Breakfast Rant

Hullo, it is I once more. I am sitting in front of my laptop eating my daily porridge, with the BBC breakfast show on the television. I watch it each morning, as there is no real alternative unless you can bear the sight of Keith Chegwin bouncing around like he is on speed that early (frankly I cannot, though that should be seen as my personal opinion and is not intended to be slanderous towards the talented presenter himself). But wait, just because I sit here watching the mild mannered, calmly reposed, and impeccably dressed presenters of the British Broadcasting Corporation does not mean that I am happy. Far from it, in fact. For the umpteenth time this month they wheeled on someone who barely registers on the scale of interesting things. I mean, is the nation really interested in weather the Jones family from Scarborough have found a Georgian rhino-horn condom underneath their sunflowers? Wasn't it somewhat recently that they devoted an entire program to a group of grungy students who proved they could fart non-stop for an entire day?

This silliness has go to stop. I am planning to picket the offices of BBC breakfast until they agree to let me on the program again. Was it my fault the last time went so badly? All I did was produce a plastic bottle full of roundworms (about 20 of them, each 20 cm long) taken from the bottom of an elderly ex-patriot patient who had been living in the Congo for the last ten years. They were quite dead of course, pickled in formaldehyde. What you might not know is that formaldehyde is flammable. Unfortunately I had neglected to tell the presenters, and the poor lady ... I forget her name... fair jumped out of her seat in alarm, knocking her glass of mineral water all over the monitor in front (which started to fizzle and spark like an odd-shaped firework), and her flailing arms knocked the jar of worms clean out of my hands. The jar fell onto the monitor, cracked open, disgorged the formaldehyde and worms. The flames shot 3 feet into the air and a few moments later the smell of roasted roundworms filled the studio. They do not smell very nice when flambed in formaldehyde, and give off a somewhat pungent odour that sticks in the throat. Anyway, to cut a long story short I was ushered out of the studio and my emails have been ignored ever since. I think is poor treatment indeed, so watch this space for my grand return to the breakfast sofa!