Tuesday, 8 September 2009




In a shock announcement today the BBC announced that Forces Sweetheart, Sir Jimmy Young, above, was standing down from his position as Forces Sweetheart. But we'll meet again, gagged the irrepressible stage Paddy and arsehole. Sure Oi'll be doing the odd wee gig for the Beeb so I will, so yous'll not be getting rid of me that easy, or cheaply. Sir Terry Wig, who has been all over the BBC like the pox since the nineteenth century is handing over his morning show - a mixture of banter and banter and more banter peppered with antiseptic God fucking awful pop tunes - to feisty DJ, Russell Brand, below.

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Interviewed falling out of a nightclub, Rusell, 19, a drug addict, a sex addict and a former psychiatric patient, or nutter, said that he was gobsmacked. Sir James is just, like, the dogs bollocks. It's a tough wig to follow. I mean, that's a tough audience, it's like frightened and diffident schoolteachers, laughing knowingly at Sir Jim's winning little apercus and the vengeful early retired in cardigans and its travelling biscuit salesmen called Richard, driving up and down between places like Macclesfield and Penrith, in their Vauxhalls and they gotta sell one more case of ginger nuts to some poor bastard going mad in a corner shop otherwise it's blood on the carpet at the area sales meeting and P45 time and hand back the keys to the Vauxhall and fucking walk everywhere. Yeah, Richard's gotta read the Daily Mail and find out who is gonna take care of the interests of the Biscuit People and vote for them. Biscuit People Broadcasting, that's my thing.Yeah. You know some people keep 'em in little miniature barrels, like they were cognac. Only they're Rich Tea. Or Gari-fucking-baldi. I kid you not. There they are, in little oaken barrels, with silvery tin hoops and the word Biscuits engraved on a little shiny, tin plate, hanging on a chain, like round a Nazi officer's neck, just above his Iron Cross First Class With Oak Leaves although it probably didn't say Biscuits but more more likely was in recognition of Gunther having eliminated ten thousand Russian children by means of roasting them with flamethrowers, to the Glory of the Fuhrer and the Reich. And they eat them at eleven o clock and at four o clock. with a cup of tea, or Maxwell House. Fuck me, how do people live outside showbusiness. But you know how Sir Jimmy used to do that WotsTheRecipeTodayJim? thing. Recipes. For food and stuff. For those too poor to buy speed and who have to eat. And there was a squeaky voice saying that Wot'sTheRecipeTodayJim? thing. I though we might have on my show, a guide to anal sex for the over-sixties, you know, lubes and buttplugs, issues around piles and I could have a jingle saying Wot'sThePervesionTodayRuss. And in the summer holidays we could address the ins and out of Incest. I mean, don't knock it till you've tried it, eh, Mum? I can't tell you how excited I am about being given this opportunity to never do a day's work again in my life.

The Director General of the Corporation, Sir Mark Thompson, said,
National institution....ireplaceable....never see his like........made the airwaves his own....new generation....pushing back the envelope....edgy....broadcasting has to be risk-taking or it is nothing.....actually I think I am wortn considerably more than a million of your pounds a year. Now fuck off. And don't forget we know where you live and can get you put in prison. Only not if you're rich.


woman on a raft said...

Sir Jimmy Young was one of the only BBC broadcasters to stand up to Lord Woolf when he was preening himself about the HRA98, the millenium showpiece legislation which came in to force in 2000.

The interview shocked me at the time - I nearly drove in to a wall because it was clearly supposed to be a pure PR sell, and here was the veteran refusing to play along. Who did this DJ think he was?

Woolf went in to the studio and expected Jimbo to explain to the gagging listeners that Harry Woolf was the new Moses, that the HRA would replace and vastly improve on the ethical Decalogue and that he was the Millenium Prophet come to proclaim Our Tone on Earth, who would usher us in to an age or righteousness.

Jimmy Young chirruped up with words to the effect: 'Won't this simply be an excuse for friends of yours, such as Cherie Booth at Maxtrix - wot is married to our PM - to bring expensive publicly funded cases, and what about these embarassing cases which our listeners are already worried about?'

There was a shocked silence and Lord Woolf's minion jumped in to tell Young to mind his mouth, His Lordship wasn't to be cheeked like that, implying he was driving a piece of legislation when everyone knows that the judiciary and the executive are separate. Even though they aren't, and even though Harry was swanning about implicitly claiming credit for the act.

Jim chuckled in that irritating way of his, played another record, then the silly bastard went back in to the same argument, requiring them to explain why a lot of dorky cases would now be brought at public expense. The defenders had a little breathing space and batted away most of the questions with a supercillious sniff that it was all more complicated than the public thought. Which, indeed, it is - deliberately. The HRA is a lawyers' playground.

Shortly after that the BBC suddenly decided Young was a senile old fool who had forgotten which boots to lick and had widdled on the carpet, and so should be put down for his own good.

Young was replaced by Jeremy Vine, who has never commanded the affection of the audience - possibly because it is always possible to hear the snear under his voice which implies he thinks he's much cleverer than them. Maybe he is, but it's hard to tell as he never uses that to explain complicated issues in the gaps between the records.

Jim, of course, was right. Within five years Lord Falconer and then Jack Straw were tussling with the judiciary over their interpretation of the HRA and telling them that when it said something, it wasn't meant to apply to government decisions, dear me no.

call me ishmael said...

Thanks Mrs woman on a raft, I faintly remember that, or a similar furore, I think the introduction of the HRA was the occasion for the first of many beastings of Imelda. Human rights, but not as they planned it.

Your memoir also prompts the thought- How many of these people, from John Peel to Jonathan Ross ever wonder, ever realise, that their soporific familiarity, their ethereal embrace, their jingels, their name-checking, their cruddy narcissism actually narcotise an audience which, if it had any sense, would be up in arms?

Workers Playtime, innit?