That's Right, It's Red...

My head's a bit dead today. I'm not sure if that's because I've done barely anything (surprise, surprise chuck) or if it's because I've had CBeebies on in the background for a considerable chunk of the afternoon. Why so? Because according to Miss BBC Writersroom Lady what came in to do a talk in yesterday's super-special, limited stock, once in a lifetime, Creative Writing seminar mentioned that said Writersroom's next "competition" (I use the term loosely because it always sounds so childish [then again, we are talking about CBeebies here]) involves them commissioning scripts for original pre-school material for said channel. Of course, I still don't have the foggiest idea what I'm doing, where I'm going, or how I'm breathing in this life, so getting straight to work on an entire hypothetical idea for a television programme for the simplest of humans amongst us is it bit sort of head-explodey... and I don't think graphic violence would bode well with a pre-school audience. They're best targetted with things more like "What's this shape I'm pointing to? That's right, it's a square", as opposed to "What colour is this water dribbling out of my ears? That's right, it's red... and boy, there sure is a lot of it".

All the primary functions of my mind are still there, but I've been reduced to a more basic version of me, resorting to simply sitting and doing naff all instead of trying to come up with multiple ideas every day to keep up with this 'ere thing. That's my excuse, anyway...

In other news, my recent rekindling of familiarity with the music of Fight Like Apes, alongside the newest series of The Apprentice (which I am still yet to begin, but that's what iPlayer's for) has driven me back to the idea of how much I'd love to see the "candidates" (or as I like to call them, "arseholes") walking out of the building post-dismissal no longer to the smooth "oooh-aaah-oooh-ee-oooh" kind of violin-y/piano-y/orchestra-y moody and serious "dun-dun duuun!" style music they employ, but instead have them crawl out of there looking all ragged, suit torn to shreds and crying in the rain as they limp towards the evil minicab of unemployment to the sound of this li'l extract from the annoyingly-long titled "I'm Beginning To Think You Prefer Beverly Hills 90210 To Me".

Nothing would give a sadist any more pleasure than all of the above happening whilst Old Man Sugar points at them mockingly and rhythmicallly chanting "you're so fired, you're so, so fired" repeatedly... except for maybe someone's head exploding on children's TV.