Tag: BBC

7 Reasons That Series II of Downton Abbey Will Be Even Better Than Series I

Downton Abbey, ITV’s very enjoyable and successful Sunday evening drama has had a second series commissioned. This is brilliant news as it is the best thing that ITV has produced for ages, possibly even ever. And the great thing is that the second series is going to be even better than the first. Here are seven reasons why.

1. The Writing Will Be Better. Julian Fellowes is a terrific writer and his historical knowledge and nuanced eye make Downton Abbey a brilliant evocation of an Edwardian life of privilege. And, as absolutely everything improves with practice and revision, the writing will be even better in the second series: The first time he wrote Gosford Park, it was Gosford Park, which was quite good. The second time he wrote Gosford Park, it was Downton Abbey, which was very good, and the third time he writes Gosford Park, it will be Downton Abbey: Series 2, which will surely be amazing. If they commission a few more series, Downton Abbey will eventually become the best written thing in the history of television.

2. The Opening. The first series of Downton Abbey opened with the news of the sinking of the Titanic reaching the house. Having the heirs to the house die in the Titanic tragedy was a terrific device which acted as the catalyst for many of the storylines. Series two can repeat this by killing off the current heir to Downton Abbey in the sinking of the Lusitania, and then we can begin the search for an heir all over again. Only this time we might get one with a chin and a personality.

3. The Limp. One of the dominant storylines of series one has been Bates’ limp. The consternation that it has caused has resonated throughout the series with many repercussions for both the house’s residents and staff. The First World War setting of season two will offer far greater scope for the characters to be intolerant of the disabled causing, as it surely will, characters to maim themselves fighting the Bosch from a trench. Perhaps a new downstairs hierarchy will develop based on the amount of available limbs a servant has. It’s like taking the limp storyline and escalating it.

4. Maggie Smith. Redoubtable battleaxe, the Dowager Countess, stole the show when she enquired over dinner, “The weekend? What is a weekend?”. The war will provide far greater scope for lofty and disdainful incomprehension, bringing as it will, a whole new vocabulary of dreadnoughts, zeppelins, trench foot, doughboys, big berthas, whizz-bangs and Kaisers. Though she probably already knows who the Kaiser is, “Rum fellow, typical foreign-type, no notion of how to dress for luncheon and abominable taste in hats.” The moment she exclaims, “A zeppelin has bombed Hull? What is this Hull of which you speak?” will be priceless.

5. Conscription. There’ll be great scope for new and interesting characters because of conscription. And, while the third reserve under-butler’s valet’s second footman is away having his head blown off at the Somme, who knows what could happen back at Gosfor Downton Abbey. Any manner of earth-shattering things could occur. Women may have to take on some of the tasks usually performed by the menfolk. The scope for revolutionary gender-role reassignment is immense. Perhaps they’ll find themselves selecting cufflinks, removing lint from a man’s jacket or winding up a clock. A maid might open the front door! Anarchy.

6. Order. The version of pastoral care the paternal Earl metes out to his wards will be tested to the limit in series two, as the poverty and lack of privation that war brings begins to impinge on life at Downton. How will he dispense justice when the newly widowed ladies-maid’s kitchen-maid’s undermaid is caught pilfering part of a silver cruet set? How will he deal with the theft of three of his grouse by a hungry poacher named Higgins (all poachers are called Higgins, I don’t know why). How will he react to the wooing of a ladies maid by an itinerant muffin man? It’s going to be great.

7. Suitors. Once she’s been forbidden to go into nursing by the Dowager Countess, (“Nursing? A lady tending commoners? The moon will surely implode,”) the eldest daughter will continue her Downton life pretty much unaltered, except with more varied suitors. Instead of being wooed by a succession of avaricious dullards in black tie, she’ll be wooed by a succession of avaricious dullards dressed in khaki. And that will wholly justify paying the licence fee for a colour television. We can’t wait.

October 15, 2010
7 Reasons That It’s Over Between Us, Colin

Dear John, (well, Colin)

It saddens me to have to say this, but I’ve been considering this for a while now, and something doesn’t feel quite right any more, and it looks like it’s over for us. I can only imagine how hurt and upset you’ll be when you find this letter, so I’d like to soften the blow by saying that it isn’t you, it’s me. This isn’t true, however, it definitely is you, and here are 7 reasons why.

