And Then The BBC….

The BBC, world renowned source of news, some say.  You see that headline on their Web site today?  ‘Man's body found floating in North Sea in Norfolk.’ Confused?  Was this poor body in the sea or somewhere in Norfolk?  Who writes these headlines?  Who proof-reads these headlines?  Am I being picky?  Considering what we’re obliged pay and what we get in return I’m of the opinion we can be picky.
{Note to self; cheque thiz post carfully.}

This leads to a very, very old BBC story. Way back before TV. Even before transistor radios.  To the time of big wireless sets with lots of valves and dials is what I’m talkin’ about.

This yarn relates to a little old spinster lady who had spent the morning doing a little light cleaning round the house, had baked some fancy cakes and  entertained her neighbour to elevenses.

Now, feeling replete after a light lunch, she prepared to the sitting room with a tray containing teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl and best cup and saucer to settle into her comfy straight-backed chair ready to enjoy the afternoon play on the BBC Home Service.

She turned on the wireless and, while the valves warmed up, poured a nice cup of tea.

The cup had barely reached her lips as the sound started to come through the wireless set.

Her teacup went crashing to the carpet  as the broadcasters words came over the airwaves.
“……..and tits like melons.”  Horrified,  mortified, and many other examples of words ending in ‘ied’, she grabbed for the ‘off’ knob, spilling her tea in the process, and brought blessed silence back to her sheltered life.

Some time later, after recovering from the vapours and, to the best of her ability, cleansing her sullied mind, she reached for pen and paper and composed a letter of strongest complaint and protest to her formally beloved BBC Home Service. 

In due course a reply arrived and our little old spinster lady sat, with glasses perched on the end of her nose, to read and digest this missive.

She didn’t skip a word of the usual corporate verbose preamble, which has changed little over the years, other than to get yet more verbose, until she eventually got to the grist of the letter which apologised, unreservedly, for any discomfort caused by the broadcast. 

However, the letter continued, it was most unfortunate she hadn’t turned her wireless set on just seconds earlier when she would’ve learned that the program which caused such discomfort actually related to wild birds in the garden and the words preceding those that she found offensive where, “Thrushes like worms……..”

Quote;  Douglas Adams.

“If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, we have at least to consider the possibility that we have a small aquatic bird of the family anatidae on our hands.”