29.2.20 Mastermind or Twat Head

What the cunting fuck?  I have just witnessed a complete disaster of a programme aired at peak time on BBC1.  John Humphrys (as ever waffling with overlong questions) was a nauseating twat.  The contestants were actually nothing of the fucking sort!  There was one 'celebrity' - Ade Edmondson - who conducted himself well, and knew more than the rest by a cunting kilometre.

Gareth Thomas   5 points
Yung Filly   4 points
Serena Guthrie   5 points
Ade Edmondson   16 points

What a cunt of a waste of fucking time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Change the name of this cunt from Mastermind to Twat Head

...

29.2.20 The Twats of Sussex

Apparently the annual bill for providing security for the two self-serving Twats of Sussex could rise to £20m.  Twenty fucking million pounds - PER YEAR!  Sorry, but this is outrageous.  Their choice to disengage with the Royal establishment should not mean that tax-payers in the UK and Canada should have to foot the bill as the rabble runs around the globe.  The ToS are a perfect example of how to be entitled, selfish and cuntish.

We're Fucking Off

The 'transition' they are now embarked on is attention seeking at its worst.  As for the Royal titles, it seems they are retaining them but not actively using them.  Talk about wanting your cake and eating it.  They have no business even retaining the HRH titles, even if they do claim they will not actively use them.  That's like promising something but having your fingers crossed behind your back.

If he is apparently saying, "Just call me Harry" then why is the HRH retained?

I was always sure that Meghan would steer things, and she has from a young age declared an interest in bagging a prince.  Like any celebrity, get your bloke, get a ring, get a baby, then get your own way - or split up.  This is simply Cheryl Fernandez-Versini-Tweedy-Cole and Liam Payne, mirrored one level up.  If Harry is dumb enough to be pulled along by his dick, then more fool him, and no sympathy.  I expect they will split up at some point.

PS: Why the fuck have I seen a woman curtsying while shaking hands with MM?

...

23.2.20 Meghan Markle Madness

Did anyone else believe that Meghan Markle was the kiss of death to the Royal Family when she appeared on the scene?  I suspect a great many did in fact view things that way, and as was always likely to be so, she has succeeded in fucking up the monarchy while glibly smiling her way to the disruptive outcome.

Self-serving ..... thus, Wankers

Harry and Meghan and simply being cuntish in their plans to 'go it alone', and brand themselves as some sort of super duo.  This pair of disrespectful twats are not worthy of any attention, let alone adulation.  I fear, however, that this fucked up world will provide them with a source of income at every turn, and allow them to continue with their deplorable self-serving shit-fest, and garner support from stupid people - and of course, rich people.

The Queen has every right to be fucked off.  Prince Charles should acknowledge that his son is a twat, and in sequence, rather a cunt as well.  Sadly, this pair of fuckwits will almost certainly carve out an existence, and a lucrative living by being who they are, and certainly not for contributing anything of value.  Dressing up their joint input under umbrellas of 'conservation', 'charity', and 'altruism' is pathetic, and so lacking in integrity.  These two have trumped the pathetic fuckwittery and money-grabbing that's been displayed for so many years by the 'Yorks' - Eugenie and Beatrice.... along with the sex-offender-friend Andrew, and the lead protagonist in the mercenary stakes, Sarah Ferguson.

Harry is being misled, but that does not excuse him in the least.  If he is this stupid and thoughtless, then he deserves to be diminished in the opinions of just about every UK citizen, and his judgement is clearly FUBAR.

...

23.2.20 A Vile Person Indeed

There's no beating about the bush here.  I am quite clear on the situation, thank you.  Sometimes there is little need to elaborate on things, and this is one such situation, where the target of my attentions is indeed a cunt and a fucking half.  Yes, there can surely be no doubt amongst rational people that there is now a level of complete cuntism that is in play, within the UK government.  But I have not yet said whom I am talking about.

Could it be Boris, Cummings, Rees-Mogg, Gove? 

If one single image could sum up the horrendous situation that the UK is now in, it's the one above.  Yes, Boris Johnson is a liar and a self-serving fuckwit, with disingenuous approaches to just about everything that needs attention and input.  Yet, my dislike of any individual is fuelled rather more by the Home Secretary, for whom the four-letter term could be no better employed. 

