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Do the BBC understand how online polls work?

In the current broo-hah surrounding the BBC and “faked” competitions and votes, apparently Richard Marston (the former Blue Peter editor) was sacked because he was advised that the poll to name the Blue Peter cat had been rigged by outside voting, and therefore decided to choose the top result before the online rigging started.

If this is true, then this is frankly amazing. Online votes of all levels have been deliberately rigged by outside parties since the dawn of the Internet, from naming a cat to voting in a UK political election. Surely if you had evidence that a vote had been rigged, you’d take steps to counteract that rigging, and deal with the result – or make it clear that the vote will only influence the decision, not decide it outright.

If this is what happened with Mr. Marston and he’s been sacked as a result of taking a proactive effort to restore balance, that’s positively wrong.

But it’s oh-so-British, isn’t it? To flog yourself silly and beg for forgiveness from a public who either don’t care or are just laughing in the street.

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A right Royal cock-up

On a day when the BBC is rightfully whipping itself over pretending the Queen was throwing a tantrum at the prospect of sitting for a photographer, perhaps it’s a good day to remind ourselves of the numerous gaffes Prince Phillip has made in the name of promoting the British abroad, and at home.

I particularly like the one just after the 1988 Lockerbie plane crash, when 250+ died in a plane inferno, and Prince Phillip sympathised, saying: “People usually say that after a fire it’s water damage that’s the worst. We’re still trying to dry out Windsor Castle.”

Getting back to the BBC debacle, surely you’d expect the head of BBC One at least to read his speech before reading it out to a bunch of assembled media journalists. Surely the phrase “Annie Leibovitz gets it slightly wrong and the Queen walks out in a huff” should ring at least a couple of alarm bells – you are, after all, working for the BBC, not Channel Five or Babestation. Or does no-one read what they say before they say it any more?

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Live Earth – highlights and no lights

Somehow, Miss R and I managed to get tickets to Live Earth at the apparently all-new Wembley Stadium. Although it looks and feels just like Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium to me – except there’s a huge gaping hole in the roof for some reason. Rather silly of them.

Anyway, we got past Wembley Stadium’s woefully inadequate security team, and looked for our seats. After literally being misdirected up and down the wrong set of steps, it turned out that our seats had already been taken by … some black netting. And the stadium’s solution? “Well, you can stand on the pitch” – neglecting our weary feet.

So we ended up being seat gypsys, and grabbing various people’s seats as soon as they vacated them, rather like the seat-fillers at an Oscar ceremony. We did eventually migrate to two fantastic seats near the front right of the stage, where I had a great view of the camera crane swooping over the crowd at regular intervals. Plus someone trying to unfurl a banner that declared that “Robbie Williams is gay”. I wonder why that never made it past the TV cameras…

At one point, while the Red Hot Chilli Peppers were storming the crowd, a stocky bald man came down and tried to shove his way into a spare seat in the row in front, which the guy was (understandably) having none of. So said bald man stood there for a while, watching the Chillis. Then he shouted at them “You fu–ing c–t” and stormed off. I have no idea why.

The general atmosphere at the concert was much less that of a global gathering of environmentally-minded music fans, and more middle-class yuppies having a nice day out sitting in the sunshine watching music. The constant inane corporate propaganda about how to reduce carbon emissions (Top tip from Ben Affleck: buy your music digitally and save on CDs!) didn’t make much of an impact on anyone at the concert, judging by the number of plastic cups strewn across the stadium. It certainly didn’t seem to hit Thandie Newton. She’s a talented actress, very easy on the eyes and has a first-class degree in anthropology from Cambridge University, but telling the crowd that she drove to Wembley Stadium was not a good idea. Even if it was a Prius.

At the moment of the great switch-off of the Wembley Stadium lights (prior to an exceedingly dull speech from Terrance Stamp), the stadium was lit up – with digital camera flashes. Which rather defeats the point.

In another breathtaking moment of hypocrisy, the MSN’s video streaming of the Live Earth concerts is sponsored by car manufacturer Chevy, who produce six different kinds of SUVs. Am I the only person who can’t see the problem with this?

The music itself was pretty good – although I was surprised to find it was the likes of The Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chillis and Metallica that got the audience going. Thankfully, James Blunt did *not* play the most hated song of all time.

Although Madonna and the Pussy Cat Dolls also did their bit. Interestingly, during the Pussy Cat Dolls, the only people dancing were the ladies – all the men sat firmly down. Can’t imagine why. I can’t decide whether the PCD are a progressive feminist burlesque positive act or the ultimate in reducing music to a gyrating beat and thrusting crotches and thighs.

