Watching too much telly

The New Nightmare

I thoroughly enjoyed (if 'enjoyed' is the right word) The New Al Qaeda documentary on BBC2 on Monday night. It seems that we're drifting away from the 'it's all a big political con' theory a la The Power of Nightmares to 'we're all going to die!' school of thought once again. You could even tell from Peter Taylor's opening narration that his expose was specifically tailored (sorry) to debunk the myth that Al Qaeda is a myth, although that, sadly, became academic a few weeks ago.

The first show was called Jihad.com and it highlighted how the terror network uses the internet to recruit and motivate its 'soliders' with breathtaking efficiency and success. The footage of the suicide bombing that was filmed from three different angles and then uploaded to the web was horrific, and even a quirky story about how a football mom tracked down would-be terrorists in a chat-room couldn't assuage the feeling that the whole world is falling into a very bleak hole indeed.

At least one thing is for sure - we'll never negotiate with the terrorists.

Oh, look - they've just released Sean Kelly...

Cynical, me?

Sky News' coverage of the bombings and their aftermath has been utterly addictive and strangely disturbing. But one thing that really irks me is the way in which Sky attempts to be interactive - providing us with a steady flow of "thoughts" from the general public which share the same newsticker as statements from the likes of Blair and Bush.

It's a neat idea BUT it doesn't appear to be staffed properly. So you get the same three or four statements scrolling across the screen for hours on end (sometimes even days). And the statements they choose to display are hilarious: "Terrorism is bad" - Margaret from Solihul and "Some of my best friends are Muslims" - Mike from Harrow is about as deep as it gets. Still, I don't suppose it's easy to tackle the issues of the day in a text message...

Frackin' Brilliant

Battlestar Galactica is back and it's grimmer than ever!

We've got infanticide (again!) this time by drowning, people getting eviscerated by Cylons, mercy killings, incompetent commanders, shit-scared engineers, blood splattered marines and a mad-as-a-hatter anti-hero. Watching this lot stumble through catastrophe after catastrophe is slightly unnerving to say the least.

BSG manages to make Babylon 5 look conventional and 24 look far-fetched (which is pretty ironic when you think about it). The first couple of episodes of season 2 are pretty damn amazing; last night's episode was a cross between Die Hard, The Poseidon Adventure and an East European art film and yet it all works beautifully. It also manages to make Lost look like the pedestrian nonsense it really is (incidentally, those trailers are just daft!).

I love how the cliffhangers from season 1 still haven't been resolved (it takes two whole episodes until a Doctor can get to the recently shot Adama, and there's still no sign of Helo getting off Caprica anytime soon) and you really get the sense that no one is really safe (or what they seem) on the show. Even the schmaltzy love scenes feel realistic and appropriate.

All this *and* a Philip Glass score too; which is kinda odd as it implies that Mr Glass has somehow managed to make the hit parade in a galaxy far, far away...

BSG really is the perfect show for our time: rampant paranoia; terrorist attacks; the battle between religions; hawks and doves battling for hearts and minds of the survivors; honestly, American TV doesn't get any better than this.

I'm so enamoured of this show I even caved in and bought the original Disco-in-Space 1978 version on DVD and it's, well... weird. In come the giant lizards, visually impaired walking toasters, hilariously inept matt-shots and one-dimensional boo-hiss villains BUT the essence of the show is still there. When Caprica is wiped out in a Pearl Harbour style sneak attack it still feels years ahead of its time and it's unlike anything Star Trek would contemplate, never mind attempt. Dirk Benedict's Starbuck is hilarious and it's a strangely sexual show for its time. I still remember Cassiopeia confusing the hell out of my 12 year old hormones back in 1979.

And it was a bargain at 16 quid. In order to make up the extra three quid so I could bag the free postage, I ended up trying one of those newfangled Su Doku books. And now I'm completely and utterly hooked. The bastards!

Extra Special

Extras was great, wasn't it? I kept my expectations low - I mean, how on earth do you follow a phenomenon like The Office? - and I hadn't seen one single trailer (the hype machine seemed to be pretty low-key, which felt slightly ominous). One thing was certain though: the weight of expectation on Ricky Gervais' new series was massive.

I'm happy to report that he's done himself proud.

It was classic Gervais, really; plenty of awkward and embarrassing situations which provide a mixture of belly laughs and the kind of horror that only a really bad social faux pas can provide.

