Corden? Bleurgh.

In the midst of having a fucking nightmare re-organising the Children's Television: The Re-Imagining page, so you can now go directly to the one you want to read (the latest one is The Trap Door), with Blogger inserting its own HTML, taking out bits of mine, adding gobbledegook and duplicating said gobbledegook several times over, I've become very wound up. I hate HTML at the best of times, going through a very long page full of it to find a < span > that hasn't been closed because a piece of software decided to go wrong on you is enough to make me want to punch a cat.

I decided to calm down and put the world in perspective. At least I'm not acquainted with James Corden.

Can you imagine being friends with that man? Humanity's very own polyp, a self-satisfied Flump who not only believes his own hype but sacrifices innocent people at its altar, basking in his own glory whilst basting his obese frame with his own self-aggrandising juices. He's on TV so much, his face has burned itself on my screen to the point where it looks like the Wonga man playing Orwell's Big Brother. It came to a head this past week; not only did he appear on Doctor Who (I mean, how dare he?), not only did he get to the top of the fucking singles chart with a football song, but he tried to upstage and embarrass Sir Patrick Stewart at an awards ceremony. From what I gather, Corden made some crass remark questioning the sexuality of one of the ultra-conservative Jonas Brothers who was sat in the audience. When Sir Patrick went up on stage to present an award, he criticised Corden for having his hands in his pockets and looking bored (though the footage I've seen, Stewart seemed to be putting on his comedy Shakespearean Actorrr voice, so I think it was tongue in cheek), and saying "I could see your belly". Corden, arrogant, uncouth Corden, got in his face, rather than being dignified in what was an embarrassing moment all round, and pointed out very loudly that Stewart was dying on stage. Oh, and then he got his belly out. As usual. Yes, Corden is clearly at that point in his career where he is allowed to badmouth a respected actor and Knight of the Realm, loudly, RIGHT IN HIS FUCKING FACE. Stewart's attempt at humour notwithstanding, I cringed at Corden's own behaviour. Of course, he's so assured of his own talents and importance, that it won't matter a fucking jot to him. This is the sort of "sleb" who shouts "DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" whilst trying to get into some swanky nightclub. I imagine.

It's hard to put my finger on why I can't stand the man so much. Having carefully considered everything, I think it's probably because he's a cunt. It's a shame, because he has been in some great televisual output in the past decade, including the sublime Cruise of the Gods (track it down on DVD, it's a fantastic piece of television), and is a very capable actor. But there is no excuse for becoming a crass, overbearing, loudmouth bully at any stage of your career (like Russell Crowe, for example), especially when you're only just out of your 20s. You should never believe your own hype, but unfortunately it does seem that Corden has done just that, to the point where he giggles and swoons like a teenage girl over posters of himself whilst idly flicking through a copy of Look-In.

It was nice, however, seeing him getting headbutted, twice in quick succession, in Doctor Who. I can scarcely believe we're up to episode 11 already. The Lodger, written by RTD stablemate Gareth Roberts, based on his own comic strip of the same name from Doctor Who Magazine, was an enjoyable episode, quite a gentle, contained tale after last week's Richard Stilgoe vs the Invisible Chicken. Much like the Doctor-lite episodes from the RTD era, this was companion-lite, a small-budgeted episode before the end-of-series two-parter. Not the best episode ever, but far and away greater than the dire Voyage of the Damned and Fear Her.

Oh, and the Doctor played football in it. Another thing you can't escape at the moment. Fucking World fucking Cup fucking Fever, something that happens every four years where everyone pretends to like football. I'm not a liar, so I won't join in. I hate football. Always have, always will. What annoys me is when you can't even escape it in work, where there's a prize for best themed whatever. It was like it in my old job as well; most of the year, you put forward incentive or display ideas to management, who, because they have no personal interest in the subject matter, will brush over it, yet whenever something football related comes along, it's forced down your fucking throat. To me, football is something that gets in the way of the fucking TV schedules. In adverts, it's portrayed as a "way of life" in a Cockney accent whilst some Britpop hit of yesteryear plays in the background. It's not a way of fucking life. It's a dull sport played professionally by dull people with dull gold-digging girlfriends. Plus, I'll always associate it with school bullies. If you like football, don't take offence. It's just that I hate your sport.

Oh, and Big Brother's back. The TV show this time, not the aforementioned Orwellian namesake. It's the final series, or so they say, so the squirrel gathers her nuts for the last time, shouts at the top of her squirrel lungs, does that mock-shocked-in-silence squirrel face and generally gets on my fucking tits. Thus far, I have managed to avoid it. I imagine it'll be exactly like this though:

Deehh Woon. Jimothy is in the die ah ree room. Gladiola's on tha shittah. Tarquin's missing his mam, and Pendulum and Spuggy have failed the Happy Slap task.

And this:

Deehh three. Spatula is in the die ah ree room. Spunky's cookin' dinnah. N'kwomo's phasing through solid mattah.

And this:

Deehh six. SpongeBob is in the dia ah ree room. Apocrypha is tryin' on a hat. Judas is cuttin' his tawwnells.

 I just want it to end. Another thing that ruins the TV schedules with its unwelcome fuckery. It opened the floodgates for the barrage of reality shows (which, to be fair, have nothing to do with reality, as it features members of the public who are desperate for fame, and will therefore play up to the cameras and demean themselves in any number of possible ways, awful show-offs that I wouldn't like to know in 'real' life, oh, and who also don't get paid a fucking penny, therefore very cheap telly - don't fall for the con! Oh, too late). Fingers crossed they'll be gone one of these decades.

Wow, the world's really gone to shit lately, hasn't it?