Nothing’s ever on


“…you. That. Yes, that. The thing in your bloody hand, what do you think I mean?! Anyhow…fuck is it for? All you little bastards have it now – carryin’ it around like it’s a status symbol, or badge of honour, or some rubbish… Does it even do anything? ‘Cos ya seem to walk around the place exactly the same, only with a handy excuse for your inconsiderate bullshit. Fuck is the point?! We never needed that shit…and we would’ve appreciated it a lot more than you if we’d had it! Oi! You kids, come back here, I wasn’t finished…”


“I didn’t grow up in a ‘neighbourhood’. To be honest, I find it a peculiarly American idea; white picket fences, suburban detached houses, two-up-two-down, kids bicycling to and from school… This was all alien to my upbringing.”

“Murray, are you seriously suggesting that the Republic of Ireland does not have the same notion of neighbourhood as the United States?”

“Look, I lived in a stand-alone house with endless farmland on one side and a dual carriageway on the other. Actually… I tell a lie; the farmland did end…at a golf course. Bordering each of these things were trees, all varieties of ’em. They seemed like a kind of protective canopy to me, a buttressed layer between myself and the outside world…”

“All ludicrous generalisations aside, it does sound like this…insulation…contributed to your fear of the world, and your detachment from…”


“…come to ‘Handbags at Ten Paces’, the show that allows ordinary people to let loose in a no-holds-barred, full and frank debate with absolutely no limits as to the means they employ! As ever we’re joined by a moderately-sozzled audience armed with rotten eggs and an arsenal of vegetable artillery. St. John’s Ambulance are standing by, so without further ado, let’s meet the contestants!


“Allo, I’m Samanfa from Chingford and I’m a Railway Operations and Maintenance Technician…”


“…this fascinating ‘Public Proposal Saturday’ brought to you by Snickers – not getting hitched for a while? Grab a SNICKERS! – where we’ll be bringing all the white hot wedding-to-be action from this packed restaurant in the Cotswolds. Mark Lawrenson, what do you think?”

“Well this places just oozes romance, dunnit?”

“Unquestionably, Mark. Now we’re all on the edge of our collective seat, waiting for that big moment when one lucky gal in here is going to experience some serious shock and…awwwwww”

“That’s dreadful, Gary-”

“Pipe down, Mark. This truly will be an unmissable event, and…what’s this…THERE HE IS! He’s down on one knee and launching into the shpiel!”

“Oh my days…”

“Quality input as ever, Mark. She…she has her hands over her mouth, she can’t quite believe it…You can tell that she’s absolutely DESPERATE to avoiding crying, can’t you Mark?”

“That’s a face all too familiar to you, I’d imagine, what with your matrimonial situation…”

“Thanks Mark. Well, it looks like the flustered fellow, the proposer if you will, has come to the end of his prepared lines… So what will it be Missy? We’re just going to take a quick commercial break, but then we’ll be-”



“You’ve probably seen a bumper sticker that says, ‘Kill Your Television’. Don’t bother; corporate-dominated television and radio are busy killing themselves”

Solidarity, brothers & sisters…


About Seba Roux

Gooner, Socialist, Historian, Slacker. That's pretty much all you need to know.
This entry was posted in Gibberish and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Nothing’s ever on

  1. Harry says:

    Fun little insight into television. You’ve summarised a number of genres here and I enjoyed trying to decipher the dialogue. Not only that, but you’ve highlighted the vacuity of most modern television. If it’s not a multi-million pound drama, then it is most probably horseshit.

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