Telly Which Isn’t All Evil :: That’s Not My Name

I’ve just fallen head over heels in love with a song and I want nothing more than to share it with you like an insidious if garishly ostranenic viral marketeer. Eat my sentence.

So I was watching last week’s Jonathan Ross on television, diligently utilising the frankly futuristic ‘watch last week’s television’ function, and I was ecstatically drawn in. I kind of want to be Robert Downey Jr, which is maybe a bit odd, and Michael Aspel was nothing less than adorable, playing a kind of Green Room sleeping bag, all fusty and sweetly grateful to be unpacked for one last roll in the heyday of prime time. Gwyneth Paltrow was wholesome and charming and a good foil for Ross’s outrageousness. He really is a one, and I do admire his inappropriateness. Telling Paltrow that with his wife’s permission, he would fuck her, takes a special kind of confidence. But I don’t want to be Jonathan Ross. He can be quite annoying. I want to be Robert Downey Jr.

So anyway, there I was all caught up in the well-crafted PR drama of it all, when Gwynnie was packed off with her Guinness (kerching!) and it was time for Music For Young People to play out the show. So naturally I turned down the TV and carried on reading about Wing Chun Kung Fu (which Robert does). (And is brilliant at.) Then I realised I was being slowly hypnotised by the music. I watched for a while, and then I turned up the volume. Then I rewound it and watched it three times from the beginning. What it was, was, I fell in love with it. That’s what it was.

A couple of times, it actually made me cry. It was glorious. It also made me wonder if maybe there was something somehow somewhere wrong, or a little peculiar in that. I decided that no, there wasn’t, and that I was merely massively moved by the music, by the mesmerising passion of the performance, and maybe also by the clump of hash that Keith left behind last night.

Whatever. Here it is on the life-changingly brilliant YouTube (kerching!):



Actually, I can see how some might find it rather annoying and that over time – maybe not even that much time – it could become every bit as annoying as Oh Shitting Mickey. But for the moment I – as they say – am all over it.

It does however, pale into insignificance, next to this.