1. You’ve Changed. We used to have such fun times together, Colin. You were an assured, engaging and charismatic man who could readily pique my interest. When you made jokes we laughed heartily, Colin. Oh, how we laughed. But then, I began to notice a change in you. I can’t say exactly when this change occurred, but I do know that it happened at some point between the end of BBC Radio 5Live’s Fighting Talk at noon on Saturday and 10pm on Sunday, when you presented Match Of The Day 2. Because during those thirty-four hours you turned from a warm, funny, confident lover…er…presenter, (I mean presenter) into a man I barely recognised.

2. You Always Say The Wrong Thing. You always knew how to turn on the charm, Colin. Even on the rare occasion when words let you down, you were able to twinkle your eyes or smile an easy smile. But last night Colin, I saw that all that had changed. From the moment the title sequence ended, you looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, and bulgy-eyed anxiety is not something I find attractive in a presenter, Colin. Nor is grimacing. Nor are halting, stuttering sentences and…

3. You Couldn’t Even Look Me In The Eye. I just wanted to see a glimpse of the man I thought I knew, Colin; how I longed for you to gaze into my eyes. If you’d done that, I might have been reassured. I might have seen that you still needed and wanted me and that what we had together was worth saving. But you couldn’t even look me in the eyes, could you Colin? And it wouldn’t have been too much trouble to go to, would it? All you had to do was look into the camera that had its light on. But you didn’t. You were looking at every camera other than mine. And I can’t begin to tell you how much that hurt.

4. Your Immaturity. It used to be that I was bowled over by your boyishness, Colin (I’m surprisingly boyish myself). It made you seem fun, irreverent and eager. But, last night, what I saw wasn’t boyish, or charming. It was childish and immature. Now you can get away with a lot of childish whimsy if you do it with wit, Colin. But the animations I saw weren’t funny, or even clever (they were big, but only because I was close to the television). They were cringe-worthy, crap and embarrassing. They made me wish that I was somewhere else. But that was nothing when compared to…

5. Your Climax. Now, I’m sure no man likes to have his performance compared to that of his current partner’s ex-presenters. But whereas Adrian steadily built my excitement throughout the show and brought me assuredly to a climax with 2 Good 2 Bad, you did nothing, Colin. Nothing. There I was, waiting, yearning, expectantly for more and things just sort of withered away, leaving me feeling empty and unfulfilled. I never thought anything would make Adrian seem attractive, but the lack of a climax with you made me pine for him. I know that isn’t entirely your fault, Colin. I also blame…

6. Your Mates. They say that you can judge a man by the company he keeps, and the company you keep is frankly creepy. I don’t like your orange friend Phil who seems to be labouring under the illusion that he’s being head-hunted for every top job going, and as for Martin, I think he may be the single most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen (and I once dreamed that I was being chased around Basingstoke by a fire-breathing baboon with wings and an angle grinder). It’s no wonder you had trouble reaching a climax with those two looking on.

7. I’m Disappointed In You. It used to be so good, Colin. I used to fondly imagine we’d grow old together and, in the Autumn of our lives, we’d be able to look wistfully back on all of the good times we’d had together: The time that you seemed to be on Radio 5Live for eighteen hours per day; the time that you “sang” on Celebrity Fame Academy; the time that you said something so funny on Fighting Talk that tea came out of my right eyelid (and I wasn’t even drinking tea). But all that’s ruined now, Colin. It’s time to face facts. It’s over between us. I’ve moved out, to another channel, because you’re just not the man I thought you were. I wish you all the best for the future. Lots of love,

The Viewer. x

August 30, 2010
7 Reasons That Clare Balding Shouldn’t Ask Rhetorical Questions.

It was all going quite well during the men’s final at Wimbledon yesterday. And then, after the presentations, while I was writing today’s 7 Reasons piece, Clare Balding suddenly – and without any prior warning – said, “…and he’s posing now in various different ways with the trophy. How many things can you do with the Wimbledon trophy?” Thanks Clare.