The similarities to David Brent are superficial: Millman is still selfish and utterly tactless but this time he doesn't have any power. As a result he's not so overbearing but one theme remains constant: he's a man completely out of his depth.

Ben Stiller was simply brilliant as "himself" - a savage caricature (I hope!) who was obsessed with his own box office receipts (I loved the way he knew the exact running time of the multi-layered Dodgeball) and I hope all the celebs drafted in to play themselves in future episodes play the game with the same spirit. The Starsky and Hutch exchange was priceless and I'm amazed they got away with it.

Poor Vanessa (snigger)

Finally! The general public were denied the final say in the eviction process during Friday's Big Brother and look what happened - Vanessa got the boot! There is a reality TV god after all.

And what a way to go. Humiliating, psychologically damaging and very, very cruel.

It couldn't have happened to a nicer person.

It looks like Anthony has it in the bag now.

On the Quiz Nation front I've turned my attention to The Great British Quiz, which is just as insidious but with the added bonus of a really annoying yapping dog. And that's just the presenter.

I managed to waste yet another two hours of my life adding up numbers on a train ticket (my answer was 44) until they gave up again (quelle surprise!) and revealed the answer to be 8184. I mean, WTF???!!!

Luckily I taped the show and dumped it to DVD. It is currently winging itself to Ofcom with a strongly worded letter of condemnation (nation). Either I'm getting old and I should move to Tunbridge Wells or I have my priorities in the wrong order. Oh well.

On a more positive note, It was nice to see Death on the Staircase enjoying some long-overdue repeat showings on BBC2 and 4 over the weekend. Of particular note was a new documentary entitled The Aftermath which looked at how the protagonists were coping with the verdict, although to be fair I wanted to see what Michael's kids thought about the shocking "twist".

The really good news is that the film maker, Xavier Le Strade, will be filming the appeal too. If it's anything like the trial then it'll be unmissable stuff.

On a personal note, I've almost cleared away my backlog of work and as a result I'm a) incredibly bored and b) determined to update this blog every other day by looking at some of the more obscure "treats" available on my Sky digibox. Wish me luck.

And when the weather finally breaks (the first day of my holiday and it's pissing down outside) I'll take some new photos of the Barns complex - it's a right old mess.

And finally, if you somehow managed to miss the new series of Doctor Who BBC3 are repeating them from the very beginning on Sundays at 7pm and Fridays at 9pm. Why not stop by our collaborative blog Behind the Sofa Again and let us know what you think...

F**k-a-bout!

I was going to go into one of my usual rants about how the British public shouldn't be allowed to have any say in the outcome of a reality show (see America for details) but there's no point. Forget the quality and feel the telephone revenue instead. And so, Maxwell (love him or hate him, you couldn't ignore him) walks into the sunset leaving behind Science, a man who needs an ego-boost like Jordan needs a breast enlargement.

And Vanessa is starting to do my nut in. So much so, I've even tried to work out how much it would cost me to travel down to the studio and throw some tomatoes at her when she's evicted (please, let it be soon!). I can't abide her. I don't think any other contestant in the history of this show (both here and abroad) has come anywhere close in the annoying stakes. The way she talks has the same effect as nails on a blackboard to me.

On the Barns front it's still all-go. I can't go into the specifics, mainly because I don't understand them, but things are definitely moving quickly (I'll be posting some photos later this week). And as amazing as this may sound to anyone who knows me, I actually got my hands dirty last weekend. Yep, I climbed onto a roof and hammered holes into sheets of asbestos which I then tore down without the aid of a safety rope or mask. It might save money in the short term but I think I may have shaved a couple of years off my life too...

I didn't want to get involved, of course, but when everyone (and I mean everyone - even the kids) decide to spend the hottest July in recent memory up to their necks in bricks and mortar, well, there's nothing else you can do but join in.

It's not all bad news though; on the weekdays we leave it to the "daft lads", a group of young Irish teenagers who are a bit like programmable automatons. For example, if you gave one of them a shovel and you told them to dig a hole you could come back two days later and he'd be halfway to Australia.

We must have gone up in the world. We have slaves and a swimming pool. Well, an inflatable pool (technically, it's too big to be called a paddling pool but 'swimming' is probably pushing it).

