I JUST HAD ANOTHER HEART ATTACK

Getting the facts from News television is like getting information from an excitable six year old. Everything has a heightened sense of urgency when you tune in, no matter how inconsequential. It's all live, it's NOW, it's important.

They've got a reporter on the street, at the scene of whatever it was that happened before you switched on, and he's breathless, he's looking over his shoulder all the time, afraid he'll miss a new development. Things are moving quick - the guy in the studio doesn't know what he's asking, he just knows it's 24 hour news, it's urgent, and it is vitally important.

"A man here dropped his wallet earlier today, on this very street I'm standing on now. You can see the street behind me."

"And when exactly did this happen, do we know?"

"It was - literally - 30 minutes ago."

"And what do we know about the man in question?"

"Details are sketchy at this stage, but I've spoken to some of the local residents here who say they saw him, he was male, and he was wearing clothing."

"And what about the wallet?"

"We've had unconfirmed reports that it contained almost £30 sterling."

No matter what the subject is, no matter how long it's been dragging on, how much time has passed since the actual occurrence, it's all still delivered in that frantic manner. Yesterday's sports results are urgent on the 24 hour rolling news station. Tomorrow's weather is a crisis on news TV.

But, in case we didn't know how urgent it all is, they like to add that "Live" caption wherever they can, maybe a rotating "Breaking news" sign, and the constant stream of banner headlines across the bottom. Just like that six year old explaining a fight to his teacher - it's all pow, wham, so much happening, words can't come out fast enough.

THE Hr = $ EQUATION

They say time is money, but, if that's true, why can't you pay for stuff at the supermarket with hours? "It's okay, I slept through these - you can have them, I didn't really use them." If you're just buying a small item, like a packet of gum from the display by the till, you could hand over a few seconds, maybe a minute.

When the landlord calls "Time, gentlemen" it would be the point of the evening where you settled the bill. "You had three pints of beer and a glass of wine at this table. That's four hours, fifteen, please."

It strikes me that medical science is discovering ways to make people live longer with every generation. That's kind of like having one of those unsecured loans you see advertised on TV. You're spending time you haven't really earned yet and, chances are, you’re going to struggle keeping up the repayments. You'll turn round one day to find that you have the physique of an 18 year old but you're too senile to remember your own name.

And when you finally die, and you're standing before Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates, begging for just one more day on Earth to get your affairs in order - I guess that's when you find out whether your credit's any good.

THE CELEBRITY EDUCATION

The honorary degree is a great big slap in the face for a celebrity, isn't it? Pretty much, what that university is saying is "We really like your work as an actor but, let's face it, you're not really doctor material, are you?"

How do they decide these things? Do all the professors sit around a table naming stupid boxers, dimwit actresses and moronic game show hosts until they settle on one who fits the criteria of being both someone that they all like and someone who is clearly not smart enough to get a degree through their own efforts?

I guess that the honorary degree holder is given a certificate, too. What do they write on that? "We have all agreed that there is no chance whatsoever of you actually earning a degree through your intelligence. Signed, the Faculty Staff. PS - no, really - even if you copied from a smart kid you would have to fluke your finals to stand even the slightest chance of getting a Third. And we honestly don't see that happening."

Do honorary degrees have a grade on them? I mean, is it like "We're giving you a degree, but you're not getting a distinction." And why do some people get the doctorate, while others only get the basic Bachelor of Arts or Science? What is the hierarchy there? You're giving a doctorate in nuclear physics to a retired wrestler, but you think the actor would find more use for a BSc in Civil Engineering?

Can you put the honorary degree on your CV? Is this considered to be one of your educational qualifications? There doesn't seem to be much use for it otherwise. It's not like if the pilot keels over on your aircraft there's a celebrity rushing through from first class shouting "Out of my way, I have an honorary medical degree from Trent. This man isn't going to die today."

THIS NEXT ONE'S VERY FUNNY, LET ME ASSURE YOU

Do the TV continuity announcers think they're contributing to the comedy programmes with their announcements? You know the ones I mean - "Coming up now, heh-heh-heh, I'm laughing already... it's the new series of My Family's Office."

Or they painfully do the catchphrase... "Hilarity for the next 30 minutes here, and I will watch this with both eyes open."

