Will McAdam

It was that fateful winter morn (mid and bleak) that I decided I would never watch Sunday morning programming on the BBC again. It’s not like I’m going to find debate on the hottest religious and ethical topics on ITV, is it? So anyway, I managed to stick to my guns and boycott the Beeb. To do this I came up with the ingenious idea of actually going to church instead of watching a programme discussing the issue of going to church. Plus I’ve had a moral objection to T4 since I found out Steve Jones isn’t a friend of mine, so I really had no choice. Call me a Maverick, I dare ya.

However, this Sunday morning just gone found me not in the pews but in bed. Hungover. Still intoxicated, with the Late Medieval Alabastars littered about my dissertation. Alone. Champagne cork.

My internet was down. The library was shut for maintenance. It was inevitable – it had been too long: I headed for the stick (not my stick, which is what one columnist’s friend thinks is an acceptable way to usher in a Sunday of all days). BBC One found its way to my screen. It was like I’d been adopted at birth and finally found my birth momma.

Until, that is, instead of the dulcet tones of Gloria’s skin, I was greeted by the ignoble tooting of a synthetic saxophone. Alto. And Nicky ‘Fucking’ Campbell. And Kelvin ‘One-Of-My-Teeth-Is-Definitely-Missing’ Mackenzie. And a man who converses with angels on a daily basis. And a man who ‘only poked my wife on the arm seven years ago and was convicted of assault’.

I couldn’t think of a more objectionable start to my Sunday, and believe me, I’ve imagined Edwina Currie, covered in ‘Vote Major’ pamphlets, slipping me a cheeky finger. I was sweating cobs.

This, my friends, is ‘The Big Questions’ (10-11am, BBC One, Sundays). After successfully being removed from ‘Watchdog’, it would seem that Nicky Campbell imagines he’s up to taking on not one, not two, but THREE of the week’s biggest religious and ethical issues. And take them on he did. Not only did he allow one woman to claim that it’s ok not to put women on a register of domestic abusers because it’s mainly men that do it (typical female logic: non-existent), he also miraculously ushered Kelvin Mackenzie into making an overtly right-wing, Thatcherite statement.

That Mr Mackenzie believes all homeless people and squatters are drug-taking, tax-avoiding scum was hardly a revelation. That his views broadly concurred with the Imam on the panel, on the other hand, was. Who’d have thought those two would make such enlightened bed-fellows? Some sort of ironically inclined deity, I presume.

As a mix between Question Time and Kilroy, I presumed that I probably wouldn’t be seeing this for its second week seven days later. Then I found its mini-site on BBC online. The first episode I saw was its 42nd. This is its second series.

How the fuck have I managed to miss this? Oh yeah, I do what Sunday mornings were made for. A vague sense of spirituality. Not indulge a room full of bulstrode men guffing about their flagging careers.

My point is this: do not watch this programme. Do something productive with your Sunday morning. Follow my esteemed colleague’s friend’s advice and have a wank for all I care. If you want to do neither of these things, I suggest switching this show on if only to lose your morning glory. Unless, that is, piles of shit turn you on.