January 13, 2013 by kitcac
First, we watched Britain’s Brightest, a TV show that would make Krypton Factor spin in its grave.
Stupid irrelevant volcanoes.
Questions like “what letter comes after C P S in the sequence?”
The answer is T for teaspoon. The sequence is Cup, Plate, Saucer, Teaspoon. That is one question I made up myself, but you get the drift. No one would ever guess the answer. E for Ever.
There was a smug pain in the arse bloke who corrects spelling mistakes on shelves in supermarkets. His round was a spelling test. He was so bad at spelling under pressure that it was embarrassing to watch. He’ll never be able to correct errors on his gas bill again, oh the shame! Ok, I admit I enjoyed that bit, but that was because he was humiliated and I am a bad person, not because the program was any good.
So we switched over to Splash on ITV?
Oh good grief! The costumes alone make you realise that this program is about sex (the ladies’ costumes) and humiliation (the mens’ costumes). But its also about wanting to see someone land a stinging bellyflop. The sort that makes you look sunburnt.
It was a bad program, only marginally better than Britains Brightest and that was down to Eddie the Eagle. I could watch him do anything.
At this stage, we started wondering whether Take Me Out was on. Yes, it got that bad.
We were yearning for the televised human cattle market. TMO makes me extremely concerned for the future of the human race. The contestants/specimens prioritise values such as “being able to swim” and “not liking cats” when considering if they would date someone. I have no idea if Stavros has strong feelings either way about cats and I’ve never needed him to dive down to the bottom of a swimming pool dressed in his pyjamas to retrieve a brick.
I will, however, admit to seeing a hotty on TMO and saying out loud “I’d leave my light on for him.”
After TMO finished, we flicked through the channels a bit more. We stumbled upon Snakes On A Plane.
It was at this point that the terrible thing happened. On Saturday 12th January 2013, TV was so bad that Stavros shook his head, tutted and uttered those dreaded words:
“I don’t know what we pay the TV Licence fee for.”