1. You can wear it on your head.

2. You can utilise it as occasional seating.

3. You can hide behind it (poorly).

4. You can take it to the prom.

5. You can climb inside it.

6. You can take it to Slough (cautiously).

7. You (well, he) can come back and win it again next year, and the next year, and the next year…because Rafael Nadal can win it as many times as he wants to. He is one of the single most impressive athletes I’ve seen. Never mind the natural talent and effortless grace of the pompous Federer; never mind whatever it is that Murray’s supposed to bring to the game; never mind confining yourself to the sport of tennis, even. Nadal is awesome. A brilliant, and entirely self-made competitor, at the top of his game – in large part – due to effort, application and dedication. I can’t think of a more formidable athlete in all of sport.

Oh, and thanks Clare, I had plans last night, damn it.

July 5, 2010
7 Reasons John McEnroe Can Not Be Serious (About His Hair)

With the opening credits of BBC’s 2010 Wimbledon coverage came joy, happiness, extortionately priced strawberries and the horror of John McEnroe’s new hair. I say new hair, it’s probably quite old hair, but it does look different. And not for the better. Here are 7 Reasons – in a nicely packaged video format (just to show I can’t be outdone) – that explain why Mr John McEnroe should not have been tempted to rid the old look.

7 Reasons John McEnroe Can Not Be Serious (About His Hair)

June 23, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Write 7 Reasons While Watching The Football

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Ghana v Serbia, one of those games that I’m not desperate to see, but because it’s the World Cup I feel I should. So I did in the knowledge that it would also give me 90 minutes (plus half time) to write 7 Reasons. Easy.

1. The Girlfriend (Part A). She knows I’m watching the football whilst trying to write 7 Reasons. She asks me what the topic is. I say, ‘Darling, it’s 7 Reasons you shouldn’t write 7 reasons while watching the football’. She muses for a second, then replies, ‘Multitasking. Men can’t multitask’. I look around. She’s on the kitchen floor, watching the football, talking to me and cleaning a barbecue grill with a toothbrush. I feel admiration for my girlfriend. She can multitask with the best of them. But now I feel challenged. I must finish my 7 Reasons piece before Ghana finish Serbia. I don’t like the pressure.

2. Spelling. I spend more time concentrating on the football than on the page in front of me. This is dangerous, as when I don’t concentrate I have a habit of miss-spelling ‘tootbrush’, writing the incorrect version of ‘peace’ and adding multiple erroneous apostrophes. I also spell ‘eronous’ incorrectly.

3. Clive Tyldesley. Nothing is really happening in the game. Ghana have a throw-in just inside their own half. If I am ever going to get a chance to write something while watching the football, this is it. I look down. But as soon as I do Clive gets excited. I can only assume this is coincidence. I look up. Nothing is happening. Serbia have a goal-kick. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. I feel my neck. It’s beginning to hurt.

4. Immaturity. I see a player called ‘Panstil’. This amuses me. I spend ten minutes desperately trying to think of a joke that involves the word pants. I finally think of one. All I need is for Panstil to make a sliding tackle and lose his shorts. If he does I can say, ‘Lucky he’s still got his panstil’. I then realise this isn’t very funny. I note I still have a lot of growing up to do.

5. The Girlfriend (Part B). We are into the second half-time. The score-line reads Reasons Done 3 – Reasons Still To Go 4. My girlfriend – now attacking the grill with a brillo pad – asks what I’ve got so far. I read them to her. I wait for the laughter. It comes. Eventually. But then, so does, ‘You have a very strange brain’. I would have preferred her to compliment my shorts. I am wearing nice shorts. Clive gets excited. I look up.

6. Other Sport. Watching the football means I am missing all the other sport that’s on. I still am not sure which position Jenson Button is on the grid – and the F1 coverage has started on the other side. Nor, by watching the football, am I keeping up to date with the domestic cricket scene. I stop writing reasons for a minute. I also stop watching the football. I check cricket scores on my iPhone. I look around. My girlfriend is looking at me. I realise I am not doing much in the way of multitasking. Clive gets excited. I turn back to the screen. Nothing is happening. I have fifteen minutes to think of a final reason.

7. The Girlfriend (Part C). I am struggling to think of a seventh. My girlfriend asks me how I am getting on. I say, ‘Darling, I am struggling to think of a seventh’. She replies, ‘Well if you manage to think of a seventh I know that you can multitask. So next time the football is on you can peel some potatoes too.’ I am conflicted. She has just given me the seventh reason I shouldn’t have written this while the football was on. I have done it. I have proved men can multitask. But I have also proved why men shouldn’t multitask. Clive gets excited. It’s full-time. Ghana have won. And so has The Girlfriend.

June 14, 2010
7 Reasons It’s Outrageous The BBC Have Cancelled Last Of The Summer Wine

1. It Has Sunday Written All Over It. Last Of The Summer Wine is Sunday. On it comes at around 6pm and immediately the nation realises it will soon be Monday. That is Last Of The Summer Wine’s job. Getting people depressed so they start the week off in the right way. Now what are we going to do? We can’t be happy on Monday morning. That would be wrong.

2. The Joke. It’s the same one. It always has been. I haven’t watched every episode of every series. In fact I don’t think I’ve watched even thirty seconds of every series, but that doesn’t matter. Because I know what the joke is. Three blokes flying down a hill in a bath tub. Or on a sofa. Cue two policeman looking alarmed as it buzzes by them. (One of them drops a sandwich too). They don’t write jokes like that anymore. Where am I going to go for my sofa fix?

3. Sex In The Countryside. There is something beautifully innocent about old women sitting in a lounge, eating sticky buns, talking about their husband’s inability to remember to take off their muddy shoes when they come home of an evening. That’s what women should be talking about. We won’t have that again. Instead we’ll have repeats of four forty-somethings, sitting in a New York restaurant, discussing the size of Samantha’s latest pepper grinder conquest. Disgusting. You hear me? Disgusting.

4. Holmfirth. For the uninitiated, this is where Last Of The Summer Wine is filmed. I have never been. Because I don’t need to. Every year, if I want to, I can see how much the place has changed on the TV. Along with all other eight regular viewers. But what are we going to do next year? When it’s no longer on. I’m going to have to go on a coach trip to Holmfirth with eight randomers. I don’t want to go to Holmfirth with eight randomers. It’s bloody miles away.

5. Something Else Not To Watch. I don’t watch Last Of The Summer Wine. No matter what you may think. When the final series finishes though, I won’t be able to not watch it. So that means I’ll have to find something else not to watch to restore the happy balance in my TV viewing. This is pressure. I can’t choose Loose Women because I already choose not to watch it. I’l have to find something I don’t know about on some channel I don’t know about and not watch that instead. What a waste of time.

6. Potential. It promised so much didn’t it? And it was so close to achieving it. What with Russ Abbot playing a milkman who thinks he was once in MI5. What a shame to cancel the show just as it was reaching its climax.

7. 2010: The End. What with Lost ending this year. And 24. And Heroes. And Flashforward. It feels a bit like a salt in the wound to also have Last Of The Summer Wine ending on us. And this comes from someone who didn’t even watch 24. Or Heroes. Or Flashforward. Or Last Of The Summer Wine. Which only goes to show how ridiculous and painful the BBC’s decision is.

June 4, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Watch Eastenders

A few weeks back, Claire Quinn talked to us about freckles. And why they rocked. So convinced were Marc and I by her reasons, that we popped outside to catch some rays. We’ve just come back in to find Claire back on the sofa. She’s watching Eastenders. So while she tells you why it’s great, Marc and I are going back outside.

1. Happiness. Ok I hear you… “Eastenders” and “happy” aren’t really words you ever hear in the same sentence. The deaths, marriage break-ups, screaming public arguements in The Queen Vic and the miserable bloody face of Billy Mitchell might have something to do with this. But on reflection, your life feels a whole lot better!

2. Fashion. Pat Butcher’s famous horrendously oversized earrings, Bianca’s silver puffer jacket, actually I can’t go on; the visuals in my head are causing too much pain. What I do realise though, is that I have impeccable dress sense. Thank you Eastenders costume designer person. Who needs Trinny and Susannah?

