Wednesday 3 February 2010

Today's Chip Paper

I've been pondering the prospects for News Corp at late. Rumours are rife that Jimbo Murdoch (son of Rupert and current chairman of the group) is keen to dispense with its traditional newspaper interests.

There's some sense in this of course; print media is up against it, particularly newspapers. As soon as digital data clouds are reliable and abundant, newsstand titles are screwed. Murdoch Jr, who cut his teeth in the music industry and on-line content, knows this and is not in thrall to noisy newsrooms and the smell of ink. He also realises that governments no longer quake at the prospect of a damning leader or two.

Sadly, however, NI's other major holdings are TV channels. While everyone's been singing laments for the inkies, the traditional TV channel's demise has been rather overlooked. I contend that individual television channels will be finished inside ten years. What's the point of them? Commercials channels' USPs are scheduling and advertising. They arrange the schedule so that millions of people have to sit down at the same time to watch the same programme. Once herded like this, they are subjected to breath-takingly expensive advertising. Or rather, they used to be. Personal recording devices have all but rendered this business null and void. I, along with the rest of the right-thinking world, developed quite a crush on "The Wire". My trusty PVR recorded them for me, and I watched at times that suited me.

The series were broadcast by BBC2. I know this because there were no adverts. If there had been, I'd simply have skipped through them using my PVR's skip-this-bit facility.

In a few years' time another world-beating drama will emerge from the US. This time, however, my wireless telly will download it from HBO (probably) directly. They'll get my hard-earned. Why would I give it to Sky? NI is a giant middle-man. James if you're reading this, I want to speak to the organ grinder.


Thursday 28 January 2010

I Never Forget a Face

A friend sent me a link to this charming, and, it has to be said, strangely erotic, little vignette from you tube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgD6W1wCqyY). For those of you who can't view it, it's footage of British bob-sledder Gillian Cooke inadvertently exposing her arse during a recent championship. I'm afraid my hurried description doesn't really do the clip justice; it has an undeniable olde-worlde charm. There's so much pneumatic rutting on the internet these days, that's it's nice to revert to a bit of saucy, seaside postcode nudity from time-to-time.

After studying it for continuity errors for an hour or so, it occurred to me that Gillian's non-reaction to the event was rather surprising. One would have to assume that the air was chilly to say the least, and yet she appeared unaware of the icy blast whistling around her Racecourse Ground.* I suspect she was heroically ignoring the situation, which makes sense. What was she supposed to do? Jump on a milking-stool and start shrieking? The alternative explanation is that she was so "in the zone" that she didn't feel a thing.

Whatever was going through her mind is of academic interest only. The really pleasing aspect is the knowledge that élite female athletes wear thongs to compete. Hubba hubba...

* home of the Wrexham (sorry about that)