Television: the drug of the nation.

So I have seen my first proper slice of the 5th circle of television hell that is Big Brother and once more the viewing public is being subjected to the baffling concepts of 'realness' and 'fakeness', 'disrespecting' and 'recognising'. Seriously. Fuck off.
I have absolutely no problem with the idea nor with the existence of Big Brother series 8 or 9 or whichever one this is. I have watched many of the increasingly bizarre and self-referential series as well as spending one giddy summer just watching Russell Brand (a comedic genius no matter what anyone else thinks. Listen to his radio show with Matt Morgan for proof)on the Big Mouth programme, without ever actually watching the programme.
All of we humans in our souls are both assholes and angels. We are all capable of horrific nastiness and pointless, altruistic nice-making. Editing plays the biggest part in this programme - bigger than any of the actual housemates - and it does not help the people of the Big Brother house ever look in any way intelligent or consistently diverting. Nobody ever seems to sing a song that you really like or comment on films/music/books/authors/politics and so it is abundantly clear that we are being fed exactly what the television network want us to see. As with any television programme, we are at the mercy of the editors. This must be believed because having said all that, it physically pains me to imagine that this planet, the same one on which I may some day raise little There Will Be Bloggers, could play host to such a plethora of vacuous amoebic shithouses as those that have starred on Big Brother since it first 'kicked off' years ago.
Anyway, that's that.
Alan Yentob's fantastic Imagine series is back for the last few weeks and last night he took a peek at Annie Liebowitz, photographer extraordinaire. I really love the Imagine series for it's surprising, eclectic mix of art, architecture, music, mental illness etc., and Yentob's presentation style has always been easy to watch; a palatable blend of pretension, curiosity and aloofness yet as calm, cool and willing to learn as you like. It's always a top quality hour and is a fine example of a programme to proudly shove down the throats of those you have ever heard proclaim in a wanky, holier-than-thou manner: ' I don't watch television'. That statement has always been one that makes my blood boil in the same way Tracey Emin's 'art' does, the way that Umbrella song does, or when people try to tell me that Maxwell House IS coffee (It's fucking not. It's freeze-dried metal and mud).
Finally the Euro 2008 tournament. It's a pleasure to return from a hard day at the office every day and have a football match to watch while splayed out on the couch. Thank Christ we have two TVs. Yes, decadence pays off. Football also provides the perfect excuse to stock up on an unnecessarily large amount of Lithuanian beer from the local, curiously cosmopolitan off-licence and also to catch a bit of the genius Chiles on the BBC highlights packages. Ahhhh bliss.