3. Money. Who can name me one family that owns their own washing machine in Albert Square? No? I didn’t think so. Neither can I. However, I do own one. Eastenders has made me feel rich!

4. Family. I don’t think it would matter how dysfunctional your family is, watching this soap makes your family feel positively normal.

5. Geographical Knowledge. I am an intrepid explorer! Well I am in comparison to the Enders lot… I mean, I know more than one pub to drink in, I have more than two choices of restaurant to dine in and, well, basically my life doesn’t revolve around 100 square feet. Which leads me nicely onto…

6. Employment. Not having to restrict myself to 100 square feet around my abode, I realise I have a much greater range of jobs to choose from. Thankfully, I am not restricted to market trader, hospitality worker or mechanic.

7. Dirty Laundry. No, I am not repeating myself. I am not talking about washing machines again. I am talking about personal information… Eastenders has taught me that airing your dirty laundry in public is NEVER a good idea. Why would you EVER humiliate yourself like that in front of all and sundry? If I didn’t want everyone to know that I think I am a cat, I wouldn’t start announcing it publicly… oh shit.

May 22, 2010
7 Reasons 7 Robin Hoods Have Been Useless

When I was a child, I loved the stories of Robin Hood. This great outlaw who beat the baddies and gave to the goodies. So when it comes to the big screen, I would like to know why they always cock it up. Why the hell can’t Robin be the Robin I admired so much when I was sat in bed in my Super-Ted pyjamas? Let’s have a look at seven Robin Hoods. And why they were rubbish.

1. Errol Flynn. The Adventures Of Robin Hood (1938). He was alright firing his arrows, but I’m sorry, no man should be seen to enjoy wearing tights quite as much as Errol did. The real Robin Hood certainly wouldn’t have been.

2. Brian Bedford. Robin Hood (1973). Don’t recognise the name? No, that’s because Brian Bedford (whoever he is) voiced the animated version of Robin Hood in this Disney version. The version where Robin was a fox. Robin Hood was not a bloody fox. Robin Hood was a man. The lack of research is astounding.

3. Sean Connery. Robin And Marian (1976). Robin Hood is 46 apparently. Oh, and he’s decided he doesn’t like Richard The Lionheart anymore. What the hell? Robin Hood never reached the age of 46. He’s like Peter Pan. Always in his late twenties or early thirties. And as for disliking good old Richard. Laughable. Robin had posters of Richard on his treehouse and everything.

4. Wayne Morris. Maid Marian And Her Merry Men (BBC TV Series 1989-1994). Everyone remembers this programme for Marian. And possibly Tony Robinson. There was a Robin though. He was called Robin of Kensington. And he was a tailor. A tailor? In Kensington? Yes, because that’s right next to Sherwood forest isn’t it? I think I may be losing the will to live.

5. Kevin Costner. Robin Hood: Prince Of Thieves (1991). Never quite got the hang of the accent thing did Kevin. Either that or some muppet told him Robin Hood was born in California.

6. Jonas Armstrong. Robin Hood (BBC TV Series 2006-2009). If there is one thing we know about Robin Hood for sure, it is that he liked firing arrows and he had the horn whenever he saw Marian. He fancied her. He wanted her. And he does in this version. Great. That’s until Marian decides to leave. Does Robin chase her and try and get her back? No, he moves onto the new girl in the village. Some bird called Kate. Pathetic.

7. Russell Crowe. Robin Hood (2010). Russell Crowe thinks Robin Hood is French. I shall let my silence tell you what I think of that.

May 14, 2010
7 Reasons That The BBC Election Night Coverage Was Weird

1. Fiona Bruce. Bizarrely, for their election special, the BBC decided to segregate the sexes, with the men downstairs and the women upstairs. Queen of the woman-zone was – of course – Fiona Bruce. She was obviously so determined to be seen as the prettiest of them all that she appeared to be wearing all of the make-up. I don’t just mean foundation, concealer, blusher and mascara (I have just reached the limit of my make-up vocabulary), I mean the BBC make-up department’s entire stock of everything. It was extraordinary. Her face appeared to be entombed in concrete. She’s noted for being calm and cool, but if she’d become hysterical during the broadcast it wouldn’t have become apparent until next Wednesday. They’re probably still trying to excavate her chin now.

