Happy Father’s Day

It’s Father’s Day again. Nice one.

 

In a week where a Fathers4Justice campaigner saw fit to daub the word “Help” over a portrait of the Queen, as it was hung in Chapter House at Westminster Abbey, I can’t help but be reminded of the sheer ineptitude of Fathers4Justice and the absolute preposterousness of the entire movement.

 

First of all: Fathers4Justice aren’t a group of male parents with a shared interest in the pursuit of social morality as it pertains, to law, social law and rightness.

 

No, Fathers4Justice and associated political remonstrators are more Fathers4TryingToExertControlOverWomenWhoHaveSomeSlightThoughByNoMeansComprehensiveLegalBiasInTheirFavourBecauseItHasBeenProvenToBeBenficialForChildrenInGeneralTermsToLiveWithTheirMotherButThisIsByNoMeansAbsoluteAndAGreatNumberOfMenAreAlsoGivenCustodialRightsOverTheirChildren, but I don’t think they could fit it on the website.

 

As some chubby oik squeezes on his Batman suit and haphazardly shimmies his way up a London landmark, let me tell you what most right-minded people are thinking:

 

“This lad is unhappy about the breakdown of his relationship. If he’d made better choices prior to and during his relationship with the mother of his children, there is a distinct possibility that he’d be sat in McDonalds or at a Wacky Warehouse with them now, instead of making himself look like an absolute swinging ballsack atop The Houses of Parliament.

Most people find parenting extremely difficult. Single mums I know would gladly accept the offer of shared parenting. In fact they are likely to jump up and down for joy at the prospect of a break. So the fact that after the breakdown of your relationship, your ex partner is wilfully withholding your kids from you, tells me a lot about you. Even if the Batman suit hadn’t.

Let’s say –for argument’s sake – that some of these women are mentally ill or using the “children as a weapon” as is proposed. This cannot be true of all the single parent females left to fend for themselves when raising their kids. In this country, men who have been violent to ex partners are still allowed to see their children. Men who are imprisoned for violent assaults are often allowed to see their children, and given custodial rights.

The truth is that for the vast majority of campaigning fathers, much like those men stood outside abortion clinics telling women what to do with their bodies, or those men who make up more than 70% of all parents killing their children (often in retaliation for infidelity or a break-up) this is all about taking the very few human rights and slight legal familial privileges women have away from them.”

 

That’s what we’re thinking.

 

In addition, on the Fathers4Justice website it claims that fathers have fewer rights than animals. Another absurdity. Fathers are subject to the full range of human rights afforded to the rest of us, in addition to their parental rights, which are extensive.

 

Also, Dads have better employment, health, housing, financial and societal statistics in their favour. Dads are less likely to be beaten by partners, raped, sexually harassed in the workplace or have to endure ex partners in Batman suits trying to control their waking minutes.

 

So that’s something to hold on to.

 

I’m dead lucky, I’ve never been involved in an acrimonious break up. I’ve had relationships with some fantastic people.

 

But the thinly veiled rage emanating from this Jeremy Kyle-style, “He has broken my ribs on a couple of occasions and slammed the door in my face, but I have to say he’s a fantastic dad…”

 

He’s not.

 

Being a good dad is not getting your nipper’s name tattooed on your bicep, then calling your girlfriend fat six weeks after giving birth.

 

Being a good dad is not holding your child aloft at family functions, then getting back to the house and passing the baby back to it’s Mam for all the menial day-to-day shit.

 

Being a good dad is definitely not splitting from your ex and buying the kid toys and shoes that you decide it needs because you don’t want your money being spent on anything of hers, you know what she’s like the bitch.

 

No. Being a good dad is about being a good human being, respectful of women, particularly the child’s mother and respecting the fact that when relationships end, you have a duty to retain some respect for the woman you had a kid with.

 

If you’re reading this and thinking I’m saying all dads are arseholes, then you’re not reading properly. Good dads are ace. But a major facet in being a good dad, in fact, the primary facet of being a good dad is being good to your kid’s mother. Think on.

 

 

Happy Father’s Day.

