Bard’s Oration 2006
“Coming to Terms with Reality”
Another year has come and gone and Cronies, I’m still here.
Tae bring the Bard’s oration, while you drink your nips and beer.
Its been a strange year right enough, no’ one ye’d want repeatin,
but since last year I’ve gein up fags, this year I’ll no’ be greetin’.
There’s a really big phenomenon, that’s been engaging me –
I–can‘t get my–head around it , its reality TV.
This millennium’s contribution, tae the puir auld human race,
just click your wee remote control, its right there in your face.
The Ideas really simple though, its apt tae make ye weep.
Its boring and repetitive, but its really really cheap.
Just get a few ‘celebrities’ in a jungle or a hoose,
gie them silly things to do, and then just turn them loose.
Get a few transvestites, or men who fancy men,
chuck in a topless model, who’s slept wi Becks or Sven.
Take a ‘past it’ seventies actress, who’s hairstyle hasnae changed
and a minor politician, who acts like he’s deranged.
Throw in a tearful game show host, and some folk who cannae sing
and Sir Jimmy bloody Savile wi’ his tracksuit and his bling.
Its then you’ve got the formula, which will run on for years
if you’re any way intelligent, you will be bored tae tears.
But its no just in the jungle, or in Big Brother’s hoose,
in every aspect o TV, reality’s let loose.
It’ll tell you how tae train your dug, how to and not to dress.
It’ll tell you that you’re fat, or that your hoose is just a mess.
You can watch a ticket seller, workin’ on the London tube
or a skillful plastic surgeon, enhancing women’s boobs.
You can see staff in an airport, coping with a checkout queue
or catch a veterinarian, while he spays a bitch or two.
Its a real abomination, this reality TV.
Must we all see Carol Thatcher, while she goes tae have a pee.
Or hear Barrymore complainin’, and greetin ‘ like a wean.
Its so absolutely borin’, it does in your bloody brain.
What became of entertainment, when we switched on oor TV?
Dad’s Army, The Two Ronnies, well beloved by you and me.
Sunday Night at the Palladium, Armchair Theatre and the rest
was surely way way better, than the hundred bloody best.
So what next will they come up with, those clever media men?
Celebrity Dry–Cleaning? Or Jordans news at Ten?
This reality TV has got me, tearing oat ma hair.
But just take a look around you, there’s a camera over there.