Brownlegg at Large: April 2002 

1 April 2002 tbs.pm/3075

Good afternoon, members of the Assembly for Middle England (incorporating the Sub-Assembly for Little Wallop, Crank and Fustian Meadows). After last month’s meeting, Travel Grange have sent me a letter which says, between the lines and behind the profane badinage, “don’t come back, you gang of hooligans”. After a slight delay, with folding money changing hands, I’d like to welcome you all to the local Mother Botulism’s Grill & Ashtray – a most reputable roadside establishment where you can buy egg n’ chips, bread and scrape and a pot of tea for 9/11d. The proprietor, Mr. Stan “Smasher” Higgins, who is a most generous and genial host, warns me there’ll be trouble if you all expect to buy one cup of tea and sit there all night drinking it, so make sure that you order a substantial meal from his bill of fare. And remember – there’s no wine waiter here – Mr Mitchell being indisposed.

The answer to last month’s question: I can’t believe none of you got this one. The clue is in the picture. One of these is a major television executive beyond all measure. The other is Michael Green of Carlton. One of these thinks he is the other one. But we won’t go there – unless Carlton would like to admit all?

In order to be inconspicuous and not arouse the attention of any Socialists, I’ve asked you to attend in disguise this month. Wearing dancing costumes seems the best way to do this – no broadcaster is going to spot us this way. But if you do see a camera, it’s best to at least pretend to be doing a choreographed dance. That way, the dumbed-down programmes should distract from any film they take of you. Not to mention the red rectangle in the corner.

This time around, the first item up for discussion is one of Spencer-Wells’s, and for once he’s actually offered a decent idea. “Mr.” and Mrs. Frogsleeper have been busy installing Associated-Radiation in two more houses, and they tell me that the main problem is that the customers find it hard to work out what the remote control does. There’s too many buttons, aren’t there? Why not – I want customers to feel they’re getting something for their money! Well, I have made A-R Digital digiboxes and remotes harder to use now, and I’m even offering degree level courses in how to use them at the Brownlegg University of Electro-Mechanics and Glass Blowing, where Gloria teaches night school classes on the theme of “Beauty With A Blowtorch”.

Until they pass, all the undergraduates get a remote control consisting of an “on-off” switch. But ITV Digital has got it wrong, by getting the students to make it easier to use! What do they know? They’ll make something you can watch television with whilst smoking Wills’s Woodbines! Mind you, if that happens, they’ll lose viewers when they’re able to get the contraption on. (That reminds me, where’s the attachment, Gloria?) A-R Digital is proving its worth in an already crowded marketplace, and if one compares the systems, it’s obvious that we are on a winner (Skyscraper uses a mini-dish, ITV Digital had an aerial, A-R Digital has piece of wet string).

My poor wife Margaret, of whom I am, obviously, relatively fond, has been ordered by her doctor to stay in the house and never speak to a living soul again (no help to me, but the general population will be better off). Her GP did this on the basis that he was fed up with her, rather than any clinical diagnosis, but I’m in full support of the medical profession at all times and his subsequent paid appearance on “Jim’s Inn” was purely coincidental, I find.

Another in our popular series, “Pictures of Gloria”. Here she can be seen busy deciding on the new idents for BBC-1 (the Brownlegg Bullfighting Channel) in her high-powered, high-stressed offices in Television Centre. Just out of shot are 2 BBC executives, on hand to rub Piz Buin into her nipples should the need arise.

It has been noted that BBC3 hasn’t yet appeared, despite BBC4 having already started, so it’s obviously the fashion, since Sidney Burnsting did so at Granddad, to number things incorrectly (remember, he had Studios 2, 4, 29, 78 and 116 so everyone thought they had many studios – actually, they all thought he was a buffoon). This is obviously Tony B Liar’s work – by making the public think there are more channels, they can raise the licence fee this April without too many complaints. Mind you, didn’t the Culture Secretary say that she didn’t know much about television? Well, I’ve heard a rumour that she’s bought a portable from the market so she can see what all this TV thing is about. Pity that analogue television won’t be around much longer – I’ll deliver a complimentary piece of wet string so she can get A-R Digital.