Blurred Lines

 

 

Dear Dad,

 

I just want to thank you for your involvement in the creation of the music video and lyrical content of Blurred Lines. The production was fucking aces, and treble kudos on getting Diane Martel to direct it, a huge Hip Hop pedigree and a chance to deflect any negativity about the themes in the video/ lyrics.

 

Listen, I just want to thank you, man. You’ve given me something to aim for in life. I’ve learnt that it’s ok for men to address me as bitch, and I’ve learnt that a guy is luckiest if he talks to me and “I’m the hottest bitch in this place.” I’ve also learnt that in order to be hot, I should get naked and have the sort of body that most women cannot reasonably attain without surgery/ starvation.

 

I’ve learnt that it’s cool as fuck to have three men at least a decade older than me stand around fully clothed while I parade in thong underwear, as they sing songs about splitting my anus open with their penis.

 

I’ve been encouraged by the idea that it’s up to men to either “domesticate” or “liberate” me, and that “I’m an animal” and that “It’s in my nature.” Phew. For one uncomfortable moment, I thought I might have choices.

 

It’s come as quite a relief to me that I don’t have to consider whether or not “I want it”, because – apparently- men know what I want.  And I want it. That line “I’m a nice guy, but don’t get it confused, you’re getting’ it”? It just cleared up everything for me.

 

Since the music was so innovative, you had an opportunity to deflect from the “This is what bitches are..” schtick, but thank GOD you didn’t. I could be living in a world where rape, domestic violence statistics, wealth distribution, political and big business representation and societal pressures were reduced if men within popular culture took some more responsibility for loving and respecting women, and who needs that shit?

 

I like men hating me when I don’t measure up to gormless, physically perfect women on tv. I like hating myself as well. At least I think I do *giggle* , can you let me know dad?

 

 

Yours sincerely,

 

The daughters of Mr Williams, Thicke and Harris.

 

Death of a Tyrant

When you look at the smug, self-congratulatory faces of people like Toby Young (still firmly entrenched in the unrequited love of Julie Burchill) and Louise Mensch (a failure as both a politician and social network figurehead, business partner with a pervert, and mediocre fashion blogger) as they have the sheer audacity to equate the jubilation at the long awaited demise of Margaret Thatcher with a proposed lack of dignity, one can’t help but be reminded of the dignity of the people of South Africa when Thatcher dragged her feet at a trade embargo which might have ended apartheid sooner. One is also reminded of the dignity of the families tortured by Pinochet, Thatcher’s close personal friend and advocate. At the same time we are reminded of the dignity of:

 

 

Nelson Mandela; described by Thatcher as a terrorist.

 

Hundreds of thousands of Irish families who during her reign suffered as a consequence of inadequate and barbaric policy; from Bobby Sands and the Hunger Strikers, to those wrongfully imprisoned for acts of terror such as The Guildford Four, not to mention the millions of families on both sides who suffered as a consequence of an inhumane reluctance to face the responsibility of fair negotiation.

 

The families of those engaged in Trade Union activity during the miner’s strikes of the mid 80’s; when thousands of the very poorest communities stood by one another, united in political opposition to the decimation of their livelihoods, living without a wage in order to try (but ultimately painfully fail) in retaining the working traditions of a great many towns and villages.

 

The people of Argentina who suffered as a consequence of a relatively unpopular politician instigating a war, purely to win it and curry favour for an election win.

 

The many millions of people rendered unemployed during her reign.

 

The families of those who went to prison for non-payment of the Poll Tax – which ultimately led to Thatcher’s political demise.

 

The families of those killed at Hillsborough who fought for over 23 years to receive justice for being characterized as responsible for the deaths of 96 of their own, vilified in the press and effectively ignored and penalized by Thatcher’s government.

 

 

The truth is, if I were to sit here listing those people who have remained dignified during Thatcher’s reign of terror, I could be here for a great number of days.

 

Throughout my life I have had sanctions placed on my life as a consequence of Margaret Thatcher.

