I’VE JUST listened to that Radio 2 programme on YouTube. Seemed the least one could do before having an opinion about the bad boy Brand and Ross saga.
It only got two complaints at the time. I am not surprised. It was ten minutes of bland bore, like listening to boys up the back of the bus, giggling over smutty jokes about ‘poo’. But then the tabloids got hold of it, and the rest, as they say, is history. Except all publicity is good publicity when you’re in show business, so no doubt it will do neither of the two ‘smuggettes’ much harm in the long term.
The main thing that got my goat was not that the adolescent ramblings of two ageing lotharios was paid for by taxpayers’ money, or that poor Andrew Sachs was ridiculed for being, well, Andrew Sachs, but that making fun of people who can’t defend themselves was seen as such good sport.
I have always hated ‘pranks’ and humour that plays on others vulnerability with spite and vindictiveness: too close to bullying for my taste
It’s fine to make fun of politicians and the powerful: those that are perfectly able to give out as good as they get. But to be frank, Andrew Sachs was hardly a worthy opponent for the sharp tongues of Ross and Russ, and, even if the lovely granddaughter, Georgina, was an exotic dancer, it didn’t mean she deserved to have her private life broadcast over the airwaves while people downed their morning cuppa.
Used to be the charm of British comedy to take the piss out of yourself, but these two remind you of those kids you used to know at school who were happiest when they made others unhappy. Those who kicked dogs on the way home, or would knock on old lady’s doors and then run away, or try hard to get their ink pellets up the French assistant’s legs.
Or, as I remember, when I was teaching in a tough inner city Manchester Comp, those lads who thought it a great laugh to give Clare, a trainee teacher’s, car flat tyres. It meant she couldn’t get to pick up her two-year-old up from playschool in time. She burst into tears. As they passed, the lads shouted, “Ooooh… Miss, can’t yer take a joke?” with a two-finger sign. It was only when they were suspended, when they were caught out, that they grudgingly gave her an apology. She never finished her training.
And that is the real point of the BBC debacle: it was a recorded programme. If anyone had been really sorry they could have pulled it. But like naughty kids they were only sorry when they were told off.
Perhaps some enterprising types will find the numbers of Ross’ and Russ’ mobile phones and leave them some mean messages about their families, – just for a laugh. But, somehow, I doubt our two comics would see the joke…