This is, I think, unique to television. When you go to the cinema and the certificate from the board of censors comes up before the film starts, they've not put there "Certificate 12, and may the Force be with... YOU!" Book publishers don't add a little "Hah-hah-hah, chapter ten's got a twist you won't see coming" on the title page. But the continuity announcers seem to think that their "I watch this, too" delivery can add something to the viewing experience.

Just run the show already. If you want to make "helpful" observations about what's about to happen, the announcer job you are looking for is at the train station, I think you'll find.

WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A TESSERACT, ANYWAY?

Why does Doctor Who need all that room inside his TARDIS? What is he doing in there?

Every time you watch Doctor Who he's always out of the TARDIS, walking around, fighting Zygons and Sontarans and the like in Victorian London or Moonbase Zeta One or somewhere. Does he really need all that space to come back to when he's done? Because he's not using it for anything. The only bit of the TARDIS he ever really uses seems to be the console room. Sure, there was probably an episode in 1974 where he got a shirt out of the next room or something but, for the most part, it's dead space.

And why doesn't he get some chairs in there somewhere? What is with all the standing? The TARDIS must be the only vehicle that hasn’t been designed around a seat for the pilot or driver. And he's a seasoned time traveller - it's not like he can’t have noticed how other people are travelling in cars and stuff - sitting down.

Maybe all the chairs are in the back room of the TARDIS. I figure that he's storing loads of wind-up daleks in the back, too. When things get quiet, when he lands on a dull planet where nothing's happening, he sneakily opens the back door and lets them invade, just to give him and his companion something to do.

"Oh no, Doctor - it's the daleks."

"Well, that's an absolute, 100 percent surprise to me, let me assure you. I could not be more astounded that there are daleks on the loose here. It's like I am cursed to always meet with daleks."

HERE'S MY PARADE

The TV presenters have absolutely no confidence in actually telling us when they're forecasting rain. They seem to think that we can’t handle the idea of rain, that the concept is somehow too horrific for the human mind to truly contemplate in its entirety.

They couch it in those "it's okay really" kind of terms. It's a slight chance, a hint, the possibility of. There's no chance of them just blurting it out, no - they do it like when the doctor has bad news for you. "I'm afraid we're going to have to amputate that arm that's been causing all the aggravation, Mister Klown... and there's a slight chance of rain in the afternoon." It's all in the same, sympathetic, "I understand, I really do", kind of voice.

Weathergirls are especially down on rain. When they forecast rain they try to distance themselves from it with a "And 'groan' there may be a slight hint of rain in the afternoon, but it will go away." What they're really trying to say is: "hey - it's not my fault. Don't blame me. I'll do a nice forecast tomorrow, I promise. 'smile'"

Scattered showers are very important to the weatherman. Not just showers - they feel the need to specify that these will be scattered showers. Can we just be treated like adults for a moment? When it rains here, are we supposed to believe that it's also raining everywhere else in the world unless they put that "scattered" caveat on the report?

I'd like to see more weather people with the courage of their convictions. "Look, today it's going to rain. You'll need an umbrella. And, even then, you're still going to get soaked." And I don't want any shilly-shallying, no "it'll be good for the garden", no "this is what the reservoirs need". Just come out and tell me it is going to rain and there's not a single thing I can do about it.

Really, I can take it.

THE CINEMA FALSE ECONOMY

Do the cinema ushers even talk to the ticket booth people?

The ticket booth people are very precise in their dealings, have you noticed this? They like to ask where you'd prefer to sit. Sometimes they have the little map and they take elaborate pains to show you just where the screen is. That's the map that bears no relation to the auditorium itself, of course. If you actually sat where they pointed out you'd be facing a wall in a room behind the projectionist's booth.

I'm not sure why they ask where you'd prefer to sit. Doesn't everyone ask for "somewhere in the middle"? Are there a lot of people with eye patches asking to go on the left of the seating arrangements in cinemas?

Some people really pour over that map, like they're working out the seating arrangements on the last shuttle from a dying planet. The screen is that far wall there, and all the seats face it - you don't need any more than ten seconds to make this decision, people.