 

I knew a woman who died after being beaten to death by her husband, despite trying to seek refuge for which there was no facility available during Thatcher’s reign. I know people who went to prison for non-payment of Poll Tax. I know a Miner’s wife who asked my mum for tea bags, because she’d run out and she was bawling in front of me (I was five) because she didn’t know how she was going to survive. We were robbed so often in one week when I lived in a flat in Manchester as a baby, that the final burglary resulted in them taking the old carpets. We were homeless twice and I had to sleep in one double bed with my mum for six months before we were rehoused.

 

This isn’t gross sentimentality, or bandwagon jumping, or trend-led loony leftism: this is my truth. I don’t know anyone Bin Laden, Saddam, or Hitler killed. But the 1980’s were a climate of destruction that I lived in.

 

I hold Thatcher responsible.

 

Not because I want to gift her with the inaccurate and frankly insulting characteristics being afforded by the media. The truth is she didn’t hold on to her principles, she regularly back peddled. She didn’t stay true to herself, she spent years receiving elocution lessons. She wasn’t autonomous; she had teams of Machiavellian, barbaric, chinless advisors. She was an out and out failure as a parent, raising a vile criminal and celebrity kangaroo cock eater. She wasn’t anything approaching a feminist, as a transparent manpleaser (like all Tory women, engaged in a branch of politics that actively serve to undermine them, just like Dorries, Mensch etc) the purpose of her life was to please and accommodate men, she was regularly described as a flirt and she surrounded herself with male advisors, only acknowledging her own gender when it was personally rewarding.

 

Thatcher must be held responsible not because of anything she was as a person. She was insubstantial, pathetic and fundamentally deeply self loathing – how else does one distance themselves from their working class roots and subjugated gender, than by surrounding themselves by rich men and establishing laws that only serve to protect only them?

 

Thatcher is just a token; she is just a figurehead for evilness. But she is a figurehead nonetheless.

 

And to those who say speaking ill of the dead is undignified, we have to look at the dignity of a woman who died in much the same way as she lived, having spent the last four months in a luxury hotel: lavishly, obscenely and offensively out of touch with the rest of the UK.

 

As for the pomposity of her funeral, let’s take comfort in the fact that the grander the occasion, the bigger the party. Fuck dignity.

 

We should not be silenced at her death, in the way we were silenced throughout her life. We don’t just have a right to celebrate, we have a duty.

Krissychula for Queen (Adventures in YouTube – Part Two)

Around Christmas I was introduced to the person I could happily spend the rest of my life with.

However, there are a few obstacles standing in my way:

1. She doesn’t have a dick, and neither do I. We’re both straight and fans of the D. But you know, sex isn’t everything.
2. I scare her. OK, so I kind of hunted her down on Twitter and made all my friends follow her and proclaim my love to her daily. I did her an audioboo, now I’m writing her a blog and I’m only three days off finishing my album dedicated to her eyes. But there’s an ocean between us.
3. Everyone else loves her. All kinds of rivals for her affection have made all sorts of blogs and YouTube videos and tumblrs about how fucking great she is, describing her as their “spirit animal” and icon. Fuck you guys; she’s MY spirit animal!
4. I’m late to the game. Everyone has known about this woman for centuries. I’m pretty sure, she’s the real guiding light of Joan of Arc. I am late to this party, because I am old and technology scares me, I should not be penalised for that.
5. She is far away. I’m confident that this is her sole source of comfort, but it makes me sad. She is too good for America, which you know, could be said about millions of people but with her it’s especially true. I want to ship her out with Robert De Niro, DJ Prince “marry me already” Paul and Hershey’s Nutrageous bars (they’re proper nice, trust me).

But this is not about me. Despite my fantasies of us as roommates forever, in a glorious Jack Lemon and Walter Matthau scenario, my heroine is more than capable of speaking for herself:

Her politics:

Her wit:

Can someone please explain to me why she is not already Queen of the World? Genuine question.

There are too many videos for me to upload. Follow her YouTube and Tumblr: krissychula, or follow her on twitter at @latinfirekrzy1. And prepare to switch religion/ start believing.

Oh how I love thee, Krissychula. Oh, how I love thee.

Defensiveness and The Art of Being a Dickhead

I’m white. Not much of a bombshell, granted. I’m fairly confident none of you dropped your brew in shock. I’m just letting you know that I know a little bit about defensiveness.

