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Well, we have reached the end of another batch of these, and I expect, given some of the subjects I've tackled this time,
you think I could work one up on pretty much anything that ever annoys me.
For instance, I was on a plane the other day- for which, before you ask,
I paid nothing like what I ought to to compensate for the carbon pumped into the atmosphere -
- that was my point, the government have to make the companies, and the companies have to make us. If it helps, I felt guilty.
Anyway, I was watching the map display of the distance left to travel and the altitude of the plane
which cycled through different units and different languages, in such a way that it got in a loop of displaying the height in feet... and French.
Pieds. For the French speaking anglophile who loves England so much he's learnt about feet, but not the English word for them.
He insists on the Imperial system but lacks the most basic English vocabulary. There. That's not one.
Then there's the name Dave.
The way I am usually called David, but occasionally called Dave by people who assume that anyone called David who they like must be called Dave.
But also the way this doesn't actually bother me, but does bother certain friends of mine, who assume I must hate it, though I don't. That's not one.
Or what about champagne? There must be one in champagne, surely?
And the way it's been cleverly sold to us as THE thing you drink at times of celebration.
But, this means few people will open a bottle of champagne to drink with a plate of pasta in front of the telly.
There are the odd exceptions, like John Mortimer or Winston Churchill, who make a thing about drinking it all the time;
but they're generally either trying to represent themselves as Bacchus;
or demonstrating how devastatingly unconventional and not in the thrall of marketing they are.
No, for most people, this particular type of wine is, for no other reason than that we are told so,
reserved for times when you are celebrating, or launching a ship. That's not one.
No, to do one of these successfully, I have to sift and winnow, to find only the most important and weighty matters upon which to direct my attention.
Like not talking over the end of Inspector Morse. Not blurring out the logo on sports coverage. Putting jam on your scone before cream.
Burgers that are too tall, text messages that are too open-ended, DVDs that are too skippy.
The irritating phrase 'young man', the surprisingly un-irritating phrase 'Lol'.
Then, of course, I have a responsibility to correct the faults of my friends, whom, we have learnt:
have irritating stag nights; infuriating weddings; give their children ridiculous names; run pointless marathons;
insist on giving me gifts and talking to me in the pub, and whom I would happily trade in for another bunch on my fortieth birthday.
And then, of course, the big three - the subjects it would be a dereliction of my duty not to address on this platform.
Maintaining the sustainability of our planet's resources.
The urgent need to convince the sceptics of our environmental peril.
And the imperative never to go 'woo' at a sandwich. They're all ones.
Thank you for watching and listening. I've found the whole experience very cathartic
and am currently labouring under the delusion that everything's fine.
If I come to my senses, these will return. I hope you hope not for my sake.