Hesitation, repetition, deviation. All in a day's work.

Last night Grania and I went to a recording of Just A Minute at the BBC Radio Theatre in Broadcasting House. I have been applying to be part of the audience for this show for two or three years, and this is the first time my name has been pulled out of the hat at the time of the ballot. Unfortunately, it appears that my enjoyment of the programme has waned since I first decided I'd like to see it live. Firstly, my enjoyment of the BBC has changed. Not that I don't think it is a wonderful service: I pay my license fee happily. But the smugness of those involved, from the superior snootiness of the woman on the door to the self-satisfaction of the guy with the headset who loved being able to tell us whether or not we were allowed to leave the quarantine area - it was all a bit irritating. And the show itself, with panellists including Paul Merton and Stephen Fry, was simply not as funny as I'd hoped. There were a couple of laugh out loud moments, but (and I feel absurd writing this) it was largely an old boys' club. I feel absurd writing that because of course that's what it is, and the idea that I'd thought it would be anything else is absurd. Stephen Fry made a joke that the brilliant thing about Sainsbury's is that it keeps the plebs out of Waitrose, and I thought the roof was going to blasted off the building by the force of the laughter. And even though Paul Merton occasionally put things from a liberal perspective, by joining in he's obviously complicit in the experience. Consequently, I found the evening uncomfortable and quite disappointing, like when I realised that Howard from Take That was actually probably a bit thick and possibly not the ideal boyfriend for me. Ah well. Another one bites the dust.