 

I’ve always been interested in “black culture” – who wouldn’t be? The media tried to make me feel shit about it as a teenager, using words like “w**gger” to deter/ insult white kids attracted to the music/ language/ fashion of young black people, but they were largely unsuccessful where I’m concerned.

 

Black sub-cultural production is so infinitely superior to white, that any kid with any degree of taste couldn’t help but be completely drawn to it. But there are political connotations when you confront much of those sub-cultures, because they are derived from historical and contemporary politics.

 

You start to see that black people are and have been poignantly subjugated. Murdered. Enslaved. Abused. Violated. Treated with venom and contempt at work, at home, in hospitals, by the police, government, policy, education… It continues. We are not in a post-racist age. We’re living it. And no amount of me listening to Hip Hop changes the fact that as a white person, I belong to the race of people responsible.

 

Nobody wants to think of themselves as part of the problem. Particularly as it pertains to a group of people they particular like or admire.

 

This is why white people -such as myself -make fucking stupid statements about “using the race card” or “not blaming all white people for what some white people” do. This thing of, “Well, I’ve never enslaved anyone”, “I never treat anyone differently” bullshit. Or even worse, the classic reverse racism bollocks… the horrible, closed-minded, cowardly, reactionary, fascist arsehole UKIP/ BNP agenda scaring people into thinking that if they don’t “do anything” they’re going to somehow be marginalised on the grounds of race, despite whites maintaining a frightening socio economic advantage that is impenetrable. There is simply no basis for racism against whites. It doesn’t measure against statistics or societal truths.

 

But I know what the instinct is.

 

The instinct is to say… “The facts about racism show clear and definitive oppression of black people by white people, but not me. I’m different. I love black people.”

 

The instinct is to not want to align with oppressors.

 

Which is how I get why some men might feel so moved about International Women’s Day or feminism or the recent 1 Billion Rising Campaign, that they choose to write ignorant comments all over the fucking internet.

 

I am not for one second trying to suggest that the Women’s Movement is identical to Anti-Racism and the Black Struggle. I’m just saying that I understand what it is to be defensive when you belong to the oppressive group, and you’d rather not.

 

But it is only when we recognise that those clear oppressive struggles do exist, that whilst men are victims of domestic violence, that women are overwhelmingly more so, that rape is overwhelmingly committed by men, that there is the capacity for change. To do women the courtesy of respecting our anger is to change things.

 

I’m sick of having discussions with people who I actually quite like, but who seem to want to instigate a conversation about gender and “reverse sexism” provoking me into anger and then kind of getting a kick from that anger. Like the anger is unwarranted or unjustified.

 

Anger – irrational anger – is something levelled at all feminists. Which is especially silly given that wars and thuggery are an overwhelmingly male pursuit.

 

If someone kicks you in the crotch and then seeks to ridicule your aggressive response to it, it’s almost doubly oppressive. Because you’re pissed off you’ve been kicked and then you’re pissed off that you can’t be angry about it.

 

Well, fuck you. I am angry. I’m incredibly kind, optimistic, occasionally witty and a fucking phenomenal mother… but when it comes to the hugely unjust position of women in the world, I’d have to be especially thick not to be angry.

 

The good news about accepting that you belong to the oppressive group is that you can spread the word, that you can accept that patriarchy exists and get angry about it with us. Or continue the old “I’m not a rapist…” balls that only serves to keep us entrenched in the shit.

 

Happy International Women’s Day

Ass and Titties

When one identifies oneself (I never call myself ‘one’, I’m Manc. This has started badly…) as a feminist, outside a circle of enlightened people, one (there it is again. Who am I?) invariably encounters an unfavourable reaction – ranging from irritation to hostility. The only reason for this is that those people are so firmly entrenched within patriarchy that they are unable to escape its clutches. You can try to argue otherwise. Perhaps referring to a couple of feminists you know who once mugged your Aunty Pat, and now it’s put you off feminists for life, but really it’s because you’re trapped in the misogynistic agenda.

 

I couldn’t give two frilly frigs about those people.

