a competition to win a battery-operated spinning fork, just to make sure you don’t accidentally burn a few molecules whilst consuming them.

Likewise, Doner Kebabs are not known for being healthy, but they’re a drunken favourite of many. But what if you’re one of the lazy ones, and can’t be bothered to leave the house for a mountain of fatty goodness?

Well, fret not – you can now delight in the water-soaked atrocity that is a Doner Kebab-flavoured instant noodle snack.

The geniuses at Unilever (and I use the term lightly) have decided that there’s clearly a market for clashing two polar opposites on the taste scale, and have launched their offensive on the general public with one of the worst TV ads I’ve ever seen.

Think about it logically. There’s a reason why you can’t buy noodles in your local kebab shop, or why you’ve never found yourself eating a Doner in Chinatown – the two cannot, and were never meant to be combined.

I talked last week about television having reached saturation point, and perhaps this is the food equivalent. If you can’t come up with something that might actually be appealing, why not put out a product that almost prides itself on the notion of being disgusting? Perhaps it’s a sign of the times, but that’s the only reason anybody could possibly want to taste this car crash of foodstuffs  – and I speak as somebody who has tried Walkers’ full range of revolting crisps.

My only hope is that anybody stupid enough to actually eat one of these is involved in a freak kettle boiling accident, limiting their reproductive capabilities and preserving at least some dignity for the human race.

On another note…
About a month ago I posted the aforementioned article condemning Walkers’ new variety of crisp flavours, and it appears to have generated quite a bit of  traffic to the blog – but not necessarily in a good way.

It turns out that the said article is now the 10th Google result for ‘make yourself ill.’ If that’s what’s brought you here, that really is not cool, and I strongly urge you to reconsider what you’re thinking of doing.

Stay healthy, and lay off the Pot Noodles.

Sometimes I stumble across something that really makes me worry about the world.

Living TV is one of the many channels you have, but have never bothered to watch. It’s not quite as dire as Virgin 1 (who are currently developing Crunch Time with Antony Worrall-Thompson – no, really), but it does stick out like a sore thumb in the bleak pointlessness of multi-channel television. It also has an accompanying Living+1.

The idea of +1 channels is, in principle, a good one. If you stumble across something interesting that started 20 minutes ago, you have the option to catch it from the beginning an hour later. But what happens if you bumble in late to Passport Patrol on its delayed-scheduled counterpart?

Well, Living TV – an ironic choice of name, given that its schedule consists mostly of CSI, Most Haunted and Jade Goody – have solved a problem that, in their case, doesn’t really exist.

Behold Living TV+2. Congratulations – you now have three chances a day not to watch America’s Next Top Model! Welcome to the 21st century equivalent of ‘progress.’

And that’s only the beginning.

One of Living’s imports is American talk show Maury. If you’ve never seen it (which you haven’t), imagine Jeremy Kyle on steroids. Most of the people dragged out of the gutter and exploited on it are so full of despair that even the set has been designed to incorporate some steps they can run up, and repeatedly bang their heads on the floor at the top. It’s then so full of language unsuitable for broadcast that the programme makers have had to assign different pitched bleeps for viewers to distinguish which nutcase is swearing. It’s self-righteous programming at its finest.

It does however buck the trend with most of the participants still being alive – though admittedly, they probably won’t be for very long.

You can watch this circus sideshow every morning at 8am, just to kick-start your day with a veritable ‘I hate the world’ feeling, and you can then catch it again at 9am and 10am. That is, by definition, how these channels work.

But then at noon the SAME EPISODE is REPEATED on the first channel, starting the three hour hatefest all over again. We’ve reached a point in the space-time continuum where it is somehow deemed acceptable for the same piece of car crash television to be shown six times in seven hours. It seems to me that we’ve got so much choice that we must finally be reaching saturation point, where all these channels begin to collapse upon the inevitable self-realisation of just how pointless they are – and it really couldn’t come too soon.

Fire. The wheel. Living TV+2. The cavemen would be proud.

No doubt by now you’ve heard about Walkers‘ latest publicity stunt, but on the off chance you’re one of the lucky ones, prepare to be sucked in.

