OCCUPIED COUNTRY

I Wanna Be Adored

I have been subjected to more than my fair share of fucking whooping and hollering on TV shows recently. Whenever a Z list celeb appears, somebody does something for charidee or a Z list celeb leaves the stage, we hear this cacophony of screaming that makes you fear for the audience's sanity.

When the cameras pan across the same audience though, you NEVER see any of 'em whooping, screaming, hollering or even vomiting. General applause I think it can be classed as. Nothing more, nothing less. Not quite a very British applause, but not far off. The Americanisation of popular entertainment response has put an end to the days of a very British applause. RIP.

So, where does it come from? The whooping etc? Well it's obviously piped isn't it? But why? Who needs it? I'd like to think the artistes would be pissed off if they heard artificial enhancements to the audience response after their efforts. But what do I know?

Not the at home audience surely - they don't need whipping into a frenzy because Will Young has just finished miming to his latest hit single, Ian Hislop has just walked down Parkie's staircase or Beryl and her friend Janine from Hitchen have won an all-inclusive break in the Maldives courtesy of some perma-tanned day-time chat show host - surely?

So that just leaves the studio audience. Y'know that section of society that sends off for tickets to see such events as The Eammon Holmes Half Hour, Brucie's Big Night Out or The Les Dennis Show. They are not being enthusiastic enough and that's why squeaky-bummed producers are resorting to canned whooping.

Well, here's a message you wankers. Sort it and sort it now. The next time you're surrounded by similarly dressed and coiffered 'borgs with inane grins, let's have a little more effort when it comes to slapping the palms of your hands together. Perhaps a cry of "Bravo" or "Encore" wouldn't go amiss. Anything to let the object of your obvious attentions know that they have touched something deep in the very core of your soul.

'Cos if you don't start doing it now, then sooner or later all those trainee pricks who watch shows on the TV like The Eammon Holmes Half Hour, Brucie's Big Night Out or The Les Dennis Show, will start acquiring tickets to watch the recording of shows like The Eammon Holmes Half Hour, Brucie's Big Night Out or The Les Dennis Show and think whooping and hollering is the norm.

So let's put a stop to it now before, like binge-drinking, suduko and Avian Flu, it overwhelms us.

Don't you dare whoop though.

---

Roy Keane. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!

---

Dearest took the dog out the other evening. A lovely crisp winter's night. Clear sky overflowing with stars and the moon as full as a harvest fruitbasket hanging low over the chimneys and trees. It had that ring that swathes it on nights like these. Glowing away like a halo.

The dog spotted it and shit herself (probably literally). She is officially scared of the moon. The past few nights have been a fucking nightmare I can assure you. Tess doesn't grasp the metaphysical you see. It's a fuckin' mystery to her as much as it was to Stone Age man just what that big, bright orb in the sky is.

A few thousand years later though and Stone Age man's descendants have played golf on the moon.

Tess's species were shittin' 'em then and are shittin' 'em still.

I guess that's just the way God wanted it to be.

Caught a bit of I'm a Celebrity.... before. David Dickinson's got bigger tits that Jilly Goulden. Fact.