But, when you get to the screen, the usher rips your ticket, points their torch vaguely up the little run of steps to the auditorium, and states "You can sit anywhere" in a disinterested voice. However much work the ticket booth person put in all goes to waste.

I think it would be nice to get these two groups of people speaking. Who knows? Maybe they'd get along and the cinema world would be a better place.

THE THREE MINUTE COMMERCIAL BREAK OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY

Those public service adverts are a waste of everyone's time, I think.

You can show me the dangers of smoking, tell me how wrong it is to drink and drive, graphically display what happens if I sit out in the sun too long. And you can do all of these things for my own good. But, if you do it within the three minute commercial break you have zero chance of making me take any notice.

Because, during those three minutes I am in "advert mode" - my defences are up, the portcullis is down, nothing is coming over the wall and anything that crosses the moat is going to get a face full of boiling acid.

If it says "new and improved" I know it means more expensive and doesn't clean my bath like the old spray.

If it says "now tastes better than ever" I know it tastes like road tar.

If it says "no one beats us on price" it means they're the only shop that stocks it.

"Can't buy cheaper"? I can.

"We listened to our customers"? They didn't.

"Best value guaranteed"? Only available in industrial sized portion.

If I see only one movie this year it won't be yours. If I don't know what driving is until I've been in your car I'm happy to stay blissfully ignorant. If you can't believe it's not butter I flatly deny your belief system and all that it represents.

In short, whatever it is you're selling - I'm not buying.

So, putting out the message that drink driving is wrong when I'm in that frame of mind... what do you expect to happen, huh? Rocket scientists and brain surgeons need not reply.

THE WORKING GIRL DILEMMA

Just what is Barbie's tax situation? I mean, she's holding down all those jobs - she's a vet, a rock star, an air hostess, a catwalk model, a nurse and a doctor. Sometimes, Barbie's work takes her even further afield - you turn around and she's a racing car engineer or a show jumper or one of the Scooby-Doo gang.

It's no wonder she needs all those clothes.

It's Ken I feel sorry for. When does Barbie ever find time for him? "Sorry, dear, I can’t make it this week - I'm doing some substitute teaching work at Harry Potter's school tomorrow, and then it's off to Middle Earth to fight dragons on Wednesday and, well, the dental surgery doesn't just run itself, you know."

What we really need is an Accountant Barbie. That's the doll they never release to the toy market. Thrill as Barbie completes her tax returns.

I guess Accountant Barbie would come equipped with a copy of her resume for potential employers. This has to be, what, 300 pages? And that's just for the last year.

By contrast, Action Man has it pretty easy. He's a soldier - all he ever worries about is if he'll need that rubber diving gear that's so hard to get over his splayed hands or whether his tracker dog needs a drink from that funny little canteen he carries. The fact he carries around the little canteen in the first place is probably the reason Action Man isn't as career minded as Barbie. If Barbie carried around a little canteen she'd be spending a lot more time in her caravan home, probably playing Connie Francis records and eating ravioli straight from the tin.

IDENTITY THEFT

In the news this week, a man got jailed for fraud after selling an allegedly signed footballer's shirt on eBay. It seems that the enterprising fraudster had knocked up a certificate of authenticity on his home computer as a way of convincing his bidding, innocent victims.

To me, this highlights the major problem with purchasing celebrity memorabilia. Because, what is the certificate of authenticity anyway? What does it actually mean? What is its currency in the marketplace?

All it really is is a sheet of paper from someone you've never met telling you that, in their opinion, this isn't a fake signature. There's usually the scrawled signature of the certifier on there, often next to some foil stamp or hologram sticker that they might have pulled out of a cereal box for all you know. Who is the person signing the certificate of authenticity? It could be that wino who hangs round under the railway bridge shouting at passing cars. How would you know?

What we need here is a certificate of authenticity for the certificate of authenticity. Before you know it, there could be a secondary market in the sale of the certificates of authenticity.

"Hey, this one's signed by Frank M. Jones... It's a doozy, worth a small fortune, kid."

"Aw, all I've got is a certificate of authenticity for a Harrison Ford signature signed by Ben Murphy."

"Ben Murphy, the wino? Hah-hah-hah - they sure saw you coming, kiddo!"

"You laugh now, but this hologram proves it's real - see!"

