I usually avoid these programmes. You know, the SCJ (So-called Celebrities in Jeopardy) or DW (Desperate Wannabies) shows. But my family laps them up and so I can’t avoid them altogether without also avoiding my family.
I have a general rule of thumb: if a programme is presented by Plank and Dick, it’s going to be bad. My wife can’t understand this. She thinks that everyone should find their cheeky-chappy northern banter endearing. Me, I just find them irritating and wish they’d go back to Tyneside and stay there. Still, each to their own.
I happened to be in the living room last night while the latest DW show was on. It was the final of Britain’s Got Talent and seemed to come down to a choice between a boy’s choir from Wales, a 17-year-old Pavarotti sound-alike and a performing dog. It was over to the Great British Public to decide. That’s you and me. You must have voted for the dog, because I didn’t and it won.
That’s the Great British Public for you. No matter how good the human acts are, throw a cute dog into the mix and the dog will win every time. We shouldn’t be surprised. This, after all, is the nation whose charity to prevent cruelty to animals has royal patronage and whose charity to prevent cruelty to children doesn’t.
Well, good luck to the dog, though I can’t see it benefitting from the usual rewards – recording contracts and suchlike – that winners of these shows enjoy. Maybe the Great British Public will pack out Wembley to see the dog do its thing. But it will have to be you, since it certainly won’t be me.