There Are Bigger Fish To Fry

Delivering a worthwhile complaint in an effective manner is an art and one we should all learn.

Because no matter who you are, having to listen and act upon complaints that are not worthwhile is a right royal pain in the arse.

I know, because my job seems to entail me being the all-welcoming receptacle of such complaints for about 90% of my working day. Now, most of the time, the complaints are what I’d call “fairly” valid – malfunctioning doors, broken urinals, electronic glitches, etc. Not world disasters by any stretch of the imagination but they need to be dealt with and all I have to do is receive them with a beatific smile and a Buddhist Monk’s composure and see that they are forwarded to the right people...

Simple.

Unfortunately, despite my very best efforts, the odds of me achieving Nirvana under the officious auspices of my benevolent employer are becoming longer and longer. My smile is beginning to slip so far off my face my toes are starting to poke through it.

I am becoming sick of complaints.

Ill. Diseased.

And not just complaints directed at me but those that are directed at other people too.

Now I’m not talking about the big complaints – world poverty, fuel prices, the frightening number of children who are being abused and killed despite social services being “aware” of them, etc. No. No. These are big worthwhile complaints which deserve to be heard and should be amplified by as many people as possible so that they can be used as iron rods to give those in a position to do something about them a hard time.

But little inconsequential complaints are beginning to irritate me greatly. Possibly because they divert people away from the biggies.

Take the Russell Brand and Jonathon Ross debacle a couple of weeks ago. It was daft. It was silly. They were punished. Did it really warrant the sheer number of complaints that hit the BBC like a tidal wave? Didn’t these people who complained have other, far more weightier grievances that they could have spent their time and money complaining about?

The war in Iraq? The crumbling NHS service? No?

And now Jeremy Clarkson is facing a barrage of media boosted complaints for his gag about lorry drivers murdering prostitutes and for apparently giving an American cop the finger in last week’s episode of Top Gear.

Oh calamity! Let’s forget about the appalling number of youngsters who are dying in our towns and cities – victims of domestic physical abuse – and complain about Jeremy Clarkson for being good humouredly provocative instead. Far more worthwhile. Far more worthy of media coverage. Hold the front page! Call an emergency session of Parliament!

Don’t get me wrong. On the whole, complaints are good things. Having the confidence and the voice to complain is a valuable asset in the modern world. We need to teach our kids to complain about injustice and wrong doing in an attempt to stamp out such things in the future.

But let’s not squander this asset on trivia. Life is just too short. And for some poor souls – like 17 month old “Baby P”, horrifically beaten to death despite 60 separate visits from UK Social Services – it’s never going to be long enough.

Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a complaint.

The Spoils

I have to confess to feeling completely lacklustre this morning... Monday morning syndrome strikes again.

Nevertheless I feel it incumbent on me to comment upon the Celebrity Big Brother final that played out on the TV before the nation’s jaundiced eyes last night.

The only real surprise was Dirk scoring higher than Ian. Personally I really liked Dirk’s irascibility and his grouchiness. Obviously I must empathise in some way and share those same qualities myself (my wife is nodding)... though I’d prefer to think the affinity lies elsewhere, i.e. in my ability to adopt any disguise at whim and to construct tanks with exocet missile launchers out of old mopeds, washing up liquid bottles and dusty boxes of junk that people leave lying about in their garages. That and an Oedipal need to suck on a fat cigar like it was a woman’s teat.

Yeah, me and Dirk... we’re like bro’s.

Anyway, it was no surprise that Shilpa won and though part of me initially felt it was evidence of cynical manoeuvring on Channel 4’s part I nevertheless must admit that Shilpa was a worthy winner. Truly graceful, magnanimous and dignified as well as willing to put aside any hint of sourness and bad feeling. Though I’m sure the latter was out of an understandable desire to put as much distance between herself and the foul memory of Jade Goodey as humanly possible. It may be that once she’s had time to consider the full picture she’ll feel justifiably furious at her treatment by Jade, Jo and Danielle. Certainly it was heart rending to see how upset she got when confronted with a potted account of all that those three witches had done. Too much for the poor girl to take in, I suspect, though she needed to see it.

Cynicism aside, at the end of the day Shilpa’s victory at least gave out all the right signals about what the UK really stands for at its best...

As for its worst, I have to confess I enjoyed Danielle and Jack’s discomfort immensely. Bravo to Channel 4 for confronting them with the full impact of all they’d subjected Shilpa to. How they squirmed. I have to say though that, like Jade, at least Danielle accepted the wrongness of her actions immediately and looked genuinely ashamed. I still can’t get over the fact that Jo refused to accept her part in it during her exit interview on Friday. That will go badly against her, I’m sure.

I really hope that the careers of all three are in tatters. I wish I had the capacity for forgiveness and clemency that Jermaine and Shilpa so admirably exhibit but alas I don’t. So tough.

Am I glad that it’s all over? You bet.

Although it created much meat for many a good blog Karen and I are both of the opinion that it’s nice to have our viewing choices freed up once more. BB is rather a jealous god so it’s always nice when it’s hold on the nation loosens... in fact even last night we were Channel hopping to the Beeb to catch Richard Hammond’s very welcome return to Top Gear after his near fatal car crash late last year. It was good to see and the show was good-humouredly laced with loads of manly emotion and the kind of awkward, stiff-upper-lipped love that only exists between "real men". Ah what joy to behold.

Nice to see you back Richard.