Wednesday, 25 March 2015


Fiendishly cold last night, heavy ground frost. Managed to get a decent amount of sleep. I'm going to work at home in the hope my cold starts to improve. I'm also waiting for a parcel of tiny nuts and bolts in the vain hope I can fix my glasses for a fiver rather than having to go out and buy a new pair.

Just remembered something I forgot to do last week. My head is a bit muddy at the moment, that's not ideal.

Quite a lot of speculation that Clarkson will get the sack today. I really hope so. I absolutely cannot understand that man or his program. I've never been interested in cars or speed but have no prejudice towards anyone who has, I've caught bits of that show and it's a mind-numbing bore - the audience are dead-eyed, gormless sycophants - standing around like wax dummies - and the co-hosts are nothing more than stage fool. Clarkson himself is an overstuffed, juvenile egoist with a vastly inflated sense of worth, ignorant, arrogant, deluded by his own mythology, a vain moron with nothing to recommend him. On his own - I couldn't give a toss, he's a dinosaur - but the stupidity of the servile lickspittles who follow him around, wiping up the mess me makes, apologising for his increasing racism, homophobia and sexism make me sick - and yes, even or Prime Minister is in that unholy club. A well know and usually sensible journalist on Twitter last night proclaimed that he disagreed with everything about Clarkson, but at least he paid for BBC4. That's the most offensive, twisted thinking possible. I really don't care how much money he brings in - the world and British television is a better place without Clarkson - although let's face it, he'll be back on TV soon with another channel, just as bad - if not worse. Last night I made the comment on Facebook that 'if anyone want's to bury Clarkson, I have a spade' - shortly after I realised that I'd accidentally made a subtle racist joke that even Clarkson would have been proud of. I now additionally hate him for making me hate myself.

Something I forgot to say last week. When I was in Croydon, I was talking to my friend John in a coffee shop at the station, for some reason I'd just spoken about Micheal Faber's 'Under The Skin' - at that moment, Adam Pearson, the young man with neurofibromatosis who plays a victim in the film, walked past, presumably on his way to work. The coincidence and juxtaposition seems quite bizarre. I was so shocked, I don't think I mentioned it.

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