I believe there’s trouble brewing over at ITV Digital, where the rats are deserting the sinking ship. Any volunteers for a boarding party? There is absolutely no truth that A-R Digital are taking it over, as the Lord Chief Justice Randolph Brownlegg QC & VAT 69 will attest, but he may offer an alternative if I bung him a pony, a monkey or a duck-bill platypus.

Not knowing much about television is something of a habit in Government ministers, of course. Except those in power 1990-1997. They knew exactly what they were doing and only a madman would agree, I find.

The Brownlegg Bullfighting Channels 1 to 5 have all taken some of the shine from the BBC, and anyway, my BBC4 features the best in foreign films, including one made by Gloria in France called “Je Voudre Un Baiser D’Francaise” (“I Want A French Kiss”). The plot features Ms. Gaumont in one of her most lauded acting roles, as Simone Trollop, a lush thirty-something who feels that the young other women she knows are not as desirable as she is, and sets out to prove it. Despite the amount of on-screen action, she hardly says anything as her French isn’t too good, and “Je t’aime moi non plus” doesn’t sound very impressive in a Poulton-Le-Fylde accent. But who needs language when enjoying the prominent talents of Ms. Gloria Gaumont. Note to self – enpurchase a new video recorder with pause button that hasn’t been worn to a nubbin.

By the way, the channel’s slogan is:

BBC Toilet – everyone needs a place to think.

It also came to my notice that the Indefensible Television Commission have been carrying out a survey about the representation and inclusion of older people on television, and they are interested in factual programmes in particular. That is all well and good, but, gentlemen, I suspect a far more sinister motive: their research goes by the title of “The Numbers Game”. So they’ve found a replacement for “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” at last, in which older people can be shown how to read the news and present the weather, and the winner gets to make a hit record and has admiring fans after him or her. It’s banal, ridiculous, insulting, and I might just enter. I’m sure that millions of viewers are awaiting my bon mots – “Keep your shirt on”, “Don’t Walk On The Grass”, “Conscript the bastards” and the well-known “Vote for Ian Dunkin-Donuts”. I’m sure mortality is no barrier.

So Craptown and Granddad are still trying to form ITV1. I reckon they’re in too much of a hurry to merge, let alone get married, and from the fact that they seem to be in a hurry to get paired up, I reckon there’s a baby on the way. It’s been an on-off situation for months, and the sound of shotguns will ring the bells for this doomed marriage, although I believe the Emmanuels will be asked to make the wedding dress. With the size of Craptown being what it is, they’ll run out of material. Just like their programming really. Note to self: ask Gloria to donate her old frock. Or a dress if that isn’t available.

Spencer-Wells tells me that the new initiative we introduced on “TOPS” (youth channel ‘Time to Obey Parents Silently’, please pay attention) is working. Not only have we placed the Bogey Man back where he belongs, as the number one person children are frightened of, we have also managed to frighten adults as well! Not only are the streets safe, but psychiatrists everywhere are being kept busy! This is my greatest success since I persuaded Teddy Health to run for Prime Minister and leave his yacht “The Gay Deceiver” behind him as usual forever. Mind you, this time it’s only Spencer-Wells in disguise, and he’s frightening enough without it, especially when he was eating that rather disgusting looking Cornish pasty before. You know, the one that winked back at him. And to think he’s likely to be the next Prime Minister.

Don’t forget our Appeal. I am so pleased at your continuing generosity and selflessness, and hope we can save a worthy company from the gallows. Or even Carlton. All contributions in money, bottletops or broken bottles gratefully received. Hand over your suggestions now, or face the consequences – Angela Robinson and Christ Arrant in a tryst. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Donate here – you won’t get better

Total money raised so far…

22p

towards our goal of £250million

I think, gentlemen, we’d better be going, as I couldn’t eat anything in here without an attack of the Devil’s Gallop. Right, purser, please settle the bill. What do you mean, there isn’t any money? Okay, Plan B. Run for it, lads!I