Today was slightly surreal experience. There I was, sitting in said pool watching a couple of rabbits running through a corn field, while less than 200 yards behind me an Irish navy is using a JCB (which broke my bloody patio!) to pull down a wall.

Thank God for iPods.

And finally, to everyone who has emailed me to ask where the next Tachyon TV update has got to - go away! I'm busy!

Live 8

The Floyd - back together after 24 years, blowing the young pretenders off the stage with ease. It really doesn't get any better than this. They should have given them a whole 2 hours, after all I'm sure Blair is a fan and it might have swayed things.

I don't care if Gilmour looked uncomfortable (he's looked like that since the early 80s, whoever he's on the stage with), I don't care if he described the experience as "sleeping with the ex-wife", I don't care if nobody would look at Roger, I don't even care if they don't do a proper Farewell Tour. If Pink Floyd ends here then at least they ended it together.

Now, if they were to deliver the aforementioned tour then you'll almost certainly find me in the front row with the inflatable pig. Until then, we can but dream.

Anyway, I watched the whole lot - 10 hours waiting for The Floyd! - and I hate to be disingenuous about a "charity" concert but it was a bit of a cock-up wasn't it? Perhaps it was great at the location itself but it didn't translate very well on the TV. The crowd looked bored/pissed off/catatonic.

The so-called "golden circle" was a bad idea. A football field of PR men, minor celebs (I spotted three ex-BB contestants), family, friends and competition winners. About 80% of them looked like they'd rather be somewhere else. The remaining 20% spent less time jumping up and down and waving their arms in the air than they did taking photos on their mobile phones.

The real fans were about a mile away from the stage. It just seemed to lack the atmosphere and emotion of Live Aid and I'm sure the "VIP" area must have contributed to that. The concert itself was OK with a few weird moments thrown in for good measure.

From what I can remember:

• U2: a good opening, not really a fan. Would have preferred Status Quo to be honest.
• Coldplay: OK, especially the Status Quo bit
• Elton John: what a tart.
• Bill Gates: a storming set
• The Killers/Keane/Travis/Snow Patrol: all these new-fangled bands kinda merge into one
• Bob Geldof: Apparently he was supposed to bring Midge Ure on stage and "forgot". Again! The cut from the stage to Ure's interview with Fearne 'Amazing' Britten said it all really: "That was crap!"
• REM: Michael Stipe is Peter Gabriel in The Story of Zorro
• Snoop Dogg: Is there really any f**king need? He didn't even ask us for any money!
• Joss Stone: I can't stand her, I don't know why but I just get the impression she is a spoilt prima-dona with a weird face.
• Scissor Sisters: "And here's a new song..." Get off, you jokers, before the Floyd find you!
• Velvet Revolver: who the hell booked these jokers? Spinal Tap without the wit.
• Sting: as boring today as he was 20 years ago. That's consistency for you.
• Mariah Carey: the hissy fit over the mic stand will haunt her forever. Good.
• Robbie Williams: say what you like about the little twat, but he knows how to work a crowd
• The Who: not bad. The keyboard solo sounded like early Genesis.
• The Floyd: worth the 10 solid hours of waiting
• The finale: OK, I suppose; the hey Jude sing-a-long descended into a schmaltzy farce, but what do you expect?

The only possible contender for 'best moment' has to be Ricky Gervais' Saskia gag. Poor lass.

And speaking of BB, it's started to degenerate into a soft-core version of Friends. I can't stand it - pure behind the sofa torment. It's like your watching your best mate get a hand-job from a work colleague under the photo-copier.

Stop supplying them with alcohol.

Craig's unrequited love for Anthony is hilarious, and strangely touching, though, and if there was one snog I'd pay to see it would be that one. It probably scores low on "man points" though, so I won't hold my breath.

A Summer of Blogging

I’m finally back. Well, almost. My real-life work commitments are currently beginning to settle down a bit, and barring a couple of websites that I need to complete for some rather anxious friends, I should be back into the swing of things sometime next week. There is absolutely no chance of me getting away for a holiday this year so I’m expecting to while away what will be a heat-wave or a wash-out by updating this blog regularly (well, until September at least).

In the meantime, here’s a quick update about what I’ve managed to watch during the latest blog hiatus, including a quick summary of what has to be the most fascinating and addictive season of Big Brother yet.

