Post 328. LIKE BAD PENNIES

THEY KEEP TURNING UP.

I won't bother with their names. If you are a television viewer in Britain you cannot have failed to see them: 'reality' and 'chat' shows would cease to exist without them. If you are a welcome reader elsewhere in the world you will probably have seen or heard of none of them and be no worse off for it. 

Here in the UK they have transmogrified from right wing political nonentities into elected MEPs, carried into power on the newly formed Brexit Party bandwagon.

Their leader and founder once led the UK Independence Party: he is a political chancer who apparently has visions of steering this current crop of populist posers all the way to the top in the House of Commons. 

Christ help us if that ever happens. 

Should the opportunity arise, though, many bleating sheep will follow them and, given the current political scene, who knows...? 

They wouldn't get my vote. 

But I wouldn't have voted for the National Socialist German Workers' Party, either. 

HOME.

Daughter Roz (pictured over the last five months) is fast becoming her old self. Hair growing well. Weight control underway. Tiredness still a problem but sense of humour resolutely intact. Good for you, girl.

Sometimes our house resembles Isle of Wight Cats Protection, but the ambience is generally harmonious and summer is coming. 

TELEVISION. 

Gwendoline Christie (pictured) who played Brienne of Tarth was still alive when, sadly, Game of Thrones came to an end. I liked her and I'm glad she made it. 

The last episode did seem somewhat hurried, but apparently George R.R. Martin has not yet finished the book, so I guess it came down to somebody at HBO wanting their toys back. 

Never mind. 
At the weekend Montalbano returns to us on BBC Four, so there is a life after Westeros. 

In the meantime, I shall get my entertainment from the real life characters taking an offstage break below. 

Left to right they are Spike, Angel and the dog Buddy.

Footnote: I looked up The Brexit Party Manifesto on the web. It said: This page can't be displayed. Huh! 

Mind how you vote.

Post 327. ANOTHER DIRE WARNING

FROM THE READILY AFFRONTED MILITIA. 

 Danny Baker (above) has been sacked (again) by the BBC.

God help him, he posted a bloody silly picture in respect of the new royal baby. 

PC National Command (see Post 307) instantly issued a condemnation order and all anti-racist hell broke loose. The popular programme presenter rapidly discovered his mistake. What a celebrity posts online in this day and age is strictly monitored by the Readily Affronted Militia and no apology, heartfelt or resentful, will ever satisfy them. 

So he was swiftly skuttled for this moment of madness and not even a successful, post bollock dropping, gig in Nottingham can disguise the ignominy of it. 

Let's be sensible, though. He's not a terrorist. He didn't kill anybody. He just incorrectly interpreted what today's public might regard as funny. 

Well, he's a quick-witted scrapper who reputedly has many friends throughout the media, so he'll survive. 

I think the Beeb was a bit hasty. Worry about listening figures I suppose. And it can't always be easy reining in the skittish selection of moderate talent allied to massive ego that fights for fame in Broadcasting House. 

ON THE COMMERCIAL FRONT 

Jeremy Kyle hit trouble, too. A former guest on his ITV show committed suicide. 

I saw very little of Kyle, and what I did see only confirmed my opinion that all reality television, including Love Island (which has similarly led to deaths), is crap. As far back as 1968 Nigel Kneale wrote a disturbing play, The Year of the Sex Olympics, where a pathetic populace was moronically fixated on 'live' television. I am reminded of it whenever I chance upon the 'reality' stuff now. 

It should be scrapped en masse. 

What? Oh I know you don't watch it. 

You wouldn't be reading this if you did. Which nicely leads on to...
TELEVISION. 
Game of Thrones

 If ever a final series was destined to go out in a blaze of glory, this Sky Atlantic epic is the one. We had the penultimate episode at the beginning of this week and now, like a perfect holiday, we just don't want it to end. Will Peter Dinklage (above) be left alive? Will anyone?

The acting has been splendid throughout and the special effects are good enough for a blockbuster film. When it finishes we shall be hard pressed to find a replacement. Unless, that is, George R.R. Martin has a sequel up his sleeve? Keep hoping. 

We bade a fond farewell to The Durrells, too. 

They were wonderfully eccentric pre-war Brits writ large for the American market. Loved 'em and loved Corfu. 

Happy viewing, texting, whatever...