Dawkin TV Blues

So contrary to my hitherto firmly held convictions, there is a God - and he's a spiteful son of a bitch, not to mention a fucking gymnastic enthusiast to boot.

There's been days when I've chosen to sit and watch back to back seventies detective shows instead of seeing old friends, but for two days when I'm genuinely house-bound there's been just less than fuck-all worth watching on the television - Rising Damp on ITV3 and Beverley Hills Cops III on TMF being the only morsels he could bring himself to throw me.

And just to prove that this isn't a secular coincidence the Freeview box is stuttering, the DVD player is busted and the broadband is playing up.

Clearly in the scheme of things it may not seem much, but as I sit here up to my red raw nose in tissues, full of a cocktail of Lemsip, Beechams, something called Aspo and just a wee bit of booze, I feel like someone's out to get me.

And I was Catholic long enough to know that nothing riles Our Lord more than asking him for frivolous things like good television of an afternoon.