Is 'VILE' the word I am talking about?  Perhaps instead it's 'CUNT'........ I will leave you to consider what you think might be the most appropriate term to apply.

...

23.2.20 Sonic

Sonic The Hedgehog - The Movie

What the cunting fuck?  Why?  How?  What?

The world is a mess - Sonic, Lego, what next?

...

22.2.20 HIV Impediment

Can you say it properly?

On the radio a few days ago, I heard from a young chap who was talking about having HIV.  Clearly this changed his life in many ways, but with drugs, he was explaining how he manages the condition.  Sadly, there was no drug to take for the other element in play - his inability to pronounce his condition.  "Haitch" is not a letter, and so he is in the difficult position of being unable to discuss properly the very condition he was on air to talk about.  Perhaps the drug companies will come up with an effective drug in the coming years, but until then, everyone will have to take precautions.  Sufferers should practise abstinence on public speaking, while listeners should protect themselves by switching off at the very first sign of mispronunciation.

...

16.2.20 Trouble With Trailers

Enough is enough, I'd like to say, but ITV takes the opposite view, and so relentlessly drowns us in shit trailers for its shows.  It does so for many weeks ahead of any programme actually being aired, such that any minuscule notion that one of the programmes might be watchable is removed and a layer of frustration and resentments enshrouds me.

This evening, I have been tainted severely through the constant diet of trailers for the following:

Saturday Night Takeaway
Harry Redknapp's Sandbanks Summer
Belgravia
The Trouble with Maggie Cole

The multiple exposure I have suffered in just a single evening has altered my DNA such that I am not possessed by a demon with an urge to smash the TV.  Is there anyone left in the UK who does not know who Ant & Dec are?  Or people who have not heard of Saturday Night Takeaway?  So why the two dozen trailers per day?  Then we have Harry Redknapp shouting at someone on the beach, again and again and again.  Belgravia is not even on until March (no date specified) so we have a minimum of two more weeks being abused.  The same applies in respect of the Dawn French shit that's lumbering its way towards us..... some time in fucking March!  I also want to know why ITV has decided that the "W" in the programme's title is lower case.

Arseholes

Aside from trailers for individual programmes, there's the compilation trailer that is set against a pretentious "poem" that gets under the skin and burns like acid

ITV New Drama for 2020 Drama

This is just so that ITV can spout self-complimentary twaddle.  All of the above is relevant in my own avoidance of Mr Selfridge, a programme that I simply could not actually watch because of the
previous weeks' torture by trailers.

...

16.2.20 Final Score

I settled down to watch Final Score yesterday, interested (to some small degree) in the outcomes of the football matches across the country.  The format has not changed for ages, although the composition of the contributors has certainly swung towards many more female voices.  Match reporters were actually more female than male.  This is most certainly not an issue at all, so before anyone gets "cunting offended" for no good reason, chill out and hear me out.  There should be no difference between the abilities of men and women when it comes to reporting on a game of football.  However, there unfortunately is, as evidenced by yesterday's contributions.  The problem was simple - the delivery of the information was to a large degree 'manic squawking and shrieking'.  Whilst in the past, Robyn Cowen has been the prime offender, head and shoulders above the others, she was trumped yesterday by Vicki Sparks, whose frantic wailing and hyper-tension was overwhelming.

Too Much Spark & Squawk

Robyn was her usual self, that is, I was unable to listen to her with anything other than a sense of torture.  Emma Saunders was this week rather hyped up and challenging.  With those three having set the scene, it was fairly easy to hear others and lump them into the same category.  Katie Shanahan, calm down, please.  Eilidh Barbour and Connie McLaughlin, plus Jacqui Oatley - beware and be careful.

In summary, I am all for sensible input and female voices in football.  The content is not the issue, it's the cunting delivery.

...

15.2.20 The Masked Singer Revised

The format for this show is fatally flawed, although it was already fucked beyond belief, before a single note was sung, because the host is a disaster.  Joel Dommett is quite simply fucking nauseating to listen to.  His nasal warbling and pathetic intonation drives me mad, and who the cunting fuck gave him this gig?

Apparently he's a comedian - with a voice like that, he instills ire rather than humour.  I think he needs to go head-to-head with Rochelle Humes, for a voice that grates; he would win, of course.