I knew Saskia was a wrong ‘un as soon as I clapped eyes on her. A slightly more attractive version of Vicky Pollard, she is, unfortunately, so top-heavy she looks like she is either heavily pregnant or genetically engineered. She actually admires Jordan without even the faintest trace of irony, and she deploys retorts like “Bothered” and “Whatever” whilst shaking her head and wagging her finger. Not a pretty picture.

I liked Maxwell initially, if only because he wouldn’t stand for any of Science’s nonsense, but he’s rapidly transformed himself into a sulky, petulant, bully who’s mockney buffoonery masks a darker, more sinister side.

It’s been great watching this pair of self-absorbed prats fall apart at the seams. They signed their own death warrants as soon as they heard the crowd cheering their names a couple of weeks ago (back before their masks slipped) and they started to believe they were appearing in The Max and Saskia Show. The fact that they honestly believe they are above the eviction process is a display of egomania unparalleled in this show, and that’s saying something.

My opinion of the other housemates hasn’t really changed much since the very beginning. They’ve been consistently bitchy, argumentative, egotistical disasters just waiting to happen.

Science is the worst of the bunch by a mile. Tortured genius struggling to escape the ghetto, or jumped-up, arrogant f**kwit who can’t string an intelligible sentence together? You decide.

Vanessa must go next. She’s hard not to hate, especially when she’s holding court in bed. Which seems to be all the bloody time.

Makosi, Kemal and Anthony look like sure-fire final three contenders, while Eugene is simply Jon Tickle without the comedy value and Orlaith lost all credibility the moment she invited all and sundry to squeeze her fake breasts. Lyndsay would have lamped her. Craig is hilarious but doomed and Derek continues to irritate the bejesus out of me.

But the biggest surprise this year has to be Big Brother itself. They actually appear to be thinking things through for a change – the tasks (especially the secret ones) are designed to annoy the hell out of the housemates and they’ve created some wonderful mountains out of what could easily have remained molehills. The Makosi cider row is a prime example.

And we’re not even halfway through yet. Saskia’s right - six weeks down the line and we’ll barely remember who she was.

I’ve also enjoyed the first two episodes of the USA version of The Apprentice (BBC2 – like a really slow BitTorrent). This week was a little corker, especially when Bradford (what kind of name is that???) decided to waive his immunity. What a stupid, arrogant move, and righty punished by the immensely likable Donald Trump (but with an empire like that why can’t he afford a decent wig?).

Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares Revisited has left me with a nasty taste in my mouth. It’s simply a reheated repeat with 90 seconds tagged onto the end! Talk about having your soufflé and eating it. Still, Gordon is currently being magnificent in the US version of Hell’s Kitchen (expect that to pop up on ITV2 any day now). He’s even nastier in this version and it plays twice as funny because all the yanks expect Gordon to be a well-spoken British gent, although the voice-over where they try to sell Gordon to America as a man of the people brought up on the mean streets of Glasgow is simply hilarious.

I’ve even seen some films too, and here are some quick capsule reviews of the summer blockbusters so far:

Revenge of the Sith: against all the odds it now stands as my second favourite Star Wars film. It almost made up for the other two abominations.

The League of Gentlemen’s Apocalypse: more interesting than funny but well worth checking out, especially for Geoff moaning about keeping his coat on.

Batman Begins: just awful. Pofaced, slow, dimwitted nonsense masquerading as art. Appalling direction during the action sequences make it impossible to tell what the hell is going on. Worse than Batman and Robin, IMHO.

The War of the Worlds: in a word - brilliant. Speilberg’s best since CE3K and almost on a par with Jaws (I just wish Cruise’s character had said “We don’t need a bigger boat!” during one pivotal moment). Relentlessly bleak and very close to the book (apart from one obvious and very unnecessary tweak to the invasion itself) this is the most jaw-dropping blockbuster I’ve seen in years.

The Fantastic Four: well, I’ve seen the trailer and something tells me I’ve seen the whole film as a result, It looks rubbish.

And that’s me up to date, I think.

Just before I go, Typepad is introducing some new design features over the weekend and with any luck I’ll be giving this blog a bit of a facelift as we hit the summer months.

God, I love this time of year…

And if that's not enough - Pink Floyd are reforming tomorrow!

Barn Update

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

Picture the scene: I’m sunbathing in glorious weather, my view is the unspoilt rolling countryside, I can see a couple of rabbits frolicking in a nearby cornfield and a squadron of swallows are dive-bombing for worms.