Wembley may have more toilets than anywhere else in the world, but there were still long snakes forming outside ladies toilets.

And in a totally random moment, I was walking past the exit for a ladies toilet when I literally bumped into an old friend from University I hadn’t seen since 2002. And they say the world is a big place. :(

Oh, and it took us two hours to get to our Kensington hotel from Wembley Stadium. For future reference.

Next time, I might just watch it on TV!

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Don’t go on an apocalyptic binge

Thanks to a random link I stumbled across, I’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes giving into my inner fascination with apocalyptic fiction and browsing through Wikipedia’s rather substantial list of post-apocalyptic fiction, reminding me of the UK’s relatively substantial contribution to the genre – The War Game, Threads, Day of the Triffids, 28 Days Later and culminating in World War Z, a gripping account of the Zombie World War.

Right now, I feel rather ill, nauseous and sick right now (bit like radiation poisoning, I’d imagine). Which is amazing given that with the notable exception of 28 Days Later and Day of the Triffids, I’ve never actually had the courage to sit through the rest of the above. But I will have to resolve to buy World War Z, not least because the British government apparently starts its fight back against the zombies from Conwy, less than a mile away. So at least I have somewhere to run to when the zombie hordes invade.

Any suggestions on how I can wash my brains out? Because I don’t want to feel like this for the rest of the day!

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Silly places to have spotted Madeleine McCann appeals

  • Jessops online – as if someone spots her while shopping for a camera on the INTERNET. What, Madeleine is going to be lurking in a cybercafe somewhere?
  • Tesco UK – if someone has kidnapped her, then they’re hardly likely to bring her back to her home country, let alone take her to the local supermarket.
  • Manchester Airport immigration – if she’s on the same flight or trying to get into the country, you’d think immigration staff would have been properly briefed by now
  • fuelmyblog.blogspot.com – because Madeleine would be the kind of person to want to increase her blog viewership, of course.
  • Nationwide – just in case she pops in to make a deposit to her bank account while you’re there
  • On the BBC’s Crimewatch – if whoever took Madeleine brought her back to the UK to the heart of the media storm surrounding her, said person has got to be a total idiot as well as weirdo and general pervert.
  • And what, pray tell, was the point for the publicity surrounding the McCann’s visit to the Pope?

And yet, your average phone-in on a radio show on this topic has people calling in demanding that her picture be splashed across every newspaper every day until they find her. Guess I’m out of touch with society.

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Revisiting history…

Call me ghoulish, or an amateur media historian, but I’m watching CNN Pipeline’s re-broadcast of their original real-time coverage of the 9/11 attacks five years ago. So I’m kinda retro-live-blogging it…

Read the rest of this entry »

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Nice to know UK security forces have their priorities right

On the day that it’s reported that “a lack of resources” stopped British intelligence services from stopping the London bombings last July, it was also announced that the UK Customs and Excise, in conjunction with FedEx and the Federation Against Copyright Theft, has now trained two sniffer dogs to sniff out a new kind of dangerous contraband.

Could it be explosives? Anthrax? Free speech? No. It’s something much more evil.

DVDs. (press release from MPAA, which charmingly describes the United Kingdom as a suburb of Los Angeles)

Believe it or not, the resource-stretched police/customs/intelligence services, despite bleating that they didn’t have enough resources to stop one of the UK’s worst terrorist incidents, somehow still finds the time, money and effort to train two sniffer dogs to track down six-inch pieces of plastic. The worst of which might just contain the warblings of David Hasselhoff.

Damn, that puts a stop to my intentions to build an evil empire from the $2 I’d save buying a DVD in the US as opposed to the UK…

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Me and Tom Cruise…

Sorry if you’ve been slaverishly logging on every day begging for the latest details on me and Tom Cruise. Your prayers have now been answered, and I shall tell the oh-so-glam story.

Strolling past Leicester Square, I noticed all the tell-tale paraphenalia that a London movie premiere in progress. And given all the satellite trucks, crowds and lights, I presumed it was a big one. Then I saw the billboard for Mission: Impossible 3 and snorted at all the attention being given in the hope that Tom Cruise might turn up – when, as far as I knew, he was (or should have been) back at home looking after little Katie/Kate and Suri.

