What the F*ck is a TOWIE & a MIC?

No, funnily enough, I don't watch Geordie Shore. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what a TOWIE is. And I don't particularly wish to know what, exactly, IS Made in Chelsea unless it involves shoes that cats can wear or some sort of truth serum for Nick Clegg. OH, right in the political nutsack.

Shoes for Cats: It's Gonna Happen

In fact, MIC is perhaps the only one that really irritates me to the point of wanting to sand my own face off. The other two are bearable; fair enough, you'd be forgiven for thinking that something had gone horribly wrong with the contrast setting on the TV to make everyone look like a satsuma in a sandstorm, but some of them are genuinely likeable characters. It actually pains me to say it, but they are.

Made in Chelsea, on the other hand, is perhaps my least favourite export from Chelsea, even more so than its football club and the RHS Chelsea Flower Show. Seriously, that is just how much I despise the program; I would actually find three years - or however long the flower show seems to go on for - of Alan Titchmarsh seductively eyeing up geraniums (as if he had a 2-for-1 voucher at the world's cheapest botanical strip-club) more comfortable viewing than watching people whom I do not give a crap about talking about problems that I give even less of a crap about.

It could be that I'm jealous; maybe I subconsciously wish that I enjoyed programs like MIC, maybe I have some sort of complex that leads to me processing every arrogant toff as...well, an arrogant toff, and not as the Freudian-esque specimen of mankind that they really are. Oh no, wait: that's ridiculous.

Yes, indeed, television is a form of entertainment and, for many people, this provides some form of entertainment, but my issue is that it dumbs life down beyond belief. Many people watch programs like MIC purely to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, and that's probably how they should be viewed. But, for those select few who view these character's lives as being significant to the real world, I honestly recommend that you be forced to wear an American Football helmet for the rest of your life for your own safety and not be allowed anywhere near the general public for ours.

The thing that really gets on my nerves about MIC, however, is the sheer self-indulgence of every person on it. What kind of message do we present to future generations of aspiring doctors, lawyers and, for that matter, any person who wants to pursue any career seriously, when we have this underlying view in many media-based areas that it's okay to be a pretentious drain-on-society because it gets you rich?

I'm sure people will disagree with a lot of this, and that's okay, because people of any income, social-creed or background should be allowed an opinion, but putting people on a pedestal simply because they have chiseled features and a wallet-full of mummy's and daddy's money tends to suggest that money does play a part in whether you're heard or not in the world of entertainment.

The Second Coming

A Contemplative Panda

At some point between Christmas and rolling around on the floor in academic agony clutching revision notes and a truckload of comfort food, I suddenly had a realisation. And it wasn't that rotating any faster would give me horrendous carpet burns. Nor was it that gyrating my body any faster from side-to-side may somehow transport me into a separate dimension where the only exams that take place involve chugging beer or writing essays on why Adrian Chiles and Adele should be assassinated by means of a funnel and an endless supply of liquidised cake; it was that something was missing from my life.

I'm not really a sentimental person, which is why this took me by surprise. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate tokens of effort: like someone buying me a pint, or any standard baby attempting to walk without looking like a drunken adult, but I just don't see the point in holding onto things that were part of a former you. It's harsh, I know. Anyway, I suddenly realised that what I was missing was writing and making videos, and the feeling I got when people were actually entertained by my general ethos of computing pretty much everything I think via this blog. And I let you guys down. I know I did.

So that's why I'm back; think of it as The Second Coming...minus the whole Jesusness, but plus dancing Chihuahuas...yes, there will be dancing Chihuahuas. Be prepared to be amazed, be prepared to be astounded, and you should probably prepare to be a little bit sickened...probably. Watch this space!

In the meantime, have a gander at this by Friendly Fires. They are honestly one of the great alternative bands, in my opinion, of the past 5 years and this is a track that has been firmly wedged between my ears for the last half a year or so: