Tube Tied

When you’re channel surfing late at night what exactly do you need to come upon to make you stop? How good does something have to be to prevent you from going around the complete circuit for the fourteenth time in as many minutes? You would think that when you happen upon the Interpol set from the Reading Festival or a previously unseen interview with Che Guevara in his dying moments or a Ken Burns documentary on the faking of the moon landings that you would drop the remote and settle down. But no, the lunacy continues unabated until you have tutted yourself into a hysterical frenzy over the paucity of quality programming on telly these days. That BBC is nothing but repeats, Channel Four is Big Brother on a loop, RTE is far too parochial and Sky Sports is an extra fifty quid a month and they can stick that right up their arse. Besides what would I do with my hands if I decided to actually watch something? The Rubik cube is surely not manufactured anymore, I can’t smoke in the house and I can’t see myself taking up knitting or embroidery. What’s on? Oh I know what’s on, it’s what else is on that concerns me. I want to find something decent so I can completely ignore it and in so doing authenticate my quest by upgrading my expectations while simultaneously guaranteeing my ultimate disappointment. I want to up the ante in the self fulfilling prophesy of misery. Better to travel than arrive, Patsy.