"That's the Honey Monster, kid."

THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

This week marks the end of a British television tradition as Top of the Pops shuffles off BBC-1 like an old horse being put out to pasture. But they are not being kind enough to actually put the thing out of its misery, oh no. Instead of a mercy killing, Top of the Pops heads for BBC-2 in a "revamp" that incorporates the worst of all worlds.

It was barely a year ago that Top of the Pops had a high profile "revamp for the 21st century" under the guidance of incoming producer Andi Peters (who allegedly earned a cool million for his "finger on the pulse" efforts). Such was the power of his revamp that it even got that all-important phrase "All new" stuck onto the title for a handful of episodes.

The basic trouble here is, by all accounts, that the television audience no longer exists for pop music. This is why MTV was such a flash in the pan that only people of a certain age can remember, I guess.

On the day the music died we can safely assume that Andi Peters was brought in for questioning.

THE NAME AND SHAME

I cannot believe that anyone is actually called Lois. I just can't. I hear Lois, I think Lane.

Lois Lane is the only famous Lois. No other Lois ever made so much as a mark on the history of mankind. If you call your daughter Lois, you're pretty well admitting that you've given up on her before you've even started. Unless she becomes a reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper AND tracks down the world's first superhero, that kid is never going to amount to anything.

Which isn't to imply that I don't like the name Lois. In fact, I think Lois is a lovely name. I'd be only too pleased to see more people being called Lois. There are many worse names than Lois, I can assure you...

One of the original artists who drew Superman and Lois Lane in the 1940s was called Wayne Boring. Yes, his surname really was Boring. Now, I don't know how interesting this guy was, but he surely had the cards stacked against him from the get-go.

But that's not the worst name...

Who calls their child Sinbad? That's a tough name to give a kid. It's a name made up of "Sin" and "Bad". It's an open invitation to see that kid go off the rails at a really young age. You call your kid Sinbad - he's committing murder by the time he's reached school age.

THE FLIGHT OF FANCY

Just how angry is the "cheap flights" guy, do you reckon?

When he started out he had it all. Register the "cheapflights.com" internet address, set up some low cost flights and, whoosh, he was in business. If you were looking for a cheap flight off the internet it was pretty clear where you needed to look.

Then along came cheaperflights.com. Cheaperflights cater for people for whom cheap isn't good enough. "I don't want to save some money. I want to save lots of money. Stop messing around on cheapflights.com and get straight over to cheaper..."

But the joke sure was on cheaperflights when cheapestflights.com set up shop. I mean, what's better than cheapest? There's nothing more inexpensive than cheapest. Stands to reason. If there was some word that covered "even cheaper than the absolute, rock bottom cheapest" someone would be bolting it to the word "flights" and registering it as a dot com today.

What's left after that? freeflights.com? wepayyoutotravelwithus.com?

I like to think that the cheap flights guy is like one of those old James Bond villains. His plans have been scuppered for now, but, trust me, he'll be back with a cat on his lap and a monocle in his eye before you can catch your plane.

MORE OLYMPIC FUN AND GAMES

What is this obsession with the beach volleyball? Volleyball, I get. People volley, there's a ball. But does there have to be a beach now?

Apparently, the 2012 London Olympics plan to have the beach volleyball played on Horseguard's Parade. So, what - they're going to move the ocean all the way to the centre of London for this now? Because, I'm sorry, just having some sand there doesn't really count as beach volleyball. That's just "on some sand volleyball". The only way to have beach volleyball is to have a beach.

Do you think that maybe London secured the 2012 Olympics on the basis that an organised company appeared to be behind the whole bid? The Olympic Committee were looking at the bids and they saw, y'know, New York... City of, sure, whatever. Moscow, great, Russian, yada-yada. But London - London had that "Sebastian Co." organising the whole thing. That had to be worth trying. Of course, they almost went with Paris, but realised that she'd had enough media exposure.

THE LONDON OLYMPICS, 2012

The "Back the Bid" campaign to get the Olympic Games to London must have been successful. Those advertisement posters of a show jumper leaping their horse over Buckingham Palace, a hurdler negotiating over Tower Bridge and someone doing a high jump over the London Eye were very eye-catching.

