Episode 3 Charlie Brooker's Weekly Wipe

This programme contains strong language.

Hello. I'm Charlie Brooker and you're watching Weekly Wipe, a

programme all about things that are happening. Things like this.

Heartbreaking and tragic scenes in Coronation Street as Hayley Cropper

drinks the ultimate nightcap. Already empassioned campaigners are

calling for the right to die to be extended to Emmerdale.

Rubber-faced funnyman Vladimir Putin accused of homophobia as he says

gays are welcome at the Winter Olympics as long as they "keep away

from children". To be fair, there is nothing worse than a predatory

ski-dophile hanging around the nursery slopes.

Labour's Ed Miliband re-invents himself as a tough guy willing to

take on the banks. Having vowed to battle apparently insurmountable

financial forces, his hard man message was only slightly undermined

a few hours later when he made an unconvinving attempt to enjoy a

beer. That's the sort of thing that's been

going on. But we start with political scandal.

The political sex scandal has an illustrious history dating back to

1963's Profumo Affair. Since then it's provided countless guffaws and

lurid-but-hilarious headlines detailing the romps, bonks and

trysts of people you'd rather not picture in any kind of bedroom

scenario. But the latest example isn't much fun, involving

allegations about Lord Rennard, which he denies and refuses to

apologise for, thus putting Nick Clegg in a compromising position.

Rennard has now been suspended and the whole thing's playing out in the

media in a bizarre civil war. The Lib Dems are investigating whether

Lord Rennard's brought the party into disrepute. Or whether it's

actually got any repute left to diss. It's more of an ugly mess than

a farce, really. For a proper old-fashioned political

sex scandal you have to switch channels. Or rather cross channels,

to France. Yes, France, a nation so romantic it's got a type of kissing

named after it, almost expects its political figures to have

mistresses. It's practically a tradition. De Gaulle was the town

bike, Jacques Chirac was a filthy slut, and Francois Mitterand was

famed for filling every woman he met with what the French call a penis.

And we call a penis. Look, he's going for one now. Get your filthy

paws off her! That's our Queen! But now a contemporary

slap-and-tickle scandal seemed to be brewing around President Hollande,

who stands accused of cheating on the First Lady with a Second Lady,

like a sort of French Lee Ryan. The First Lady was in hospital, and the

news was clinically clear about why. The first lady is still in hospital

with a broken heart. Oh, God, that's awful, they can't treat a broken

heart. Because it isn't a medical condition. These provocative

magazine images had prompted the scandal. Hollande apparently

pictured outside the actress's apartment. They didn't actually get

a clear shot of his face, just his helmet. Which is the sort of thing

they can put on front pages in France. They're no better than

animals. Actually looking at this, how do

they know it's not just one of Daft Punk? The British news gleefully

recounted how the French public had snapped up every copy of the

accusing mag, leaving none for them. Do you have any copies of Closer

Magazine? Oh, in that case I'll just have a copy of Le Razzle. And what's

French for "hand cream"? Confusingly for British reporters,

outside of the magazine itself, the French media claimed it wasn't too

interested in the alleged affair. If it is private, it's private. I don't

care what Francois Hollande is doing in his bedroom.

It soon became clear the people most interested in where the Parisian

prez put his penis were the British, who found the French nonchalance

incroyable. Are you interested in the love life of Francois Hollande?

Not at all. I don't believe you. Because they couldn't get footage of

French citizens waving their fists and shouting "zut alors!", the

British hacks had to pad out their reports avec le filler. One perky

Channel 4 News reporter painstakingly reconstructed the

President's drive to the alleged love nest, stepping off the bike and

walking straight up to the front door, but then foolishly stopped

short of the interesting bit where he'd get to make love to a beautiful

actress. The problem for the president is that he looks even more

ridiculous than I do. Mm, I'd say it's about evens. There were also

some startling pre-watershed glimpses of suspiciously

post-watershed cartoons, and stock news report filler item 6B, footage

of a crappy knocked-up-in-five-minutes computer

game wheeled out like it's a big deal. It's not even a good French

video game. It's no Super Marie-Antoinette.

Back in the studio, the French insistence on respecting privacy was

irritating the British media so much, they invited French

journalists on to harangue them in the only language they understand -

arrogance. Why are the French press so deferential? Some UK anchors

apparently spent so long speaking to the French, the gallic influence

rubbed off on them and they started acting French themselves. But a

French president has an affair. But Hollande couldn't hide forever,

because he was scheduled to give a live press conference. Rolling news

wiped the schedule clean to watch the President squirm in the

spotlight. Anything could happen! He could break down and beg

forgiveness! Or start BLEEP the actress live on stage! He is French.