But as I got closer, I got an inkling that all was not normal for a movie premiere. One side of the Odeon cinema was completely blocked off with a temporary wall – in front of which was a huge monitor relaying footage from a camera on a boom – a lot of effort for a premiere where the stars weren’t going to turn up. The other side of the cinema was blocked off by various gawkers, photographers, stern policemen and security cameras.

Then just when I was getting bored at looking at people looking at TV screens waiting for something to happen, there was a huge uproar from the crowd. Tom Cruise had emerged from the cinema to do his walkabout thang.

Seeing as I know Leicester Square remarkably well, I managed to go through some back alleys, evade the police and security guards and ended up just behind the press cordon, and face to face with ol’ Tommo himself. Unfortunately, he was looking at a bunch of interviewers and patiently asking questions.

Whatever else you say about his insane antics, you have to respect the ability of a short man to concentrate on what’s in front of him when everyone is shouting and throwing things at him in a desperate attempt to grab his attention. Not to mention all the flashbulbs going off left, right and centre.

He looked suspiciously hyper and awake for someone who’s a new dad though…

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Can you guess who it is yet?

About two weeks ago, the BBC Radio Wales programme Mousemat came a-calling, looking for strident voices in the eternal PC-vs-Mac debate. Thus, those of us with a suitable opinion in the office (including uber-designer Mark Boulton) were vox-popped for the programme.

Now, the final edited piece has hit the Internet. Mark’s carefully considered points about design and that “it isn’t wrong to pay for good design” were alas dropped, but mine and that of two or three other colleagues were left in.

I’m off for a week, dropping in on various places, so in the meantime, listen to the MP3 (less than 90 seconds) and see if you can guess which voice is mine! You will have to turn the volume up, as it seems to have lost a lot of volume in the process.

See you next Thursday!

(Does this count as my first podcast?)

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I’m a gagsmith!

I’ve finally submitted my various pieces based from the Doctor Who press launch that I attended on Tuesday night. (And lo, Doctor Who 2006 is good. Oh yes. Tennant *is* the Doctor. And it’s old Who. and yet new Who. Together.)

The powerful editor-that-be wanted some gossippy pieces to go alongside the coverage – and I was unsure as to what material there could be gleamed from a relatively dull press night (no major celebs, minimal nipple count). but, blimey, working with a professional talented journalist does wonders for your copy. By the time we’d batted it back and forth, sending amendments and suggestions to each other’s copy, we’d unearthed a few sparkling gems of wit. Even if I do say so myself.

I’m not too sure how many of them will get used, but permit me the chance to blow my own trumpet for once, and you’ll be rolling down the aisle with these gags. Alright, maybe not but it might raise a smile.

(I did once intend to use a blog as a way to sharpen my comedy skills by trying to write one gag a week based on the news’ events. Might just try that again, as soon as I can start watching the news again!)

Another persistent bit of tabloid Who gossip doing the rounds is that Jordan (Peter Andre’s wife, not the middle eastern country) is set to join the cast. But writer Russell T Davies vetoed the idea in no uncertain terms in front of the 200 strong press pack. Perhaps he didn’t want to repeat himself – after all, the last series had plastic dummies taking over the world under the power of evil transmissions.

Annette Badland, who played an evil Slitheen masquerading as the Lord Mayor of Cardiff in the last series of Doctor Who, was spotted at the press launch, as was Nicholas Bourne, leader of the Conservative Group in the National Assembly for Wales. So watch out if there are suddenly plans to demolish Cardiff Castle in favour of a nuclear power station. Still, at least Nicholas had a golden ticket, which is more than we can say for the partner of another Welsh AM, heard loudly demanding entry to the screening. You’d think they’d have something better to do than watch an example of a much derided institution reinventing itself for a contemporary audience.

Another persistent bit of tabloid Who gossip doing the rounds is that Jordan (Peter Andre’s wife, not the middle eastern country) is set to join the cast. But writer Russell T Davies vetoed the idea in no uncertain terms in front of the 200 strong press pack. Which is understandable. You can have farting aliens faking an alien invasion before destroying Big Ben, but having a former glamour model who marries a former pop star better known for his abs and banana diet, who then renews her wedding vows before the first year is even up would really break the bounds of believability.

Another persistent bit of tabloid Who gossip doing the rounds is that Jordan (Peter Andre’s wife, not the middle eastern country) is set to join the cast. But writer Russell T Davies vetoed the idea in no uncertain terms in front of the 200 strong press pack. Shame really – after all, the Doctor prides himself on changing appearance, body shape, companions and personality every couple of years.

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