I fucking hate Children in Need. Nothing makes me more angry and depressed than professional caring - I've already alienated myself in the office by refusing to sponsor someone who was doing something pointless for something with a ribbon. She asked me for money on the day I was going to pay for my lunch with 2p pieces.
Apparently we are encouraged to wear 'silly' clothes at work..... I don't think so.
When I was a kid there was a competition on the TV to design a mascot for some kids charity BBC thing that eventually morphed into Children in Need, I think it might have been Blue Peter... I was encouraged to enter by my mum and drew a yellow bear with a spotted bandage over it's eye - as did almost every other child in the UK ( it was a very narrow brief ) - he was modeled on the teddy bear I had then ( and still have now ). I didn't hear anything back - but some time later 'Pudsey' appeared. My mother - a lifelong manic depressive - would become very agitated and hyper at this time every year as she railed against the injustice of it all - even in old age she would ring me in the middle of the night ranting and crying about how I had been robbed, and on several occasions called the BBC to complain. I can only ever associate Children in Need with the descent into the dark abyss of mental illness - and utter cuntery on the telly, people gurning and squawking at unfunny comedy, 'cos it's for the kids'
If I see anyone in a Pudsey suit today I'm going to set fire to them. I love the smell of burning acrylic in the morning.
1 comment:
Children in Need is all very fine, but what about ordinary, unattractive people in their mid-30s? Can't we have a special day for them too? I suppose they're just not cute enough.
And yes, I also want to punch people in costumes. It's because I think a lot of them are attention-seeking morons who are using charity as an excuse to show off and skive off work.
Having said that, I was a sick child whose life was possibly saved by a charitable institution, so I'm more ambivalent than you are.
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