Say What?

Inanity at its finest

You know what I find offensive? The inoffensive. And this Jubilee weekend we have been surrounded by ‘celebs’ who are so inoffensive that if you cut them they’d bleed unadulterated blandness. You know who they are, the type of people who soundbite all the right things at all the right times and don’t seem to mind that they’ve morphed into deeply diluted forms of humanity as a result.

What, you want examples? OK: Katherine Jenkins, Gary Barlow, Holly Willoughby, Michael MacIntyre, Peter Andre, Trevor MacDonald, any presenter in the employ of the BBC and Alan fucking Titchmarsh. That’s just a few of them. More will come to mind and jolt me awake in the night, like the Spectres of Dullness Everlasting.

The problem is that the Jubilee celebrations have had these obsequious fuckers coming out in their droves. They've been queuing up to utter such vapid sentiments about the Queen – on the fawning orders of some TV producer or other - that if they said about me what they said about her you’d have to up my meds.

Seriously, some people are so uninspiring and predictable that I’d actually be offended if they said they liked me. It’d mean that I’d been picked up on a radar which usually operates on a level of monotony otherwise inhabited by ITV dramas, pink carnations, Ford Mondeos, chicken-in-a-basket, Travelodges, M4 landmarks and, again, Alan fucking Titchmarsh.

And it’s not just Her Maj for whom they’re happy to spew dullness incarnate. They’ll do it for the Olympic Games too. And when that’s done they’ll do it for the next series of the X-Factor, and then for anyone else looking for a Rent-a-Quote for anything from Christmas TV listings to a fete in the arse end of Tunbridge Wells.

All of which is what made the Jubilee so frigging tiresome. It wasn't the cake or the bunting or the endless souvenir issues of newspapers that bothered me. It was that the media wasn’t allowed to be inhabited by anyone other than those who think the sun shines out of the Queen’s arse.

Imagine how refreshing it would be if, when asked about the Jubilee, Gary Barlow said, “Oh for fuck’s sake. Is that still happening?”. Or if Katherine Jenkins put down her RSVP to the opening of an envelope and muttered, “If I ever see a corgi again I’ll kick it to death”. Or, even better, if Alan fucking Titchmarsh stopped tugging his forelock long enough to say, “If I have to fawn over the borders at Highgrove one more time I’m going to take a shit in Charles’ water feature”.

Oh well. We can imagine. And don’t forget that I'm here to reassure you. While the nation sinks under a wave of vapidity you can always come to me for your daily insult or hastily constructed generalisation. Aye, you can trust The Kraken to never be anything other than offensive. And with the likes of Jenkins, Barlow and fucking Titchmarsh I as sure as shit have my work cut out.