 

I mean, I’ll have a crack at establishing the irrefutable tragedy of patriarchy and the profoundly obvious objection one (ah, fuck it) may have to it, as part of the subjugated half of the planet, but I won’t labour my point with dickheads. You can take a dickhead to factual accuracies, but you cannot make it think.

 

In my day-to-day life, from a very young age, I have identified as feminist. I have no qualms with the word feminist, and I can only imagine that those women that do, are more familiar with prevalent misogynist conceptions of feminism that serve to reduce us to… God, I can’t even be arsed outlining offensive feminist stereotypes.

 

In the whole time I’ve been on Twitter, whilst there have been some women who have behaved unsisterly, I have only ever encountered a couple of women who hated feminists – and you know if someone belonging to an oppressed group expresses anything other than resolute support for changing the conditions for herself, then they deserve our deepest sympathy.

 

It’s a bit like:

 

“Hey, you’re earning 40% less than your colleague, because you were both born with different genitals*. Come and join us in saying that isn’t fair.”

“No, dickheads. You losers do it on your own. Leave me out of this hippy shit.”

 

 

Despite identifying as a feminist, I don’t use social networking or the Internet much for political activism. I prefer my activism to be more of a 3D affair, and I worry about the muddying and disbanded nature of feminism online. I obviously don’t stop being a feminist, and my opinions are informed by my position as a woman and feminist, so I will occasionally feel moved to comment or rant about something. But generally, I don’t use it for politics. I use social networking and blogging for my voice, which is many things, as well as being engaged in the Women’s Movement.

 

That being said, I love and fully support my fellow feminists who choose to only/ mostly use the Internet for politics. I’m working class – aren’t all these trendy feministas? So there are certain branches of feminism that I feel are a bit middle class and, therefore I can’t fully support my sisters on certain issues.

 

Which leads us to this whole argument about Intersectionality, which has raised its head recently. A black feminist agenda is clearly going to be markedly different to a white feminist agenda in ways, because there are conflicting areas of oppression. It’s actually been going on for years, this plurality issue. I don’t feel a kinship with certain elements of the feminist agenda who are posh. On one level, we’re all women committed to an end to patriarchy. On the other, we are of course conflicted. I can’t speak for black women. I can’t speak for disabled women. Any attempt to subdue women and make them hold hands and go along with what a few feminist leaders (predominantly white, predominantly posh – no matter what they say) say for the “good of the cause” is only further oppression.

 

I have kept quiet about that issue, because to me it seems obvious. In addition; there have been a great many minor disputes among feminists on Twitter and in the media, that I have chosen not to engage in. I don’t do it online if I can help it, particularly on Twitter. It’s not for me. Which is not to undermine those women that do it, and do it wonderfully. Nor is it because I lack the intellectual capabilities or bravery. I choose my battles, and for me – after a few harsh lessons – Twitter is not the place to engage in meaningful dialogue with pricks. I like to have a laugh and share my opinions – some of which are feminist. I never allow anyone to debate with me politically anymore if they are unworthy – I block them. I refuse to allow them a voice, whilst they are anonymous to me, unless that voice is wholly respectful (they don’t have to agree with me). That is not me being silenced. That is me silencing them. Because I’m fucking great to engage with, so… unlucky.

 

That being said, I feel I have to make a point about the recent Valentine’s Day 1 Billion Rising: a global campaign, in which women around the world were objecting to 1 in 3 women being raped or beaten at some point in their lifetime.

 

This is one of the things I felt strongly enough about to use social networking for. I also felt that it was worth inflaming people for.

 

I received a tweeted conversation from a follower who responded to the 1 in 3 women on the planet being raped or beaten in their lifetime statistic by effectively saying he lived in Glasgow had just done a straw poll around the office and the women there felt it wasn’t true.

 

Someone who follows me. The fucking shame of it.

 

A)   The scale of domestic violence, rape and sexual abuse in this country is absolutely catastrophic. Of the women I know, it’s probably not far off this when you consider a whole lifetime. However:

B)   It’s a statistic for the planet. Including those countries, such as the Democratic Republic of Congo (see my beautiful friend @judeinlondon for the statistics of atrocities there), where rape is inflicted even on babies and grandmothers, as part of warfare. I actually think the 1 in 3 is a conservative estimate.

