In which we email a mate, and pass comment on television these days.

Mate, last night I thought it must be all over. The end appeared to be nigh...

Not just Telecom, but the entire stock exchange, national pride, the economy, in short, civilisation as we know it.

we were watching this stuff on TV, never heard of it before, but a bunch of has beens & never weres (and one impossibly hot ex-Miss Universe, for which we can forgive at least some of what went on - particularly later in the series, when, in time honoured dancing with the has-beens tradition, she should surely prance around in her smalls...) appeared to be attending dancing lessons.

Then, this odd person that Graham Reid reliably tells me is a transvestite called Candy Lane (apparently, TVNZ baulked at Penny's fee) announced

"If there's anything I love watching more than people dancing... it's a man who can sing"

and into centre stage bounded Jason Thingee.

We were going to head for the high ground, certain of the impending apocalypse, then realised we were there already, so we battened down the hatches, drank a shitload of wine, and hoped like hell Lorraine would get her gear off before we went to meet our makers....

Other thoughts

- Beatrice is this year's Norm
- Christine Rankin is this year's Bernice - she will be first to go. And someone should stop Jason lifting up her skirt to show us her legs. With a hammer if necessary.
- Steve Gurney is a twat.
- I know it is a forlorn hope, but a law should be passed to keep Jason off our screens. Or at the very least, to prevent him from singing.