I have to say, this year I don’t feel much like revelling. Not only has my body-clock changed to that of an eighty-year-old, meaning that I tend to wake with the lark and go to bed with a nice cup of cocoa (or in my case, chamomile) around ten – but this year has been frankly abysmal. I can’t remember a twelvemonth in which more people died (people I grew up with and loved, that is) or in which more political horrors were perpetrated. The news from Syria was awful to start with and it kept getting worse; terrorists ploughed vehicles into crowds, and after Brexit anyone who didn’t have two brain cells to rub together felt at liberty to abuse any Muslim they happened to come across and tell them to go back where they came from (Bradford, mostly). And to think that next year what we have to look forward to is the inauguration of Mr T (I pity the fool who votes for me! I pity the fool!) – well, it makes me want to stick my head under a pillow and keep it there for the whole of 2017.
So is all I can say is, thank god for Charlie Brooker: his ‘2016 Wipe’ did just what it said on the tin, wiping the floor with the entire annus horribilis and ending up with a lovely montage of Mr T sabotaging himself. Fake news gets the Brooker treatment, as do the wilfully ignorant, in the person of Philomena Cunk and her ‘moments of wonder.’ Brian Cox guests, though that’s not specially a recommendation as he gets on my wick. However, Coxes notwithstanding, a terrific programme:
Go to minute 50 to watch the subtitled Mr T – a great improvement on the real one.
PS Happy New Year. I guess.