Following a competition they ran last year inviting members of the public to develop a new flavour of the potato-based snack, Walkers have chosen and produced six finalists and are encouraging the nation to vote for their favourite, with the winner subsequently going into full time production. Or so the press release says.

My guess is that they’ve decided to hold a vote as they’re all so bloody horrible.

With an array of flavours including Crispy Duck, Fish & Chips and traditional Cajun Squirrel, there should in theory be something for everyone. And, ever willing to commit acts of self-torment, I decided to try the lot.

Cajun Squirrel

Certainly the quirkiest of the batch (and the one most likely to shift a few packets out of curiosity regarding the taste of the Eurasian Red), opening the bag leads to an overwhelming scent of Monster Munch. Taking a bite sadly provides no major revelations as you encounter a crisp that is all Cajun, and no Squirrel.

Unless squirrel tastes of slightly stale crisps, in which case it is a resounding success. But I suspect not, and you’re better off buying a packet of Monster Munch in the first place. This option would also save you around 20 pence.

Crispy Duck & Hoisin

The fact that you’ve probably never encountered Crispy Duck-flavoured crisps while about in Chinatown should be heeded as a warning here, with the instant aroma of a public toilet hitting you in the face within seconds of the opening the pack. When I eventually managing to eat one, it resulted in a failed attempt to cough it back up.

It’s now two hours later and I can still taste the blasted thing.

Chilli & Chocolate

Whoever came up with this one doesn’t deserve to live.

Smelling like an empty crisp packet left out on the street, eating one greets you with a slightly chocolatey and thoroughly disgusting tinge. It’s a bit like adding diet coke to cocoa powder instead of milk, and throwing in some paprika for good measure – not only does it not work, it’s just wrong.

Fish & Chips

I can’t eat fish, so this was always going to be the difficult one. Having managed to resist the gag-reflex brought on by their ghastly smell, I only managed to get through one of them.

They taste a bit like licking a chip shop floor before necking a bottle of vinegar for good measure, whilst bizarrely manage to omit any sign of the actual chips at all – a particular achievement for something made from potatoes. These are without doubt the single most disgusting things I’ve ever eaten.

Builder’s Breakfast

Trying to work out what exactly these taste of is a tricky task – Walkers don’t seem to be entirely sure themselves, with descriptions varying between their website and the back of the packaging. One thing’s for sure, though – they taste of rotten eggs. There’s also a hint of butter, just to ensure a heightened cholesterol level and that you suffer a coronary before reaching the bottom of the bag.

Onion Bhaji

The most successful of the bunch, in that it actually tastes vaguely reminiscent of what it says on the outside. It’s still horrible, but it does earn bonus points by providing an aftertaste not dissimilar to the smell in your dining room following a takeaway – the lingering smell of spiced food, blended with the disinfectant you used to get rid of it.

It’s very easy for me to sit here and register my disgust at the whole thing but, at the end of the day, Walkers are onto a bit of a winner here. They’ve at least got my £2.70, just as lots of people have parted with their cash for the privilege of trying this rubbish. Whether the winning flavour sells by the bucketload once the polls are closed will remain to be seen, but in the mean time which one gets my vote?

I think that sums up my feelings appropriately.

On the day that London’s legendary Astoria hosts it’s final gig before being demolished for a £16 Billion rail project that the country can’t really afford, this seems incredibly apt listening. We’re also at least losing the LA2 and the Metro Club (the Borderline doesn’t look too safe, either) in favour of a giant ticket hall at Tottenham Court Road, and it’s looking increasingly likely that there won’t actually be anything left to visit once you get there. Pretty soon the only places in London to see live music will be your soulless o2 arenas.

Rock is dead. Long live rock.

I’ll see you in the Keith Moon bar afterwards to trash the place. It’s what he would have wanted.

Enjoy.

Those of you who’ve visited in the past few days have probably been met with a message, saying my bandwidth has expired. 100GB of traffic in under a week. That’s a first!
Anyway, I’ve zipped all the photos and stuck them in a file that you can download from here. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do for now.

Also, I should be posting the video I have of my copy here soon. It’s missing the beginning (there wasn’t enough of a leader to thread the whole thing through the projector and catch the beginning the time that I filmed it), but again- better than nothing.