Propagreenda

Hot on the heels of product placement, now deemed suitable for British TV viewers’ consumption, a new subliminal soft sell from America is set to appear on our screens. Plot points such as a character in Law and Order who switches to energy-saving light-bulbs are being increasingly worked into the narrative as networks attempt to attract advertisers out to court the eco-aware buck. It’s a phenomenon that goes by the distinctly Orwellain sounding title of ‘behaviour placement’ although I prefer ‘propagreenda’. Cynical marketing ploy or nay, anything that helps preserve the planet can’t be all bad. How will it translate here? Could The Bill, recently axed, be recycled with bobbies in hand-me-down vintage uniforms riding tandems rather than tearing around in gas guzzler cars? They could rebrand it as Dixon of Dock ahem, Green.

Ballots!

Polling day can’t come soon enough, if only to shunt the Dave ‘n’ Gordie show (featuring Nick C, Alex S, leuan W-J and sundry fringe loonies) off our TV screens. I’m all for politics as light entertainment - Portillo’s face as he lost at Enfield; Kinnock’s hubristic ‘victory’ rally; Prezza’s inner Alex Reid unleashed on an egg thrower - but this tedious campaign has thus far been about as amusing as a bad case of gout. The gaiety of the Hunt the Chris Grayling contest aside, the only good bit so far was when oleaginous grande-dame Lord Mandelson called Old Etonian hoodie hugger, Dave, ‘toffee-nosed.’ This, from an arriviste schmoozer of high society who once also resided in Notting Hill, a ‘hood where £595 is considered ‘reasonable‘ for a pair of loafers to knock around in? Le Creuset pot? Alessi kettle? Black! More hypocritical bitchiness please!

The Future Of Clubbing?

With meow meow banned, cats seeking an alternative sensory experience must pray venues nation-wide embrace ‘premium’ London club Merah’s ‘ingenious light therapy system’. Why? Because, according to its PR, Merah's resident techie genius claims lighting can affect and change mood. Well, hello Einstein! Programme orange and yellow in that order and your sex drive and intellect will be stimulated, apparently: hence the scenario whereby your urge to snog the babe at the bar is tempered by the realisation that to do so will earn you a lamping from her bruiser boyfriend. More innovative still, Merah (that's harem spelled backwards, since you ask) plans to pump in its own branded scent so punters will feel ‘at home’ Halle-flamin'-lujah!  It may not be exactly novel - 70s sex clubs in America used to pump in amyl nitrate to get the party started -  but post-smoking ban, any trend that obliterates the now ubiquitous fug of sweat, farts, beer-sodden carpets and Katie Price’s Stunning sure smells like the future of clubbing to me.  

www.merahclub.com

Two-bit Tassel Twirlers

It’s been several years now since the burlesque revival took off. Executed with wit, élan and the right ratio of bump to grind, glamour pusses such as Immodesty Blaize and Dita Von Teese -their sophisticated tease sharper than the cup of a Jean-Paul Gaultier conical bra - have elevated their métier to an art-form. Now, it seems every old neighbourhood bar is jumping on the bandwagon, showcasing ‘artistes’ who are basically in it for pin money. At an East End dive, I sat, cringing, while two Readers’ Wives liberated their blubber from cheap nylon basques, wiggled their cellulite-y asses in our faces the unsuccessfully attempted to twirl their tassels to that old Peggy Lee chestnut, I’m A Woman. Yes dears, and so is Vanessa Feltz but I wouldn’t pay to see her flaunt her bits either. Cover up and leave it to the pros: bargain basement burlesque is getting on our tit ends. 

The Sound of Musicals

The aptly entitled Les Misérables - highlight: its revolving set breaking down - was the soul-sapping experience that spawned my hatred of the type of mass-market musicals - beloved of the charabanc trade and polyester-clad tourists from Hell - that increasingly dominate Theatreland. If Ibsen or Brecht hoped to get a look in nowadays, they’d need to bung in a few cheesy crowd pleasers and pray high-kicking Dames Judi, Maggie and Diana would razzle-dazzle ‘em in sequins and Lycra. Sister Act; Wicked; Dreamboats and Petticoats; you couldn’t bribe me to sit through them, let alone prize sixty quid out of me for the dubious privilege. News that Coronation Street is to be turned into a musical surely represents a new nadir for the genre: ‘How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?’ yodels madman Tony Gordon as he escapes jail intent on murdering the show’s hairdressing heroine, his estranged fiancée. Mamma Mia!