The programme encourages awful input from the judges.  Ken Jeong is under the weird impression that he is amusing.  Sorry, Ken, but the only funny thing is that you think so!  With his one joke (about knowing "exactly who it is") wore thin in the first programme, but he continued with it all series.  A prize wanker indeed.

Anyway, Jonathan Woss is so full of himself, he's obese.  Davina McCall somehow has come to think of herself as someone who even counts, and her chanting and faux enthusiasm was shite.  Rita Ora thinks blonde hair and big tits are enough to get her over the line in terms of entertainment value - sorry luv, no.

The next series needs to be rethought, and I have a suggestion.  Gag and blindfold four judges, hit them until they squeal, and then get masked contestants to guess the judge.  Superb format.

By the way, Nicola Roberts (who won) was excellent, and Jason Manford (second) was a revelation.

...

15.2.20 Greek Week Madness & Fucking Railways

Most weeks, I have a look through the TV Guide, to see what delights are contained within the glossy pages.  There is little that's ever a delight, as most of the schedules are packed with shite, repeats and nauseating excuses for programmes.  Anyway, I digress.  My keen eye noticed very quickly a rather unexpected pattern, or coincidence.

Saturday 11.35pm and Wednesday 11.00pm (5Star)
Get Him To The Greek
Film (2010)

Sunday 11.30am (ITV)
The Greek Islands With Julia Bradbury
Julia reached the island of Chios

Sunday 7.00pm (Channel 4)
The Great Pottery Throw Down
It's Greek Week, and the contestants are challenged to sculpt a nude statue and throw jugs on the wheel.

Tuesday 10.00pm (Channel 5)
My New Greek Life
Chartered surveyors Alex and Charley open a hotel in Corfu

WTF?

Elsewhere, I cannot help but highlight the railways obsession.

Saturday 8.00pm BBC2
Great American Railroad Journeys

Saturday 11.00pm Yesterday
Chris Tarrant: Extreme Railway Journeys

Sunday 8.00pm Channel 5
Walking Britain's Lost Railways

Mon - Fri 6.30pm BBC2
Great Asian Railway Journeys 

Mon - Fri 3.45pm BBC2
Full Steam Ahead

Wed & Thu 8.00am BBC2
Great British Railway Journeys

Wednsaday 8.00pm BBC4
World's Busiest Railway 2015

Friday 8.00pm Channel 5
The Yorkshire Steam Railway: All Aboard

...

12.2.20 HS2 - Get It Right

I seem to find myself listening regularly to arseholes on the radio who have trouble with the letter 'H'.  So severe is the level of fuckwittery that I feel obliged to highlight the matter now.

Consider the sentences below:

a)   I hate ham sandwiches.

b)   I ate ham sandwiches.

In the first, it is made quite clear that I dislike ham sandwiches, and so it is hardly probably that I would eat them under any circumstances.  In the second sentence, there is no view expressed regarding the liking or disliking of this food, but instead, a simple declaration (though without any notion of when) that I consumed some.  The meanings are so radically different, all because of the 'h' that appears in sentence a) as the second letter, while it is missing in sentence b).

Assuming there is no southern accent in play, where the letter 'h' is commonly dropped, we can distinguish rather easily between the word 'hate' requiring the expulsion of a light breath to capture the 'h', and the word 'ate' that needs no such effort. 

Now we must compare this with the word 'aitch'.  You will notice there is no 'h' at the beginning.  As a result, the pronunciation is identical to that of 'ate' in the first part.  Actually, if the 'ch' sound were added to ate, to form ate-ch it would be the same to the ear.  The eighth letter of the alphabet is H, spelled aitch, so it does not start with a fucking H!

Cunts in the media who cannot pronounce HS2 should NOT be commenting on it, period.  Get off the airwaves and off the TV, and fucking learn how to speak. 

...

12.2.20 Cookery Is Fuckery

The cooking world is now officially full of complete fuckery . . . of the English language.  Yes, I know that "fuckery" is not a real word, but I feel authorised to introduce it as a perfect label for the horrendous utterances of TV cooks, chefs and commentators.

I'll just wash my hands off

We have to roast these off (ref sweet potatoes)

I would recommend washing them off

We're gonna leave these here to rest through

Strain off your butter beans

We'll let it cook down

Let it reduce down

This nonsense is everywhere, and it's as if the food world has insisted on some training for all those associated with food - so that they talk utter shit, and introduce unnecessary prepositions at every opportunity.  The above examples are the tip of the cunting iceberg!