Or, as he'd been scheduled to do all along, he might speak at length

about French economic policy - the big tease. Although of course in

French even that's erotic. We are talking about going faster, going

further, accelerating and going in more depth. But we have to ensure

that this growth be vigorous. Oooh. In the end, the First Lady

came out of hospital, the Second Lady threatened to sue the magazine,

and the President carried on, just as unpopular as he'd been before.

And what had we, the British learned? Nothing. Except that

ultimately the French don't seem to care who the President's BLEEP, as

long as he's not BLEEP the country. Instead of being about a hobbit Ora

Wizard, it is about a giant and a robot woman. Bid if you put them

together, she is sort of distant, they sort of balance out and make

one person. It was a bit weird, because it had George Galloway in it

and Dennis Waterman and Stewart Lee. But younger and less funny. But they

are all for them, not real them. It is about crimes happening miles

away, but they are still exciting, so you still sort of care. And like

Sherlock, it is got these clever words that come up so you know what

is happening, like each time someone speaks, it explains what's going on.

Sometimes there were words telling you what they said even though you

knew what they'd said, because they had words anyway. I think maybe the

way to do it is to watch it once with the words and then again for

the pictures. The man policeman is Danish, and the woman policeman is

Swedish, but even though they speak different languages, they don't need

some titles to talk to each other, because they are both foreign, so

even though I need subtitles to understand them, they wouldn't need

some titles to understand me, because to them, I'm foreign, which

they are, too. They are trying to catch these Beatrix Potter people

who are killing people to make a trendy point about politics to

impress the guardian. As well as the robot one, it's got you tube unit

and computers, and a bit wearer man is having sex with someone. The

thing is, it's not a nice foreign land like in the holiday programmes.

It's really cold, and there are murders, and you can tell from

looking at it that there are hardly any colours allowed over there. So

everything is grey and muted and ominous. It's probably less

depressing being murdered in Scandinavia than anywhere else on

earth, because even as you are dying, you would think, oh, well. At

least I can wear red trousers in heaven. And they probably speak

English like in proper places. The first series of the Bridge was

really good, so they made it over here as the Tunnel, and to make it a

fair swap, the Danish we made take me out.

Weather! And a UKIP councillor causes outrage by claiming the

recent biblical weather has been caused by God punishing the UK for

allowing same-sex marriage. Making him the only UKIP councillor to

actively believe in man-made climate change. The councillor apparently

wrote to David Cameron to warn him, but Cameron ignored his letter, or

maybe didn't understand it because he doesn't speak 12th century

maniac. In informative scenes, Sky immediately dispatched a reporter to

the councillor's waterlogged hometown to badger the godless

locals. Are these floods a sign from God? I don't even believe in God

myself. Drown the heretic! Apparently the

deluge is part of a sinister gay plot to fill Britain with water so

everyone has to wear rubber all the time. And the streets will fill with

water, making cruising mandatory. When the news came a-knocking in

confrontational scenes, the man himself seemed oddly reluctant to

speak to the media, possibly because he believes their heathen camera

machines will steal his soul. I'm not giving any more interviews. Are

your views and embarrassment to the party?

UKIP king Nigel Farage suspended the councillor and announced an

immediate clear- out of UKIP members with crazy outmoded views, a complex

process that involves highlighting the membership list and then hitting

delete. Now, Scotland. Should it stay or go?

Or only see the rest of Britain at weekends? Scottish independence has

got a lot of people thinking, none more so than our resident

inquisitive human Limmy. This is Limmy.

It's a big year for Scotland. Do we want to be ruled by this pack of

liars or that? A message will go out from England, Wales and Northern

Ireland to everyone in Scotland. We want you to stay! That's nice. Is he

serious? With that face? I don't know what he's got plans to make

Britain great again. Let's make Victoria Park great again. Just a

lick of paint, please. Wait a minute, reverse psychology. We want

you to stay. Does he really think we would do a thing he says? No. He

knows. He wants us to go. I don't know what he's got plans to make

Britain great again, but I want in. We want you to stay. I know you're

watching, and I know what you're thinking. You are thinking of maybe

doing this, or this, or this. We want you to stay. First answer

counts! Do not paint this fence. Under no circumstances are you to

paint this fence. Food now, and cookery shows are of

course a TV staple, but there's so many of them they need a gimmick

these days to succeed. A gimmick like, um...

