Things that I think and do
Turn on the television on any given evening – perhaps at 7pm or so – and you’re almost guaranteed to be offered the chance to watch someone dancing, or an old bloke in a waterproof staring at birdhouses, or some minor celebrities on an ailing quiz show. Possibly you’ll catch David Attenborough murmuring calmly about a magic beetle in Uzbekistan that has developed opposable thumbs. If you’re really unlucky you’ll get the evening news.
I’m not quite at the stage of my student life where I’ll watch pretty much anything (or perhaps I’m past it?) so none of these shows hold any interest for me. I’ll watch comedies and the odd nature programme but to be honest I’ve lost the capacity to concentrate on any programme longer than 25 minutes.
Except Family Guy and American Dad which I find very funny, Band of Brothers which is a fantastic series, or Made in Chelsea which I will happily admit to having a horrified fascination with.
Last Saturday evening I simply didn’t have the energy to protest about the televisual offering my friends were sitting through. It involved the world’s least funny OAP bumbling about in black tie, interspersed with people I’d vaguely heard of attempting to dance while encumbered with their own body weight in sequins.
Mercifully it soon ended, but was quickly replaced by a new BBC drama in which some bloke mysteriously ended up in Atlantis and was amusingly unaware of the local customs, getting himself into all kinds of anachronistic trouble, the scallywag.
At this point we all decided enough was enough. Good. Somehow we then ended up playing Monopoly. Not so good.
I’m not quite sure of my attitude towards Monopoly. I find it hilarious that I’m so terrible at it, but I do not understand the appeal of continually circling a board and losing money willy-nilly. Nor do I seem to have the attention span required to maintain interest for long. I’ve genuinely sat through two-hour lectures on Papal fiscal policy and been less bored.
In fact I’m almost certain no-one in the history of humankind has finished a game of Monopoly. How the game ends is a mystery because nobody’s ever managed to maintain enough concentration to find out.
Everyone eventually got bored of me owing thousands of monies (“Monops”, apparently) in rent after failing spectacularly to buy anything valuable. The game ended only when one player was demanding 900M in rent pretty much every time anyone else landed on any square. This couldn’t last very long.
It’s also a bizarre concept for a game. You have to be quite good at buying property and developing it, and also lucky enough to avoid the other players’ properties and have enough money to give them when you inevitably do. I’m sure some people are indeed good at it, and I applaud them.
I suppose investment is a more valuable life skill than, say, being able to translate Latin or hit a ball really hard around a tennis court. But frankly I’d rather sit through an hour of Bruce Forsyth’s inane gurnings than shuffle a small top hat around a board.
Anyway, the point is…well I don’t know what the point is anymore. Probably that there’s never much on TV and Monopoly is horrifically dull. Which is why tonight I shall be going to the pub and talking to real people about something that isn’t the price to build hotels on The Strand. Or playing pool, which is a game I have a slightly better chance of winning.