Tom Kerridge recently came out with:

"We sweat it off" and "They've been marinaded" 

Madness indeed.

...

10.2.20 Shocking Radio 4

Unfortunately I have to report that the quality of English on Radio 4 has fallen to an all time low.  That's not to say there has been any decent level of grammar and English in recent years - I have heard so much shit for a long time now - but that I now sense a scaling up of shite.

Sue Perkins this evening talked about "eating a large amount of carrots" with not the slightest hint of embarrassment at delivering such a poor comment.  "Number" rather than "amount" was clearly the proper way of saying what she wanted to say.  During the news, before Sue's arrival, I had to listen to a muppet newsman talking about being "VULNERABLE" but without the first "L".  He also decided that the five-syllable word "TEMPORARILY" was better delivered over the airwaves with just three syllables.  What a stupid cunt, and what a fuck of a pronunciation that caused the word to be unintelligible.

I also heard this evening the woman protester discussing the HS2 project, but without the cunting ability to say "HS2" properly.  This clearly meant she lost all authority, and had no right to even speak on the subject.

Still, Greg Smith, the new MP in Buckinghamshire, was on last week, struggling himself to pronounce "INFRASTRUCTURE" and coming up with "INFASTRUCTURE" as an alternative.  He too stumbled with HS2, alternating between proper pronunciation, and the fucked up "H".

Evan Davis is the most nauseating whisperer on the station, but closely followed by Nick Robinson.  Their delivery styles, whilst different, are a challenge to any human ear and the presence of either is a cause of depression, upon turning the radio on.

The overuse of the word "SO" is enough to cause a car crash, as the listener is struck with radio rage.  "Kind of" and "sort of" litter the air as useless contributors struggle to get shit from their withering brains to the microphone.

Arghhhh.

...

2.2.20 Caprice

Dancing On Ice is certainly the means for Philip Schofield to earn a pretty penny, what with the inflated salary, and the relentless advertising of We Buy Any Car, his association with which will be adding handsomely to his bank balance.  One day he'll actually have to earn a living rather than simply go through the motions, while staring at the autocue.

This week, Caprice Bourret exited the show.  I was already under the impression that she is a spoilt, over indulged person who craves attention.  Worth an estimated $30million, I wondered how she would take to the ice, and not very well has been the outcome.  Citing grievances with her partner, she managed to get him (Hamish) ousted and a new bloke came in.  One week later, he's obviously no good either, as she decides to quit.  She should be sued by ITV for fucking off.  I am sure details of the issues will become known in due course, but I suspect rather strongly that none will exonerate her from being a spoilt brat.  That's hardly a surprise though:

Capricious Adjective  Given to sudden and unaccountable changes of mood or behaviour

Caprice Proper Noun  Woman on DOI who has demonstrated she is capricious

H

This programme should never have been resurrected.  The voice-over man managed to refer to Aitch as Haitch.  It's a sad day when your name is a single letter, and some cunt cannot even pronounce it.

...

2.2.20 Marr-Gate

There are two types of people in this country (aside from the obvious split between 'leavers' and 'remainers').  I refer to the other major split - the classification that arises from the ability to stomach listening to Andrew Marr.

Yes, there are those with a strong stomach who manage okay in hearing the voice of Mr Marr, and those whose constitutions are rather weaker, and find that his voice churns the stomach as readily as fuck!

I am in the latter group, and find my ears rebel, confuse my brain, which in turn sends a signal to start my guts groaning.

...

1.2.20 The Voice Is Awful

I checked in with The Voice UK today, and was suitably horrified.  As ever, the programme was dominated by the judges, the self-obsessed foursome whose collective ambition was to hog more airtime than any of the performers.  I suggest renaming the show The Four Fuckwits.

The first up was an eighteen year-old, who sang nothing special.  Meghan Trainor turned.  Sadly not away from us and off stage, but in her chair.  We then had to witness a sobbing hug before the adverts came on.

