Adult in need

I wrote this last night after too much sherry. Consequently it's at least half bollocks, but it's such a splendid rant I thought I would publish it after all.

There are no words to express how much I hate the annual do-gooder car crash sick bucket that is Children in Need. Contrary to popular belief, I do not hate children - I experience mild to moderate misanthropy some to most of the time, but I don't believe this extends to children any more than to people in general.

But nor do I think children are that special, wonderful or likable simply because they are children. They are vulnerable and relatively powerless, and both government and society should do their best to look after them and help them grow up safe and unexploited, but I get angry when damaged children grow into damaged adults and suddenly become part of the problem. There are at least as many adults in need as there are children, but they don't make such good television.

So every year gak-snorting, minion-abusing, eating-disordered adulterous fuck-ups (among others) get to take the stage and do low-rent cabaret for the great British television-watching public, who in return dig themselves a little deeper into debt. But it's all for the kids, as the people round here say when they advocate speed bumps, SUVs, armed response units, prep schools and other forms of middle class isolationism. And today (which is what catalysed this rant) we discover that Terry Wogan, cauliflower-eared Blarneyist extraordinaire, gets paid hard cash from our licence fees to curate this lowest common denominator bollocks. OK, not that much, in his scheme of things, but surely there's a law against getting paid for this kind of mawkish cack.

I feel for everyone who hits 20 feeling as lost as they did when they were 10. Which is most of us, but if you are unlucky (or lucky) enough to get classed as a child in need it's surely going to be worse coming of age to find that you're on your own now. Build me a path from cradle to... oh.

joella