Posts Tagged ‘Terry Wogan’

Just A Thought – Children In Need

November 12, 2008

wogan pudsey

I know this is going to make me sound like a right miserable shitheap, but isn’t it about time Children In Need took heed of its own slogan – ‘Do Something Different‘?

I know I can’t be alone in thinking that a seven hour showcase of the shittest of the shit that Britain has to offer isn’t the best way of getting folk to stump up their money. Without referring to the schedules, I know it’ll go something like this …

  • Wogan and that fucking Fearne Cotton limpit introduce Westlife singing something shit
  • The cast of EastEnders sing some Godawful rubbish gleaned from the cultural wasteland that is musical theatre
  • Sugary bullshit artist Katie Melua sings something shit, yet wistful
  • The bollocks that is Strictly Come Dancing does some dancing
  • Take That sing their latest shit song
  • ITV gamely joins in by letting the stars of one of their few remaining popular shows (The Bill, Corrie or Emmerdale) sing a shit musical number that closely resembles their EastEnders counterpart’s efforts from earlier
  • Boyzone sing their latest shit song; the BBC newsreaders make fools of themselves as they sing an old 70s rock song dressed in women’s clothes
  • Whoever won the X Factor last year sings something soulless and shit that Simon Cowell’s minions wrote in a committee in five minutes flat
  • Over to Kate Humble and the mentally disturbed Bill Oddie for no reason other than everyone on a BBC contract is required to do something for the kids
  • Edgy Facebook generation singer Adele / Kate Nash / Duffy sings something shit about mobile phones or what-have-you
  • The cast of Top Gear prove yet again that anything they do beyond the bounds of their own editorial control is a complete disaster
  • KT Tunstall sings something shit, etc. etc. etc.

There must be a better way of mounting a televised charity event than simply filling it with hours and hours of the worst music this country is currently producing, surely?

If Comic Relief can do it, why not Children In Need?

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The Friday Question: Gameshow showdown

August 29, 2008

From the intellectually worthy (Countdown, Mastermind) to the completely witless (Strike It Lucky, 3-2-1), gameshows have graced our screens for years and bloody years.

Though you’re unlikely to rate a gameshow as one of your favourite things on the box, we all still sit through them from time to time and have done down the years. I’ve even found myself rooted to the sofa watching ChallengeTV before.

Not often though, I ought to add.

So which of them has captured your heart? As you look back through the ages, taking in masterpieces such as Henry Kelly’s Going For Gold, Rob Curling’s Turnabout and Terry Wogan/Les Dawson/Lily Savage’s Blankety Blank, let us know:

What’s your favourite gameshow of all time?

Children In Need

November 19, 2007

Pudsey 

It’s actually impossible to watch Children in Need from start to finish without being physically sick. With this in mind, I limited myself to five minute bursts of this festival of patronising gumph on Friday night. I’d just been in to Costcutters and bought the local underage guttersnipes on the estate their 10 Mayfair for them as I made my way home from work using the copper collection they handed me in a sock, so I felt I’d already done my bit and would resist Wogan’s encouragement to dig deep.

Obviously, it’s all for charity, so I sound like a moaning old turd for criticising the telethon. All the same, there were some terrible moments. These ranged from the unintentionally hilarious to the outright cynical. And all compered by the brilliant Terry Wogan who, let’s face it, is getting on a bit and while great on the radio and Points of View (especially when parading his packet on the latter), he’s not really up to a marathon live broadcast. Especially when hampered by that squawking, tattooed emu Fern Cotton. It’s not the first time these two have been teamed together and it always ends in disaster.

The worst example I saw of patronising pointlessness was a kiddie edition of Dragons’ Den. A parade of precocious little shits stepped up to ask for a thousand quid off of the Dragons for their rubbish ideas. Depending on the Dragons’ moods, they handed the cash over like pinstriped Father Christmases (or an elf, in Theo’s case. (Or a reindeer, in Meaden’s case)).

The youngest Dragon was obviously the one they all fawned over, clearly aware that, should their days in the Den ever end they might need to show a softer side to be able to fully establish their media friendliness and versatility. As a result, we had to put up with Theo and Jonesy grinning like Cheshire twats and Meaden and Caan trying their absolute damndest not to hurl needless insults as they usually would. This young, ginger pitcher tried to sell a ‘Lonely Post’ to the Dragons – a place in a playground where lonely kids can meet other lonely kids and make friends. Or, as is more likely, get laughed at for standing at the Lonely Post and get pelted with stones.

At least all that had its heart in the right place. Where Children in Need really raised the hackles was with overblown self-promotion. You can’t help but suspect that the broadcast of the event was delayed until the day before Leona Lewis’ new album is released. All the X Factor judges came on, awkwardly applauded their rival channel’s charity and then presented Leona who warbled her way through that horrible racket she fronts about bleeding.

‘Ah keep bleeding – ah keep, keep bleeeeeding’ she wailed as my ears glugged with claret in sympathy.

Is it just me or is this a shameless tie in? There should be a national outcry about this. How blind do they think we are? I can just about hack celebs doing this sort of shit for charity to raise their profile but when they are actually directly trying to sell a product? It was as transparent and sick-inducing as a glass of salt-water.

For this reason, if you buy Lewis’ album you are not only a sponsor of the shittest music in the universe, you also condone the hijacking of good intentions by Monsieur Cowell to better line his own nipple-high pockets. You bastards.