C)   What could possibly provoke a man into arguing with UN statistics about rape and violence against women, anyway? Let’s say it’s only 4 million (which it isn’t) – isn’t that 4 million too many? What provoked him to go… “Well, look… that ain’t right?” Is it because he thinks it’s sexist? Presumably this youth does not rape or beat women, therefore it’s not a statistic that serves to attack all men. I just do not understand. Of all the statistics you’re going to dispute, why one that’s not about you in any way and to which you have no evidence that it’s an untruth?

 

He wasn’t the only one to tweet questioning the statistic. He was one of three, but the other two don’t follow me. All men though.

 

So like I said, I don’t use twitter for politics – at least not primarily, although I am a political animal – but I just felt compelled to respond to these dicks.

 

One final point is the idea – and I’ve heard a few bells band it around – that sexism is in any way connected to misogyny. Sexism is not weighted by the same ideological complexity as misogyny. When the women in the pub say the lad on his own has got a nice arse and he feels ganged up on, he can rest assured that – whilst he perhaps feels uncomfortable – it does not carry with it the same sexually violent threat that would be the case if the genders were reversed, as displayed by today’s sexual crime statistics and centuries of historical sexual treatment, of women by men. So fear not, sweet buns.

 

 

 

 

 

*Aside, of course, from Trans women.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emperor’s New Clothes

There is a curious variety of person, to whom it seems imperative to be seen to be intellectually superior to others. They ingest small fragments of academia and then bandy around this limited knowledge in a bid to flutter their peacock wings in front of other – often similarly motivated – people.

Russell Brand is one of those people. A smattering of ill-placed trivia where they will compare, for example, the sex life of Napoleon with that of some modern day figure in the hope that a) they won’t be pressed further and b) other people accept this crude reference as evidence of genius. Brand might, for example, liken his sacking from Radio 2 in “Manuelgate” to the McCarthy witch-hunts, or Communist Russia, or worse. I’ve heard him –wrongly – reference Russian authors, ancient religious practice and early art movements and the reciprocal laughter from his similarly cerebrally ambitious demographic.

But it’s ok. We’re all products of various constituent elements and no-one’s being harmed by these parading ball-sacks. Perhaps there are some who would say that writing a blog is a form of showboating. These same people may feel that I lack the intellect, or insight, to contribute prose with any meaning, and they very well may be right*.

In fact, Ricky Gervais might be one of the aforementioned doubters. As he is certainly one of the aforementioned show boaters. Writing disparagingly about religion in print and on social networking sites. His is a sanctimonious and occasionally aggressive stance and represents the very worst elements of Atheism. Which I say as an Atheist.

Like anti-abortionists (I don’t use the pro-life label, as it’s fucking absurd), some Atheists are ridiculously confrontational in their assertions:

“Religion is absolutely indisputably unprovable. It is a fairytale and, despite everyone you love adhering to it, anyone who believes it is a FUCKING IDIOT, RIGHT? IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT LOVE… LOOK AT ALL THE WARS RELIGION HAS CAUSED – YOU ABSOLUTE TWATTT!!”

No Ricky, no.

Marx espousing his famous “[Religion as]… the opiate of the masses” was not just that one small statement. He elaborated. Marx knew that religion was providing the poor with a focus that should have been wielded at their oppressors, but he also knew it provided some satiation… some hope… some beauty.

Many religious people today– globally – are very poor. When you mock the generations of tradition and values for great swathes of poor people, you only serve to exacerbate the social and economic tensions between us. In Italy, for example, the very poorest are religious before they are educated and that education is of a lower standard than other parts of Europe and entrenched with religious dogma. It’s not the social norm for most people to have a decent free education and then reach a point where they can make decisions about the authenticity of theology. That is not to say there aren’t poor people who are Atheist, or that there aren’t rich, well-educated, religious people. What I am suggesting is that discrediting the value system of others, many of whom are sustained by religion through poverty, is cruel.