Second up was another young woman who wanted to make her parents proud; well there's a novelty, eh?  She wiggled around and shouted, mostly out of tune.  Yet, willie-am and the awful Trainor woman turned around straight away.  Right at the end, Murs and Jones also turned, the parents had a fit, and Willis wailed as normal.  Olly made a joke about Tom not knowing what she was singing, plus he made the compulsory reference to Tom being "Sir Tom Jones".  She went with willie-am.

Another break arrived to provide more by way of entertainment than The Voice.  The music from the Boots advert was great, and this was followed by equally good noise from the McDonald's advert and then Sia singing as Natalie Portman pranced around and fell off a pier.  Even the Coors Light advert was bearable.  Miss Dior gave us another 10-second blast of Sia, and I was thus reminded that some people do actually have a voice and can sing.

Back to the shit, and a bit of shit banter preceded only the third applicant, a 31-year-old named Priscilla, who is apparently a "full time mum".  I was under the impression that any woman with a kid is actually a mum, 24 hours a day...... so full time.  Her speaking voice was hard to listen to, so for her sake I was hoping her singing was rather better.  The face pulling got underway, this time not just by the four coaches, but Priscilla herself.  She wobbled, shouted and sweated through the messy 'song' and offended my ears.  No one turned, thank goodness.  "What happened? What went wrong?" asked Priscilla to the cameraman afterwards.  "You were shit, luv," said I.  The coaches sat analysing things, and talking bollocks.

The fourth woman in a row was another mum, who works, so is she a full time mum?  Anyway, her two kids were sweet enough.  She wailed more than Willis ever could, and sang shit about Jesus and the Holy Ghost.  I couldn't hear all the words, but apparently it's a spiritual world.  All I know is this woman made a complete cunting racket.  Only willie-am turned around - idiot.  "You completely got my attention from the first word you sung," said the illiterate Olly.  No shit, Sherlock - she shouted like fuck!  Tom mumbled "strong" and "powerful", as he's prone to do, then returned to his semi-comatose state.

Dementia Sets In

After the break, the coaches sucked each other off while we listened to sycophancy and cringeworthy crap.  Then a bloke appeared, as contender number five.  A self-indulgent chap bared his soul to us, while bigging himself up, ahead of singing his own song.  He was no James Blunt, but I suspect he aspires to be.  "Take Me Home" was the song, and nobody did.  He left.  "That was a definite mistake," said Tom.  "He was good" said Tom.  "What am I doing here?" said Olly.  The four returned to self congratulation, and story telling.  Name dropping by Tom was up and running.  Olly primed Uncle Tom for a song, and Tom was enticed to sing.  "It's Not Unusual" was delivered to all by Tom.  It's certainly not unusual for us to be served up such a dysfunctional show. 

Wailing Willis announced details of a competition, and how to spend two quid hoping to win.  Break time arrived.  At the hour mark, the sixth singer appeared on stage, and I considered the throughput for a moment.  Five so far had sung for two minutes each, so ten minutes in all.  The other fifty minutes had been consumed by adverts, VTs and the shit exchanged between the coaches.  Criminal.

Number six was a seventeen year old girl, and I hoped the Pastor's daughter was not too churchified, especially as her name was Blessing.  She was good; Olly turned around.  The other three whinged and tried feebly to explain why they didn't turn around.  "You're a baby," said Trainor Woman.

I felt privileged to be served the seventh contender without ITV needing a break first; two singers in one segment of the programme.  Sixteen year old Holly was next up, a Scottish girl who was nervous as fuck.  "Is she going to be a whiner or a shouter?" asked Mrs MWSC.  I offered no opinion.  It turned out to be neither.  She warbled and adopted a silly mumbling voice.  However, she veered off into some shouting a bit.  Trainor Woman and Olly both turned around.  They all marvelled at her being sixteen, as though a sixteen year old has never before sung a fucking song.  Trainor Woman whined, and talked utter shit in her pitch to be her coach.  The Glaswegian picked Trainor Woman, and so began her journey to dementia.

Trainor Woman

After the final ad break, we were set for the eighth person, who turned out to be the second bloke of the evening.  Little Olly and Uncle Tom both turned, and Wailing Willis hugged the family stage-side.  Apparently Trainor "panicked" and should have turned.  It's just pressing a fucking button, dear.  Its been put right in front of you, big and red, so stop bleating - it's the one thing you are there to do, press if you like someone's voice.  He went with Tom.

...