Thursday, 7 January 2010

A Ross of faith

Hi, my name is Alan, and I ask you to lend me your ears. For I am a serious man. I am a man of gravitas and a veteran of broadcasting. People here at the Beeb know me as, well, let's just say, they know me as Alan. And of course, people here, they call me Alan. Indeed they do. And that is the name that I go by on a day to day basis. But you, the public, the licence-fee paying public, you can call me That guy whose contribution to broadcasting nobody really appreciates. And that is me. Alan... that guy. Now, leaving that aside, I have come here today to talk to you about a very, very serious issue indeed.

This, I will tell you now, is a very sad day for the BBC. A giant of broadcasting, a beacon of light entertainment, a veritable talk show genius has walked out through the hallowed doors of the Television Centre for the last time, never, never ever to return. He has climbed onto his camel and headed off into the wild blue yonder, or the yellow-brown desert perhaps. He will not turn his head to look back - no, not once. For he no longer cares. What is this man's name? His name is Jonathan.

That this Jonathan has tired of interviewing people on his vibrant, his magical talk show is indeed sad. But that it comes after a long campaign of hatred and vituperation waged by members of the public, by whingeing licence-fee payers and by members of the publishing - and I stress publishing - media is, for an old broadcasting trooper like myself frankly gutwrenching. Indeed, it is beyond reason. It is, in the words of Lord Reith, fucking crazy.

This Jonathan once made an error, a very minor error. This Jonathan, this humble genius, had the temerity to tell an old man that his best mate, someone cunningly, someone cleverly called Russell, had, as it were, fucked the old fellow's grand-daughter.

Now this grand-daughter was someone of, I might say, very little distinction, of dubious character - unlike myself, Jonathan and Russell. Yet the whingeing licence fee payer took exception to this so-called slur on that very grand-daughter's integrity and demanded that Russell and Jonathan be sacked. Now Russell went and Jonathan stayed, he limped on for a few months more.

But now, now he, Jonathan, has gone.

And I ask: Is this what Britain's long and noble history of championing free speech has lead to? Is this why the late, great Tom Paine was imprisoned? Is it? Just so that in the Twenty First Century - THE TWENTY FIRST CENTURY, NO LESS - a free and noble thinker called Jonathan Ross could be hounded out of the greatest television centre in the world?

I think not! I truly think not. And yet, here we are. Ross has gone. And he is not coming back.

So let me just finish by saying this: I hope, I really hope that the critics are happy now. But I hope much much more that they one day repent and realise that, just as it was for Socrates, just as it was for Galileo, and JUST as it was for the late, great Jade Goody, a giant, a blooming (literally) genius has this day departed, has this day been brought down by a stinking and rancid bunch of PIGMIES that you and I and fair Jonathan know as the 'licence fee payer'.

So, Sic transit Gloria Mundi. And I indeed am truly sick - SICK - about the passing of the glorious, adore-i-ous Mr Jonathan Ross.

And you Lord Reith, you the great guiding light, you are, I can safely say, right now, turning in your somewhat unfashionable, yet, I'm sure, sympathetic grave.


  1. Please... please. I cannot bear it any more. Please beg JR to come back. Pay him anything. He is worth it, just to get him back.

  2. I am an actorrrrrrr and not one accustomed to doing scenes of tragedy. But I, having perused Mr Yentob's funeral peroration am truly moved to tears.
    In fact my rusty old Sinclair Computer (for I am an old man and I possess nothing newer) is even rustier now after all those floods of tears did descend atop it.
    I like Russell would beg you to pay Mr Ross a hundred million from the public purses to entice him back.
    I will also wear sackcloth so as to prove how sorry I am that I didst offend him

  3. The Archbishop of Canterbury7 January 2010 at 21:25

    Never has such a grave slight been perpetrated upon such a genius and I pray to the Lord Justin, or is it Jesus that... erm... erm... Anyway, I pray for Russell Brand's swift recovery.

  4. Our children will look back upon this moment in history - in HIS STORY - and say unto their children and unto their children's children that where there is hope there is indeed the word 'hope' and where there is justice there is undoubtedly the word 'justice' and where there is the chance to breath a sigh of relief or of pain, then there is also the opportunity to express a word, yes a word people... and my mammy told me, she told me this. She my mammy said that if and only if the, the... erm, told me, that...
    Sorry, who died?

  5. Please, I cannot bear it. Please come back Russell

  6. St Margaret of Assisi7 January 2010 at 21:31

    Where there is hope let there be... Has anyone seen the whisky I poured earlier?

  7. I got so much money i fink i'm going to buy me a bwoadcasting corpowation.
    Then I can sack all vose stoopid people who don't like my bwilliant humah!