All that I know about George Carlin is that he’s a dead American stand-up comedian, and he had a famous monologue “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television”. If he were still alive the monologue would be somewhat shorter, for it seems that one four-letter word beloved of the coprolaliac is now acceptable on the airwaves.
A few days ago I was watching a quiz show on the BBC and one of the contestants told a joke along the following lines:
“A few days ago I went to a Zoo. They only had one animal – a dog. It was a Shitzu.”
Though Lord Reith would undoubtedly not have approved, any perceived humour is in the mind of the listener. More objectionable is the explicit use of the obscenity in popular music. In the space of a mere quarter of an hour, whilst listening to the wireless, I heard the word used repeatedly in three songs – not bleeped out. The offending and offensive oeuvres were:
Jason Derulo, “Solo”: “Now I got my s**t together, yeah”.
(It appears that collecting and organising coproliths is a hobby of his.)
David Ghetta, “Memories”: “All the crazy s**t I did tonite”.
(Not only can’t he spell, he defecates in the evening. Fascinating. The fact that his faeces are insane is a little disturbing, though.
Travis McCoy, “Billionaire”: “Adopt a bunch of babies that ain’t never had s**t”.
(Singing about constipated newborns. Equally fascinating.)
Of course, it’s not just the crude language that I find offensive. Other songs have quite inappropriate content. Whilst impotence is for some a serious problem, and for some penis size is a cause for insecurity, neither is a subject I want to hear Rihanna singing about on the airwaves:
“Come here rude boy, boy
Can you get it up?
Come here rude boy, boy
Is it big enough?”
Is it a song you would even wish your wife or your servants to listen to?
“Quamdiu etiam furor iste tuus nos eludet? Quem ad finem sese effrenata iactabit audacia?”
[486]


In an effort to bring a greater rule of law to Thailand the police have brought one officer out of retirement – an officer who has never solicited a bribe or been involved in a sex scandal. You might say Police Sergeant Choey is a model officer, and you’d be right. He’s made of plaster. The new Police Major General has decided to bring him back in the hope that the sight of a plaster officer will help deter crime. He’s to be joined by a new recruit, Police Sergeant Yim. Let’s hope this dynamic duo can clean up the mean streets of Bangkok.
A few weeks ago something resembling a small oil derrick appeared on the vacant plot of land adjacent to my house where the next phase of the moobaan is to be built. Realising that it was unlikely that they’d be drilling for oil in Bangkok I surmised the contraption was a pile-driver. A few days later, when the pounding started, I was proven right. Over the next few days, every time I looked up, the “derrick” was closer. I never saw it move, just its inexorable approach. I was reminded of nothing so much as a weeping angel.
Personally, I’m not a great fan of the Doctor Who revival, though the episode “Blink” featuring the weeping angels was quite exceptional; trying to put a story into a single episode doesn’t allow for the same development and complexity of the older series. Yesterday I watched “Revenge of the Cybermen”, a four-parter from 1975 with Tom Baker as the Doctor. 35 years on and it’s still captivating. Has any other programme from this era survived so well? This was surely the golden age of Doctor Who.
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