Up with the lark

Sarah Kennedy has squirrels in her thatch. There I’ve said it, as did she yesterday morning. Sssshhh, listen! Can you hear the violins playing in the background? I don’t know about you but my heart bleeds for her.

Since the sainted Terry Wogan left, radio 2’s schedule has been changed. This means that Millicent Fritton (Headmistress from St. Trinians as played by Alistair Sim)now has to work a full two hours! It’s not easy you know. She has to have all the day’s newspapers in front of her in order to read you interesting titbits of news. These are the same newspapers that you will probably be going out to buy anyway. But that concerns Sarah not one jot. She selflessly scours the right wing rags bringing us tasty morsels for our delectation as we start our day with a shower, shampoo and shave. No need for the other activity we start our day off with. Ms Kennedy supplies that by the bucketload. Full of talent is our Sarah. She’s opinionated too and will think nothing of making a “Daily Mail” style tirade against something that she perceives to be “political correctness gone mad”




Our Sarah has been a bastion of radio 2’s schedules for what seems like forever. For what seems like the last 100 years she has entertained (and I use that word loosely) us with tales, and sound effects of mewing cats and diesel locomotives. Unfortunately out of those 100 years I think she’s only actually been present for 6 weeks due to (and this is in her words, just in case you think I’ve lost it) problems with her chesticles. Unfortunately this attendance record has led to some wag at the BBC christening her “Sicknote”. Yes, shocking I know. Luckily for our plucky lass, she’s on a contract and won’t lose money for her absenteeism. Hurrah!

The BBC is a grand institution and one I happily accept funding via my TV licence. Yep, I actually don’t mind paying this particular tax. Being an old fashioned, somewhat unreconstructed leftie, I quite like the notion of public broadcasting. I like the Rethian concept of “educate, inform and entertain” Dagnabbit, I like it that we have a nationalised industry that works well.

I too work within the public sector, within local government as it happens. Alas, there the similarities between Sarah and me end.

If I were to have a sickness record as bad as hers, I would be shipped off for medical screening in the blink of an eye. Even worse, if I’m to take time off for sickness, I lose money. Not just one day’s money either. One day off - a month’s attendance allowance lost. Being within the public sector, if I see something that I disagree with, I have to keep my mouth shut. Accept it or go. Like Radio 2, we also go through re-organisations (every other week usually). Unfortunately, unlike Radio 2, we are given a paltry pay-off. After all, this is public money we’re talking about and we are merely custodians of the public purse. The services are going to be commissioned from the private sector; your job is no longer required. It’s in the public good after all.

So hooray for Sarah! Three cheers for the malingerer! More right wing stories about no good strikers please! Can’t get back from the races because the train drivers are striking for better conditions? Shame on them! Postmen fighting to keep a universal postal system, disgraceful! Why don’t they move to Cuba? Come to think of it, perhaps those squirrels in her thatch are setting up a quasi-autonomous collective? Commie vermin!

It's going to be a long winter

At the side of the Hooghly River in Kolkata, Mrs Chakrobaty the dhobi-wallah, pounds clothes against the stones in an attempt to cleanse the garments of the city’s grime. All her life she has done this to earn a few rupees for her family. Next to her is Mrs. Mukharjee. Like the two arms of a kettle drummer, they pound clothes mercilessly onto the rocks. It’s a thankless task. But Mrs. Chakrobaty has a secret she is dying to share with her neighbour. For years she has only spoken Bengali and the odd word of Hindi but now she has learnt a few words of English. So, in an attempt to amuse and educate her friend she turns and, in faultless English says ….“Scene 24, take 2. Aaaaaaand ACTION!”
Danny Boyle and his excellent “Slumdog Millionaire” has a lot to answer for.

