I'm glad that it's not just me

Charlie Brooker:

Every time I look at Cameron, I'm reminded of video-game characters: not the loveable, spiky ones like Sonic or Mario, but the bland, generic dead-eyed avatars you can "create" for use in a tennis game or a tedious Tolkienesque adventure. You start with a bald clone, then add features drawn from a limited palette - eye colour, one of three noses, an optional goatee beard and so on - and invariably end up with an eerily characterless zombie straight out of the boardgame Guess Who?. Simulated choice, as opposed to genuine variety. It is easy to build a Cameron lookalike. Just simulate the smuggest estate agent you can think of. Or some interchangeable braying twit in a rugby shirt, ruining a local pub just by being there. Easy.

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I'm no fan of Cameron, in

I'm no fan of Cameron, in fact I can't stand the bloke. But Charlie Brooker's a an identikit pinko journo with an extra helping of snide.

Home rule for England

Toque's picture

Irrespective of his politics

Irrespective of his politics I think Brooker is brilliant. His scepticism (or downright cynicism) about politics is similar to my own and I really enjoy his style of writing. And some of his pieces on civil liberties are amongst the best political commentary on TV.

And he's equally scathing (and funny) about politicians on the left, his observation on bearing witness to Gordon Brown's premiership is one that I recognise.

Normally, to experience this sort of shared mutual shame, you would have to stumble unannounced into a room and unexpectedly catch someone doing something acutely embarrassing, such as masturbating or miming to Kaiser Chiefs in front of a mirror. Following 10 crushed eons of infinite silence, both parties would stare at the ground for a few moments, you'd mutter a dented apology about knocking first next time, inch your way backwards through the door as though quietly observing a religious ceremony, and spend the next half hour standing in the corridor cringing your skin inside out. From then on you'd share your painful-yet-private little circle of grief in silence, the pair of you implicitly understanding that The Incident Must Never Be Referred To Again.

That's what would happen on a personal level. This is different. This is national. We're all witnesses to The Incident. And I don't know about you, but I'm finding the tension unbearable. I can't wait for the general election - not because I want to see Prime Minister Wormface Cameron smugging his way into Downing Street, because I don't - but just because I don't think I can bear this mishap-strewn landscape a moment longer. It's like being trapped in a hot room filled with an overpowering fart smell, waiting for someone outside to come along and open the window.

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