It’s this same cruelty and mentality of a perceived higher consciousness and intellectual superiority that has allowed for the abomination that is Derek, to be commissioned. Actually, not commissioned, no. It’s been commissioned because Gervais has a strong comedic pedigree and Channel 4 want some of that hot action. They should be fucking ashamed of themselves.

I wrote about Derek in April of last year after the pilot came out. You can find it here:

http://wp.me/p26B1u-M

I hated the pilot, and I hated the first episode, which I watched to see if it had been modified for public consumption in any way. It hadn’t.

I hate it, not because I don’t think disability is off limits for a sitcom. It is absolutely imperative that there are disabled characters and creatives at every level of cultural production. And there is no reason why disabled characters can’t be the targets of a joke either.

The idea that people who don’t like Derek are suffering from an inverse prejudice, or a liberal inability to accept the progressiveness of humor in autism is wrong. I like the way Gervais tries to explain his position to the rest of us thickos like we don’t have the capacity for accepting something so progressive and edgy.

He thinks he’s George Carlin, Bill Hicks or Lenny Bruce. “I’m pushing the fucking envelope, here…!” thinks Gervais as he sanctimoniously wafts his hand as if to dismiss the protesters. “Hey guys, if you don’t want to join me on my journey; get out the fucking space rocket of magical creativity…” Gervais seems to utter with his every arrogant huff of his slightly-less-fat-since-he-moved-to-Hollywood chest.

I don’t know what Ricky Gervais has been doing in the last couple of years, other than somehow managing to garner the support of a tiny minority of disabled rights activists. But he needs to take his head out of his arsehole.

It’s like The Emperor’s New Clothes… somehow somewhere around fifty media types have sat around various desks all afraid to tell Emperor Ricky his nut sack is showing.

I wrote much of what was wrong with Derek in my first blog on the subject, and I have no wish to repeat myself, but allow me to write a checklist:

1. Not funny. Never, ever funny. Not rare laughs, but no laughs.
2. Hideously melancholic piano score as soundtrack for entire programme.
3. Gross sentimentality in the form of stylized tableaux of Home Manager sitting up all night with animals, as aforementioned heinous track plays, as well as a round of applause from many elderly people in a room etc.
4. A repetitively underlined attempt to juxtapose a middle-aged, white, comedy actor pretending to have a learning disability by jutting his chin out and moving his eyes around, with him literally being referred to as- and I quote – “[The]…nicest man in the world” by another character.
5. In one particularly galling attempt to prove Derek haters they are on the wrong team, a Year 8 sociology project of writing a script in which a member of the council comes to inspect the home and calls Derek “handicapped” and suggests he needs testing, to be responded with a we’re-all-God’s-children style “What does it matter if I’m tested? Will it change anything?” Fuck you Gervais. Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining. You are not being subversive, simply by being offensive and then tempering it with the sort of sentimentality the even six-year-old attendees of a Hello Kitty themed birthday party would projectile vomit at.
6. There was a joke at the expense of a non-disabled benefit claimant, when asked which benefits he claimed, responded “All of them” with no regard, or sensitivity to the current political climate for disabled claimants.
7. Not funny. So not funny, needs repeating.

Hicks, Carlin and Bruce et al would die a SECOND DEATH before being associated with a project that was so transparently lackluster. It’s not just the bigotry. It’s not even just the fact that Gervais essentially does an offensive impression of someone with a disability for thirty minutes, and any attempt to suggest he’s not doing that is completely undermined when he goes on Twitter using words like mong and pulling more of the same faces. Those great comics spent years creating nihilistic, energetic, sometimes important bodies of work. They wouldn’t fuck it up with a “Derek is the nicest man in the world” style pitiful back-peddle to try and balance something you claim is progressive.

It’s horrible that this programme has been made. It’s awful that he wrote it, worse that they commissioned a pilot, and a really damning indictment of humanity that this has made it to series.

There are some really funny people in the world, some of whom are disabled, who could have made something genuinely subversive and interesting.

If you missed Derek (you lucky, lucky bastard) might I suggest you recreate the magic by watching The Black and White Minstrel Show on mute, while you play the motion picture soundtrack to The Piano?

* They’re not.