Not an election broadcast...

Occasional visitors to this site - is there any other kind? - will have noticed this blog offers a heady mix of political insight, insider gossip and sensational pictures.

Yep, I know. I've failed on all three counts. But, my good people, failure can be empowering. Look at Paula Radcliffe. Look at Ken Barlow. Look at Camilla Parker-Bowles (not for too long, mind). They've all suffered on the bumpy road of life and come out the other end. Fitter, stronger, better. Paula's running again, KB married the love of his life and CPB's got a honeymoon in Scotland.

My point, good people, is...well, I've forgotten my point but I now feel empowered by failure to blog some drivel about a tv programme. So here goes...

Channel 4. Friday night. One should be watching Newsnight. Actually one should be out of the house and enjoying the alcohol-fuelled revelry quaintly called a 'social life' but one isn't. Instead I was in, avec flatmate and the Princess, to watch the last twenty minutes of Playing It Straight.

It is easy to slag off Channel Four's output - and many may say this programme makes it even easier - but this programme was not without its charm.

Zoe is the girl, June Sarpong the presenter, and 10 guys are the bods supposedly playing it straight in this reality dating show. The aformentioned Zoe must pick her dream guy and try and ensure he's not one of the undisclosed number of homosexuals in the group. 'Ha, the intrigue' I don't hear you cry. But it is funny. If Zoe picks the straight guy then they both walk away with £50k...if not, then the gay cad who's tricked her into thinking he's her Gareth Gates rather than her Will Young will pocket £100 grand.

Its an amazingly interactive programme. Watching it will inevitably lead to screams of 'He's gay....oh he's gotta be gay' at every man who happens to be well toned, well dressed and well, a little bit gay-looking (and who happens to be on the programme... - don't adopt the same approach when you go out for a drink down the local tonight). My flatmate was reduced to saying 'He's gay' to every contestant and he seemed quite happy to carry this approach through to the adverts in between as well.

What I know the Observer's tv critic didn't say - quelle surprise - was that all the men on the show were utter cocks. This won't surprise the millions of women who meet these specimens - and millions of others like them - on a Saturday night in town but it does need to be said. Utter cocks, every man one of them. The show should be renamed 'Is he a cock or what?'. Not a witty suggestion but one which I think more fairly describes the choice which has befallen our Zoe.

One piece of advice I would offer is if you do watch this programme then tweak your aerial so the reception is rubbish. This worked brillantly on our telly and added to the fun. All the men looked as if they had perma-tans and a couple of inches of stubble while the leggy brunette looked dreadful. Which again, in its own bitter and inferior way, is empowering stuff for the man who doesn't quite look like the parade of fashion models on this show...

Towards the end of the show the weighty question was posed...."How is Zoe going to decide who is gay and who isn't?". My suggestion would be to see which ones are fucking each other and then tick them off the list.

With simple advice like this who needs a political blog. Thank you readers and vote Labour on May 5....