How disappointed are the Olympic committee going to be when they find out that London is not, in fact, a model village, and that these posters were not to scale? Because, I think that's why London secured the Games for 2012. Who doesn't want to see athletes jumping over weenie, tiny buildings? The tiny M25 ring road utilised as a velodrome?

On that scale, of course, the Marathon route would take in most of Scotland. If nothing else, that would lead to some interesting race commentary...

"And the leaders are coming around the Outer Hebrides now, while, just behind the pack, Paula Radcliffe has just passed Cornwall. Yes, it's anyone's race, right now."

CLOTHES MAKE THE SUPERMAN

The most powerful member of the Justice League is their tailor. Because, without the costume, a superhero is really just an annoying guy who keeps butting in while everyone else is minding their own business.

Superman can punch through as many walls as he wants, if he turns up to save the world in jeans and a sports jacket, leather patches on the elbows, you'd have a lot of trouble taking him seriously. If Batman arrived wearing a cardigan from time to time, Commissioner Gordon would probably rely on the Bat Signal a lot less.

Where are they getting these outfits, anyway? The Kape-E-Mart? "Sale on capes!" "Tights - half price!" It would be weird working there, wouldn't it? Most frequently asked question of the sales assistant would be something like "Do you have this in Extra Invulnerable?"

DO YOU TAKE THIS KLOWN...?

Forget the suits, the hats, the specially selected gifts - it seems to me that the most important thing to bring to the wedding ceremony is the relentless cough.

Every wedding I've been to, without exception, has had someone in the audience with a nasty cough. Not a slight, "a-huh-huh" kind of thing that you can ignore - no, this is the full on, "I may die at any moment, here come my lungs right now" kind of coughing that really makes people look round. The vicar is midway through the vows, "Do you... yada-yada, take this man..." and old Uncle Barry back there is giving his all in a fine rendition of an unseasonable summer cold.

I attended a wedding a few years back while suffering from a stomach bug and I got no sympathy at all. None. Zilch. No one wants the stomach bug at the wedding. The coughing guy - he was popular, people couldn't get enough of him. He was at the church, the reception, the free bar, honking his way through a dry, rasping cough no matter whose speech it interrupted. My "I'd better not eat too much rich food at the reception" was deemed as contributing nothing compared to the guy sharing his bronchial pneumonia with all and sundry.

But, some people don't feel happy developing a cough for these occasions - I'm one myself - so if you're one of them, can I suggest the other popular option: the ceaselessly crying baby. There's always one of those at the back of the church during the service. It's an especially popular choice, I've noticed, if you're in a church where the acoustics are quite echoy. That really lets everyone know that that baby is out of control, doesn't it?

I always enjoy that little bit of audience participation in the wedding vows...

"If anyone here today has any objection to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace."

- because, as I understand it, forever is a long time. If you're holding your peace, you can't just hold it for the ceremony then blurt it out to perfect strangers you meet at the reception. It's really an all-or-nothing kind of deal there. Some people don't seem to appreciate that. They'll knock the marriage before the couple have even signed the register, and you'll see them in the bar later on explaining how "they're just not right for each other." They spend the rest of their lives waiting for these people to get divorced so they can be proven right. These are the people who won't give peace a chance.

THE LITTLE SEATS

If you think about it, fish is a strange meal to have on an aircraft. Chicken, I get - it has wings, it's a bird - sure, chicken makes some weird kind of sense. There's logic there.

But fish? An aircraft is about as alien an environment as fish is likely to get. It's pretty strange for we humans, so the fish have got to be freaking out up there. It's probably the only time when a creature is actually grateful it's been killed to eat, because, I assure you, there is no way it would voluntarily be in that aircraft.

Does anyone know what the in-flight meal was on the Moon landings? Was it normal plane food, or was it, y'know, something special? I'd like to think that it was punny stuff, like moon dust and Mars bars, maybe a Milky Way, some Orbit chewing gum.

"Mister Armstrong, Mister Aldrin - here's your STAR-ter. D'you see what I did there? Star. It's air-leek soup. Hah-hah-hah. Nah, I'm just joshing you, guys."

"Yeah, sure. Just open up that crater beer over there and ease up on the jokes, garcon."