Channel 4 has decided to have an “Indian Winter” season and to that end there has been wall to wall coverage of India on the station. It all started innocently enough with a showing of Danny Boyle’s wonderful film. A heart warming, uplifting tale to make any grumpy old git smile. And I should know as I’m the grumpy old git with a smile on my face. They followed that with Kevin McCloud travelling to Dharavi in Mumbai. Dharavi is the enormous slum that spawned the child actors in “Slumdog Millionaire”. Despite the appalling conditions, a community has evolved from the slum and McCloud argues that all they really need is a few sanitation pipes. He even pleads with a developer not to demolish the slum and make the same mistake that Britain made with the high rises of the 1960’s. Fat chance of that Kevin, this is capitalism in it’s sharpest manifestation and there’s money to be made. I don’t know about you but Channel 4’s Indian Winter is already starting to grate.

It gets worse and clutching straws in hand they trundle mercilessly on with “Slumdog Secret Millionaire”. I don’t know if you’ve seen the format of this programme but it really is enough to make a person me wretch. The millionaire in question goes to a deprived part of the country. Lives as a local resident for a while, whilst deciding who is deserving of a financial handout. Recipients get cash, millionaire gets kudos and a halo from him/her upstairs. Well this time they’ve gone to… oh no, not again? Yep, Dharavi. You’d think the locals would have clocked on by now. Especially as our Anglicised Asian millionaire troops around the slum in her designer sun glasses, followed by a film crew. She meets up with a lady whose desperate circumstances means she has to collect waste plastic from the local tip. For this the recycling man pays her a princely sum of 30 rupees a bag. Our millionaire is heartbroken by her circumstances and deems her in need of a financial boost. Now this bit I’ll never understand… or perhaps I will. All the way through the programme, our millionaire has spoken to this poor wretch in Hindi. Now it comes time to doling out a few bob, English is her preferred language. Not only that, she tells her how much she is giving her (£250) in English currency, as if that means jack whatsit to her! Call me cynical but I think it was more for the benefit of the cameras than for actually improving the lot of the poor unfortunate.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love India. I’ve been there a couple of times now and I’m off there again in four weeks. But for goodness sake, the place must be crawling with camera crews! Ha, not where I’m going! I’m off to the remote North East of India. No bugger goes there; it’s too remote, not touristy and not enough landmarks for any bugger in the west to be interested in. It’ll be perfect for me. I don’t want to see another white face for the duration of my trip. I want to immerse myself as much as possible in the sights, the culture and, perhaps more importantly, the rice beer.

No matter onwards and up…well, onwards anyway. Next up we have “Gordon’s Great Escape”. Foul mouthed philanderer (allegedly) Gordon Ramsay is in India to discover what a real curry is like. I should be grateful for small mercies, at least this time it’s not coming from Dharavi. I really hope that the residents formed themselves into a committee and told the TV researchers that they weren’t having him! “We were rather hoping for Simon Cowell and his X Factor, not some sweary, hand slapping cook”. Actually this is quite a joy to watch. No-one in India seems to know who he is and when he starts his foul mouthed tirades, they all wobble their heads not knowing what they hell this pasty faced jock is on about. So it’s with great excitement I tune in to Episode 2. Oh bugger, no it can’t be… it bloody is! This time our eponymous chef has gone to the North East. Noooooo! Ramsay travels to Majuli Island to sample a rather fiery looking fish curry, he even manages to get into Nagaland (somewhere I wanted to go but couldn’t get into) where he goes hunting with a tribe. Yay, there is a god after all! For, whilst hacking his way through the jungle, he manages to stab himself with his own machete. Armed with the secrets of North Eastern cuisine, he ends up back on the streets of Kolkata cooking North Eastern food to a group of bemused Bengalis. He employs three locals to help, “These lads aren’t skipping school are they?” he inquires of his English speaking helper. “No, no sir! Not him anyway. I’m not sure about the other one!” Anyroad up, the food sells out and everyone is happy. Most of all the English translator who pockets the days takings of 2,000 rupees.. Ah well, something good has come out of it.

I think we’re mid-way into the “Indian Winter” season now and in all honesty I should be fed up with the tripe they are offering up. But, probably because of my upcoming trip, I’m determined to watch every last minute. I dare say when I get there I’ll be falling over TV crews and their poncey pony tailed researchers. Well, if you can’t beat them… Come on Mrs Mukharjee, after three… “Jai Ho!”