2. Dimbleby. Down in the man-area David Dimbleby was firmly in command. Seated at the big table, he exuded authority and unflappable professionalism. Of course, there’s no reason that he shouldn’t have, he’s been covering elections since Gladstone was in power. I checked Wikipedia on election night to find out Dimble’s age and discovered that he is a hundred and fifty-four, and that he is immortal. Thanks Wikipedia.

The iMonolith. It's very perceptive.

3. 2010: A Geek Odyssey. Also upstairs in the woman-zone was Emily Maitlis. She was in possession of some extraordinary equipment; she had something that looked like a giant iPad (an iPad Maxi, perhaps). I wondered at first if it was a regular sized one and they’d shrunk Emily Maitlis, but that turned out not to be the case. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite work out why. Then it struck me. It was like a cross between an iPad and the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Presumably across the nation, Apple-obsessed-geeks were gazing in awe at the iMonolith, drooling, and thinking “I want one”. That was pretty much what I was doing too, though I wasn’t looking at the iMonolith.

4. Tradition. One of the best election night traditions that the viewer can participate in is the time-honoured custom of being aggravated by the ridiculous and vapid CGI effects that Jeremy Vine uses to illustrate election night events. Appearing baffled, rolling your eyes and criticising the stupidity of the CGI is the viewer’s traditional role on election night – it’s like being Paxman – but this year, something strange happened. I understood all of the graphics; I wasn’t annoyed by them; I didn’t feel patronised by them; in fact, they were quite good. I don’t pay my licence fee to not be annoyed by the election night graphics. It is my right. Next time, I expect them to spend more money on them and make them as vast, preposterous and inscrutable as usual.

5. Paxman. The third inhabitant of the woman-zone was everybody’s favourite pantomime dame, Jeremy Paxman. My god he was furious. Perhaps he was cross because he’d been put upstairs with the ladies away from the big table, or perhaps it was because Dimbleby refuses to die. Whatever the reason, he was angry, short-tempered and petulant throughout the broadcast. It’s a shame to see that a once fine broadcaster has become such a parody of himself. Even having two laptops wasn’t enough to placate him. He looked like a man who didn’t want to be there and I hope he gets his wish.

6. The Luvvie Boat. To cover an election that the Tories (who have promised to slash the BBC budget) were widely expected to win, the BBC chose to spend a vast amount of money giving free booze to celebrities on a swanky boat moored on the Thames. They’re obviously idiots. Captaining the good ship Lollygag was Andrew Neil, a man so creepy that spiders shriek and stand on chairs when they encounter him. It was Neil’s job to elicit the opinions of drunken celebs on the election and in this he was successful. Unfortunately, as is often the case after a lot of drink has been taken, the views being expressed were not as coherent and insightful as they might otherwise have been. Probably the best slurrer of the evening was Kirsty Allsop. I can’t remember exactly what point she was trying to make, and she probably can’t either. The soberest person on the boat appeared to be Bruce Forsyth, but his opinion wasn’t helpful either because he’s clearly mad. There is nothing in the world that can be improved by knowing Brucie’s opinion on it. Nothing.

7. The Result. We’re still waiting for the result, it’s been four days! Hurry up.

May 10, 2010
Election Special: 7 Reasons I Managed To Stay Up All Night

Yesterday, there was a general election. You may have noticed. The results came in over night. I was there. Throughout. This is how I did it.

10:00pm. So we have an Exit Poll – which it turns out is very different from an exit pole. It’s going to be Hung Parliament time. I can hardly contain myself. So I don’t and have a biscuit. Ten minutes into the programme and the BBC have a screen fail. Unfortunately, there was no screen fail while Dorothy was walking along the Yellow Brick Road. Or was it Jeremy Vine bouncing down Downing Street? Who cares. The BBC try and talk to Michael Gove. He’s mute. I don’t blame him. Jeremy Paxman is asking silly questions. Oh no, Gove has stopped being mute. And worse luck, so has Harriet Harman. I note her choice of nose this evening. I’m not sure why I note it, but I do. Some twats in Sunderland seem to think they are on Record Breakers. Tossers.

