*Bob*

I would have gone with Panorama (Panorama Lite) as it should be called these days) every time, but Dispatches really lowered the bar last night with their hard-hitting investigation into cutting your energy bills. Having scoured the land to find the only family left in Britain yet to use uSwitch or work-out what the 'E' next to their meter reading was for, it was them revealed that by using their electrical appliances for half the time they could cut their electricity bills by nearly half. All delivered with a totally OTT 'Remembrance Sunday' style narration and ominous, brooding music. Shite.

You're not 'thinking Enron' on this one, Brendan. It's not 'rain', it's 'liquid sunshine'.

Burn wood.. it's the way forward. Or should that be 'backward'?

Ted Max Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > On the bright side, we can get back to the glory > days of 1980s-style reporting.. Will they bring back 'Job Club', I wonder? They could update and reprise the old TV campaign.. the one where an overweight man sporting a flat-top haircut and non-branded leisurewear is forced to attend the local labour exchange - in return for free stamps and occasional use of the Tandy TRS-80.

The newsfolks are creaming their pants at the thought of easy news stories for the next year. Even if things start to get repetitive they can spice things up by, say, painting the set black - or by having the headlines delivered by a cackling witch stirring her brew. If I hear another tediously pointless comparison with The Great Depression, I may have to smash the television (maybe not the good one - the spare one in the loft without a remote control)

Gobsmacked.

What if it was a 96 year-old woman and a 22 year-old man - and you reversed the sexes three times - and one only spoke English as a second language? Would it still be as bad?

"innoncent" Not a real word, but considering the event in question.. perfic', Huguenot.

Moos Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > JFC Is there nowhere to hide from football on here?

I never knew Geoff Hoon had such a big nose until I gave it my full attention on QT last night.

And the above wasn't a criticism, I should add.

It's hardly a 'pub' any more. Wi-Fi and coffee and the new cigarettes and jukebox if you want to survive through the week.

aye to that It's not like it's LA or anything. It's just a town in England, like any other. That said, don't look anyone in the eye, don't spill anyone's pint and avoid the town centre between the hours of 5pm Friday though to midnight on a Sunday and you should be ok.

Don't look anyone in the eye, don't spill anyone's pint and avoid the town centre between the hours of 5pm Friday though to midnight on a Sunday and you should be ok. There's a pub called "The Unemployed, Disillusioned, Drunk & Angry Docker" which should probably be avoided unless you can do the accent and look the part.

Fishfinger Sandwiches Robin of Sherwood My job Boney M Borrowing 'Star Fleet' on DVD from a friend who bought it on eBay. Cocaine & Boggle. Truly Boggling.

Is this your secret formula, Tony?

Chin up, everyone... If we all go down LL tomorrow en masse and buy one cow-print cushion and one highly-quality non-stick saucepan, we can spend our way out of recession. We can do it. You've just gotta believe.

There's only so long you can spend in a pub discussing the on-set problems during the shoot of Apocalypse Now / which Martin Amis novel is the worst / the small print in the FT. If Bono's hair provides a lighthearted means into a spot of lighthearted and frivolous banter about nothing in particular with a few laughs thrown in, just to pass the time, then I'm all for it. Slebrity in nothing new, and half the new ones are no better or worse than half the old ones from the last few millenia: Gladiators (famous for killing people), Good-looking people (natural ability to be good-looking), Murderers (killing people), Saints (being fictitious. getting killed), Soldiers (killing people), Footballers (natural ability to kick ball), Royalty (being born into royalty / killing people).

Football.. not a good example to kick-off (boom! boom!) with for me. I'd swap the entire premiership for Pete Waterman on Pop Idol again - any day of the week.

I prefer anonymity, thanks all the same, David. So you're not a sleb gawper, you're a sleb sneerer, Mockers? But both are two sides of the same coin. What's the difference between sitting in a pub talking about Bono's hair and sitting in a pub talking about not giving a shit about Bono's hair?

Of course it's most unfash to be into celebrity culture when you're all edukated and interested in, like, serious issues, but we only have ourselves to blame. We suck it up like a big, sweet milkshake with a glace cherry on top. All of us. Even as we speak, this thread is mutating into a well-thumbed copy of Hello in a dentist's waiting room - which you're desperately hoping someone will put down because all you've got is Men's Health... and you're not even a man.

Ghandhi. And Nelson bloody Mandela.

Any thread self-consciously titled 'you know you're an East Dulwichite when' is virtually begging the usual suspects to bring-up organic produce, more money than sense, old Mums, wanky shops and overpriced property. It's only a matter of time.

Once upon a time, there were three mothers. The first mother landed one in the oven when she was nineteen, the father disappeared. She had to live in a council house forever and was a burden on the taxpaying population for the rest of her life. The second mother had a career and a busy social life, but selfishly left it far too late to have children. She had to have IVF - at the expense of the taxpayer - but could barely keep up with her children - because she was so old and tired! The third mother played it just right. Not too young to be a silly little fool. Not too old to be selfish. Not too unemployed to be a burden. Not too wealthy and successful to make people jealous. And so the goes the story of the three stereotyped mothers, living in their stereotyped world (with misogynist overtones). blah blah blah THE END

And that teapot is spoken for as well, I'm afraid. You'll have to make do with TheWife.