Television portraits, Paul Graham.
TELE-PHOBIA
I fear I’m becoming a social pariah,
And everyone says my condition is dire.
Wherever I go I meet scorn and derision,
For the terrible truth is-I’ve gone off television!I’m fed up with Taggart, and Poirot and Morse,
Burnside and Tosh and the rest of the Force;
Rapes, robberies and killings I no longer seek,
And no one’s been laid in my lounge for a week!I don’t drink at the Vic or the Rovers Return,
And I don’t give a monkey’s if London does burn.
What’s happening on Brookside I really don’t care,
For I’ve washed all those soaps right out of my hair.Loveable Lovejoy I’m learning to hate;
I don’t bother to turn up for Cilla’s Blind Date
The Late Show’s too late, The Big Breakfast too hearty,
And I’ve torn up my invite to Noel’s House Party!I’m allergic to chat-shows with their self-styled mentors,
Agony aunts and demented presenters.
I wake up at night with a scream and a shout,
Dreaming that Jeremy Beadle’s about.Attenbrough’s animals, Birds of a Feather,
I’ve poisoned them all, with the gnus…and the weather.
My bell’s disconnected, my phone’s off the hook;
If anyone calls, say…I’m reading a Book!Normand Ford.
Actualizado para Cristina, la única que se mantiene cuerda entre tanta información televisiva.
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