11.00pm. The first hour wasn’t too bad. I feel relatively fresh. Mind you, I am not usually in bed by this time anyway. Not that I need to share my bedroom habits with you. And I hope you don’t want to share yours with me. (But if you do we have an email address: [email protected]). I’ve got the munchies now. My fridge shouts sausages at me. Not literally. That would wake the neighbours. I ignore them anyway. Another biscuit. Labour are winning 1-0-0-0 by the way. Jeremy Vine is playing virtual dominoes. Esther Rantzen is on my screen. It brings back memories of Hearts Of Gold. In the meantime, Fiona Bruce seems to be finding everything absolutely hilarious. I don’t know why. This is boring.

Midnight. And we are into a new day. The day we get a new government. Or not. Ken Clarke just made me giggle. Some sly comment about Paxman cutting away from him to show Gordon Brown arrive at his count. David Cameron has gone to the pub. It’s 00:33. Late license? Blimey I need a drink. Stricnine ideally. Only three seats in so far. Why is it so slow? Eyelids beginning to feel a little heavy now. David Dimbleby is angry. Very angry. It’s a scandal apparently. I think he’s talking about people getting turned away from polling stations, but I am distracted by thoughts of him in the boardroom. Not in a dirty way. In a Sir Alan Sugar getting annoyed with the candidates way. I wonder what Sir Alan Sugar is doing tonight. Subbuteo is my guess. I used to love that game. Time for another biscuit.

1:00am. The Tories still haven’t won a seat, but boy they’re swinging hard. Mind you the Baltimore Orioles swing hard every year and look where that has got them in the AL East. I’m talking about baseball now. How did that happen? Oh yes, I was thinking about swinging. Cameron just stroked his wife’s bottom. Nice touch. I feel drunk. Which is odd considering I haven’t had a drink since Saturday night. I think I need to start now though. Twenty-three seats declared. David Blunkett has admitted defeat. I think he has fired off a bit too early to be honest. But as the camera won’t pan downwards, I’ll never be able to confirm this.

2:00am. And we’ve made it to 2am. The Tories have won some seats, Labour have won some more seats and the Lib Dems appear to be going backwards. Which is odd. Nick Robinson agrees with me. It is odd. But enough of this election nonsense, I am back on the tea. Not that I ever really left it. It’s just been a while since my last cup. Like forty minutes. Now I’m having a look at Twitter. There is a lot of hate out there isn’t there? My political views – and they are mainstream – make me anything ranging from a ‘deluded prick’ to a ****. I chuckle to myself heartily. The Sex Education Show is on Channel 4. I’m not watching it, I just pressed guide to see what else was on. Now someone’s talking Welsh. What’s the point?

3:00am. My freeview box wants to do a daily service update. Cameron wants to talk. Seeing as I watched Brown do his speech after he held on to his seat, I’ll give Cameron his moment. He doesn’t seem to know what he’s talking about though. Fair enough, he hasn’t been to sleep for months. We’ve got a race to the first hundred on now. It’s neck and neck. Not anymore it’s not… oh, yes it is! No, it’s not! Yes, it is! I’m doing Murray Walker impressions. And The Tories win, win, win! Well that was fun. That’s kept me going for the last thirty-minutes. Now I’m screwed. I’m not going to survive another hour before we get to 200. Fiona Bruce is still high I see.

4:00am. And now I enter my 7th hour. Nick Clegg holds on to his seat. But he doesn’t look too happy. Maybe someone ate his Mars bar. That is just about the worst feeling ever. I have a headache now. Sleep deprivation beginning to bite. And now it’s raining. I wonder if the Tories need less seats under the Duckworth-Lewis system? I ask Marc. He doesn’t know. His cat thinks he knows though. Marc has been talking to his cat. I wish I had a cat. Would be so much more interesting than talking to myself. It’s definitely going to be a hung parliament then. In that case I’m going to bed. I leave the situation standing at 224-167-36-26. It’s been fun. No, actually, it hasn’t.

May 7, 2010