| Tuesday, October 30, 2001 |
 | I'm the only person in my street who doesn't have a television licence, doesn't have a television, doesn't have a Brothercam in every room. I'm told they give furtive net-curtain shots of houses without cameras, every couple of hours, for a bit of a comic relief, a bit of viewer conformity reassurance, a bit of an excuse to bring out the placards and the petrol bombs. After all, these people must be hiding something, mustn't they?
Kevan turns in a storming Big Bertha as dystopia account on the UpsideClone, by the way. Big Barda 2 seems to have left a horrible psychic scar on the slightly more marginalised bits of British society. I think it was because by the time the first lot emerged blinking into the light, we had already seen the guttering flame of Nasty Nick's celebrity die, and could be reassured that the others would also sink into well-deserved obscurity. Whereas with the weasel-eyed gimp and the bright orange Welsh halfwit, it looked for a terrfyingly long time like they might achieve critical mass and impose themselves on the nation's consciousness long-term. Thank fuck they seem to have disappeared from any but the most trivial minds after the realisation that their celebrity was based primarily on whether weasel boy was going to shove his cock right up her or not. See also "Bigger Better Brother".
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