So I’m looking at the seasonal TV schedules trying to find something — anything — to watch.
Britain and the Sea? Probably very well done, but David Dimbleby is such a dangerously feline, OE-manqué, Flashmanesque, living-embodiment-of-the-BBC closet pinko that reviewing it would feel wrong, somehow, like chipping into a fund to buy Chris Huhne an eighth home.
The Doctor Who Christmas Special? But it always makes me want to kill myself. I hate the idea that a Dalek garlanded in tinsel might burst into the Cratchit household with a fat goose dangling from its exterminator gun while the White Witch’s frozen heart melts and all the crippled children are released from the snowy mountain — or whatever mawkish crap they’ve got planned for us this year.
Two films about The Great Train Robbery: A Robber’s Tale; A Copper’s Tale? Yeah, but we already know what happens, don’t we? They steal lots of money but then one by one they all get caught.
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