Not that I care, or that I even watch television. But nobody has ever asked me to vote for the best programme on TV.
Television is after all, a medium that dictates and structures culture and society through clever marketing and shrewd sleight-of-mind.
I heard on the radio this morning that Eastenders has won best soap. This isn’t too surprising and is a reflection of proletarian national statistics. Just as cheap journalism in red top tabloids show the highest circulation and high street burger joints continue to feed the obese, so to is Eastenders the common entertainment of the masses. It is chewing gum for the eyes for those deficient of realism
On this subject, I usually sit alone on the fence. Cunningly and with unfailing sangfroid, the government conducts its dissertations through television and in particular, the soaps. You are the weak and I am the strong. And I would rather stand naked in a damp basement in the stress position for 24 hours listening to white noise, than sit through a single episode of Eastenders.
Perhaps though, some time after my hundredth birthday when I become dormant, useless and unable to write to newspapers, I could opt to sit through an episode as a mode of euthanasia.