Sounds idlyllic, doesn’t it?

Until I mention that the place also stinks of cow shit, the sound of pneumatic drills and saw cutters are drowning out my iPod, and my hayfever is so bad I feel like I have pneumonia.

And then there’s the wife who wants to do everything, from hoisting timber to carting bricks. She tells me that I don’t have to take part if I don’t want to but how can I just sit here and relax when everyone else if up to their elblows in sand and cement? It’s a tough call.

It’s all go at the moment. After a year spent twiddling our thumbs it certainly feels like we’re making up for lost time. We really are a building site now. I can even imagine what the hell it’s going to look like for the very first time.

It’s been a rough journey so far – spiralling budgets, skiving joiners, adamant building inspectors, family disagreements and the odd head-in-hands moment of despair; and we’re less than a month into an 18 month project. Suddenly having a phone pales into insignificance.

I’ll be honest with you here – I haven’t got the faintest idea about what the hell is going on. It’s all down to my wife who is currently working on the 29th draft of the floor plans with work already well underway on the foundations (or something cement based). I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. Sometimes I’m simply too afraid to ask her.

Anyway, expect more detailed Barn updates as the build progresses. Assuming I can get Sue to explain what the hell has gone wrong this time. I have a feeling that it’s going to be one hell of a year…

State of the Quiz Nation

OK, I admit it, I got conned. If anyone isn’t familiar with the latest spurt of cheap exploitation masquerading as entertainment let me give you a quick word of warning: it’s evil incarnate.

217 Quiz Nation (on Sky Channel 217, natch) is a prime example of the current wave of what appears to be some extremely dodgy and ethically unsound fleecing of the general public, idiots that we are.

I stumbled across the channel one afternoon last week and the question they were posing looked so easy, it almost insulted my intelligence. To quote Phil Tufenl – Happy Days! (yeah, isn’t it great that the poor couple just saddled themselves with horrendous interest rates and spiralling debt!)

Basically what you had on screen was a list of statements like this:

1.    The number in a baker’s dozen
2.    Number of green bottles standing on the wall
3.    Number of days in a leap year

There were about 10 statements in this list and you had to ring up the channel with the total number. The prize was £1,000 with the vain promise of a stab at a semi-mythical £10,000 jackpot.

At first I just added up the numbers in the answers but some poor bloke from Doncaster got through before me with the same answer and he was flat-out wrong. OK, I thought, let’s also add the numerical list numbers, like 1, 2, 3 etc. Oh, Garry from Devon had the same idea. Wrong. OK, let’s think laterally and just add the number of times the word ‘number’ appears. Nope, as Sally from Kiddiminster just discovered to her eternal chagrin. OK, I thought, I’ll try adding combinations of all three. No. No. No. No No.

Now this is frustrating enough, but this is where it gets really bloody evil. At one point you will convince yourself that you, and you alone, have the correct answer. This usually happens about two hours in when you daren’t move from the television screen just in case somebody gets it right. You will try to call and you’ll get through every time only to be told that you haven’t been selected to answer the question. Still costs you 60p though. You’ll try calling at least 25 times before working out that a) you’ve just spent 15 quid b) you’ll never get through and c) even if you do get through you’ll be wrong.

What is especially galling is the majority of people who do get through have obviously just joined in with the torture as they give the same initial answer you had over three hours ago (and which has been dismissed 18 times in a row now).

Eventually you give up and just sit there waiting for the right answer to be stumbled upon. Fours hours in and the TV station give up too. No one gets it right.

And then they give the answer.

And it makes NO SENSE whatsoever! It’s miles away from anyone’s guess. It couldn’t possibly be THAT number.

And then, to rub salt in the wound, they make no attempt to tell us how they arrived at that answer.; it’s just straight to the next seemingly obvious brainteaser which will stump everyone because the answer won’t actually correspond to the question.

I think it’s evil and it must be stamped out. It’s quite amusing when some old granny from Chichester can’t answer the question because all she can hear is her own TV echoing down the phone line, but that soon wears thin after the 27th time.

I haven’t even mentioned the hypnotic music or the annoyingly attractive presenters who actually get paid to sit there for minutes on end looking thoughtfully at a bit of cheap CSO.

But just looking at my latest phone bill will tell you everything you need to know.