Call poor ‘little me’ wacky, call me Dave, call me on 0500 909 693 and call my coke dealer!

I am not a number – I am a complete twat biscuit…

So much to blog about…

…so little time…

I could write about the return of Nadine Dorries’ blog and her latest post which starts with this:

I have spent the last 48 hrs in bed. I told everyone it was a bad tummy, it wasn’t, I had reached the point of stress induced physical exhaustion.

The nausea had soared to the point of physically debilitating me, and so I gave in.

Now, whilst I realise that Nad’s an ex-nurse (and thank fuck for that when she doesn’t understand the basics of anaesthesia) and there’s a remote possibility that she may have diagnosed her nausea correctly, I really don’t think she has.

Whatever she has is definitely contagious, because whilst I read her blog, I felt like puking too.

I could write about her delusional ramblings, but I won’t…

I could write about Call me Dave’s visit to my home town of Milton Keynes in which he talked the talk:

I believe there is only one way out of the national crisis that we face, we need a massive, sweeping, radical redistribution of power.

I’m making clear that big change and a new politics is exactly what people can expect from a Conservative government.

We will begin a massive redistribution of power in our country, from the powerful to the powerless, from the political elite to the man and the woman in the street.

Of course,  if we do get a General Election soon – as he and the right wing MSM and blogosphere are pushing for – then that leaves little time for these seemingly laudable ideas to get put to the electorate in a form which would enable an informed vote to be cast.

I’m really worried that we’ll get all sorts of vague promises in the rush to kick out Labour that will remain just that, and we’ll be left with a system that offers little hope of radical change – and I want fucking radical.

To me, a further few months of Labour inefficiency and control-freak bullshit is a very low price to pay for clearly-formulated policies that people can vote on and, hopefully, institute real change.

It’ll give us all more time to judge whether Cameron may also be able to walk the walk.

Anyway, I’m not writing about a Dave New World…

No, I’m going to write about the BBC…

I like the BBC, so fucking sue me.

I think the financial price we pay for it is way too high and it can be irritating in many ways, but it’s all the public service broadcasting we have at the moment and it has its good points.

However, one of these good points is not the habit Radio 5 Live has of fucking about with the schedules when one of its presenters is on holiday or away covering something newsworthy.

I listen to a lot of Radio 5 Live – it’s a long story which is bound up in insomnia, dislike of music radio and a fascination with people who are so crap at what they do that it’s compulsively entertaining* – and when you listen to a radio station for a long time, you get used to certain people being on certain programmes at a certain time.

It’s called scheduling and it means that I know when to listen and when to exercise my right to hit the off button.

Two shows I listen to a lot are the afternoon show with Simon Mayo and also Richard ‘Charlie’ Bacon between 10 or 11 pm (depending if there’s football on or not) and 1 am.

I turn on Mayo this afternoon, and there’s Richard ‘One more line’ Bacon…

So who’s replacing Bacon tonight?

Rachel Burden.

Why not get Burden to cover Mayo and leave Richard ‘Razor blade’ Bacon where he usually is?

Or – because Burden’s a bit crap – why not get someone else to sit in for Mayo?

Someone new maybe? It’s good to foster fresh talent, surely?

Or what about a guest presenter?

But why disrupt two shows for regular listeners when you only need to disrupt one?

It makes no sense at all and I can’t understand why whoever is in charge of this stuff plays musical fucking chairs with the presenters.

BBC fucktards.

*The best example of this that I know of is Richard ‘Old Snorter’ Bacon – a real live Alan Partridge.

Sacked from Blue Peter for snorting the old rock and roll Harpic, he’s so bloody useless at presenting and chairing a phone in discusion that he’s really entertaining.

I used to follow him on Twitter and I think if he thought that it would get more people following him then he’d shove his iPhone up his rectum and post a picture of his duodenum on Twitpic.

As it is, you get photos of him with his sleb mates, new shoes his wife likes, his car, his sushi, etc, etc. and pretentious shite like this:

About to mow the lawn, then I’ll be making some tabouleh.

Twitter has forced me to confront head on how pedestrian my days are.

1:16 PM May 20th from Tweetie

And this:

I’m not dead. And apparently it’s the feast day of St Pancras which I inadvertently marked with hummous in the station’s Le Pain Quotidien.

4:31 PM May 12th from web

I can’t imagine him after a few lines of coke, so I won’t even try…

File under ‘repulsively fascinating, but ultimately just another talentless and overpaid celebrity cuntjob’.

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