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The Kids Are Not Alright

by Andy Bird


Quiz time.....which channels currently shows every morning:
a) A menopausal woman buzzing a light aircraft at a dangerously low level whilst talking in french to her dog, suggestively picking up tricks off the local builders, BT man, postie, or whatever blokes kicking about at the time she's on the ground

b) A renound Scouse drug baron found talking to a drawing of a dog, in a drawn house decked in acid colours, with a drawn talking letterbox and drawn pepperpots for mates, undoubtedly after breaking rule 1 of gak peddling, by necking to much of his own gear?

c) And where can you find a programme broadcast before Des and Mel comes on, spreading evil race hate like Nick Griffin on Ludes??????? (And even Oswald Moseley's now even got his own spin-off show, softened him up by turning nim into a cuddly talking blue Scandanavian Octopus called 'Oswald'???????? Not even an attempt to change the name, that's how low these scumbags are)

And is it any wonder at least 10 teachers die every week, spiked by compass, heads pulped in desks, ears burnt off by bunson burners at the hands of frothing rabid juniors brought up and turned on and made crazy for flesh by this insane madness? Can it be any surprise that Education Minister Ruth Kelly has taken the controversially extreme measure of sending paeodophiles to teach in schools, in hope to restore some semblance of order and respect?

Brace yourself and welcome to the world of Childrens cable telly 2006.

I'm no romantic fool or Stuart Maconie wistfully bullshitting and harping back to the good old days of kids telly, everyone 35+ knows that for every Noggin the Nog, Willow The Wisp or the Singing Ringing Tree, there was shite like Rhubabrb, Blue Peter, Freetime, Emu's World etc.... so the quality was equally kak,....it's just the quantity wasn't. Shoehorning Children telly onto it's rightful place of 4pm to 5.40pm every weekday was just about enough, I'd had me fill by quarter to six, I could take no more, and besides I always looked forward to cross dressing, sex addict coke hoover Frank Bough telling me about alchoholic snails and parachuting grannies in Nationwide at five to six.
But I, unlike Frank, knew the where the line between fantasy and reality was, and this was because my mind was not fed 24/7 the florescent brain mush that kids are today. I knew my place and so did Childrens TV.

But there are some plus points - I wake up at 6 every morning with my lad and take some solace from watching a programme that if they ever saw it thankfully would drive Davidson, Littlejohn and Bushell into plotting some hideously gruesome triple suicide plot, blowing themselves up on the Islamabad Central Line or eating 50,000 copies of The Koran until their guts burst....for Australian imported kids prog Boohbah has the ultimate PC family, of a Black father, Asian mother, white son, and Chinese daughter, a miracle of gentics and a vision of the future, fantastic stuff, but even Boobah is later let down badly, by pointless sections of jumping dancing balls of fluff blurting baby noises from behind the sinister gaze of what looks like eyes based on Robert Kilroy-Silks, it's at this point usually at 6.15am I've seen enough of this and turn over over to Tickabilla (which appears to be a modified version of Play School from what I can make out but without Humpty and Jemima) on BBC which brings my half-awake senses are round into a seething cauldron of rage, if I wanted to see my son to be entertained by over-acting out of work thespians signing madly for the deaf like Ian Curtis with Parkinsons I'd have put his name down for RADA, what this programme achieves other than confusion despair and depression is beyond me. OFF.

Only to turn back to Nickelodoen at 7 and Thomas the Tank Engine, which I have no beef with other than the fact that it's on every day and I've seen every episode 58 times, and that bloke who was in The Liver Birds does it now rather than Ringo Starr when we were kids, the same apathy about Thomas could not be said for the missus who would I think rather the lad watched Driller Killer or I Spit On Your Grave every morning than Thomas The Tank Engine, ever since I told her about the Rev.Awdrys penchant for bumming schoolkids when he wasn't writing about talking steam engines with faces.  It was almost came as much a blow to her as the time I broke to her that Spandau Ballet's much muted reformation had been scrapped.Toot Toot.

Luckily I escape to work before my eyballs fall out and my brain cells flatline but I know from experience of my days off that this stuff stays on in my house all day, a loop of never ending gabbling nonsense, millions of pounds worth of computer graphics, failed actors and gurgles.......why can't kids have re-runs of Paint Along with Nancy, Crown Court, The Sullivans or Take The High Road like we did when we were pretending to be ill, I now have a intricate knowledge of the 1970's UK penal system(The Birmingham 6 should have given me a ring), Australia's bottle during the war, gained an artistic genius second only to Caravaggio, and a blueprint memory of how to catch, gut, bone, and steam a salmon on the Banks of Loch Lomand, these things will never leave me and they were all gained before I was 8 years old, and will any kids of the future be able to learn that from Sky?


   a) Come Outside

   b) Blues Clues

   c) Bobi-nogs.









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