Spoons. Yes, spoons, courtesy of Channel 4's upmarket kitchen contest

the Taste, in which former celebrity courtroom star Nigella Lawson has to

lick a spoon clean alongside rock'n'roll chef Anthony Bourdain

and the world's Frenchest Frenchman Ludo Foffyfonn.

The idea is that the contestants have to win the judges over by

creating a funsize helping of creative food. They should've called

it Masterspoon. Some of the contestants create miniature

masterpieces. While others produce the most preposterous shit to grace

a spoon since Uri Geller. Having sweated and toiled to fill a small

ceramic ladle, like your dad did in the Navy, the contestants then sit

back nervously to see if the judges can swallow their food without

choking, something Nigella should find far easier now Charles

Saatchi's not around. Incidentally, and apropros of nothing, I just

thought of a great joke about a famous art collector framing his

wife, which I can't repeat for legal reasons.

Anyway, spoons are all very well, but they're not a very adventurous

gimmick. What's really missing on TV is a food show incorporating

far-right politics, as exhibited in the recent bizarre cookery video

posted online by the BNP's Nick Griffin. It's just like an episode

of Masterrace. I mean chef. Essential cooking tool, wooden

spoon. It's weird watching him in his notably well-equipped kitchen,

and refreshing to see he doesn't deny the existence of ovens.

Disappointingly he doesn't cook Chicken Supremacist, or Egg Fried

Reich, or Swastikka Masala, but a simple stew, which he cooks, in one

big melting pot. Let's have a look at the contents of that pan there.

Just taking on a little bit of colour.

Obviously he likes his ingredients locally sourced, although he's going

to be furious when he finds out those British white potatoes are

descended from South American immigrants. Still it's not just

cookery tips, there's opinion, too. So I don't let people tell me that

you have to have huge numbers of immigrants to have good cooking.

OK, although to be fair, no-one's ever told anyone that. We've got a

Mexican restaurant near here. The place isn't swamped with Mexicans.

You take the recipe, and that is all you need.

Ooh, you know, I do wish he wouldn't talk while he's chopping

ingredients. I mean look at the clunky way he wields the knife. I

keep worrying he might not hurt himself. Then finally the meal is

ready to eat. To be fair, even if some of the diners look less than

thrilled to be there, the end product looks good. Maybe he

should've been a chef. Still, cookery's loss is bigotry's gain.

And if you don't like the dishes he serves up, send them back to where

they came from. Of course those who prefer their cookery a little less

politically controversial and a lot more "cashe" can always ingest the

swaggering and breezy, laid-back Sunday Brunch with prime geezer Tim

Lovejoy. It's about three hours long, but don't worry if you can't

be fussed to sit through all of it, Mr Jake Yapp has condensed it down

to 99 seconds, as he'll demonstrate now. Start the clock.

Good morning and welcome to Sunday Brunch with me, Tim Lovejoy. It is

similar to the show I did on BBC Two. But was about celebrities and

cooking. This is with guys with their low-rise jeans. Look at me, I

am leaning on the set. A Scouse sidekick, what are you cooking up? I

am doing French toast... That is enough from you. I am the new

deadline. I am so bloody laid-back. Let's do the autocue. Watch my eyes

glaze over. Our guests were in a pop group in 1997. Anyway, let's

interview you. I did not bother to read the notes, I will just win it.

How did you... ? What is the most... ? I have completely lost control of

the interviewed now. Good job the sound man has remembered I am meant

to be in charge let's say something my analytical mind could think up.

Music is really important. Here is someone we have checked out on

MySpace. They are called Coldplay. They are going places. Let's watch

Simon Cook. I will stand awkwardly. Then Simon will stand next to our

guest chef and stand awkwardly. We have got to the end of the

programme, no one has worked out what my role is, time for some low

key no eye contact, see you then. Culture! And in unforgettable

scenes, This Morning screens a bizarre live test in which Britain's

foremost and indeed only rumpologist demonstrates how to analyse people's

backsides. When I was focusing on Kelly's bottom, it is the right

cheek telling me all the past things, the left tells me the future

things. Which, as I suspected, makes the present a shithole. To test her

bum-reading skills they ran a sort of on-air reverse glory hole

guessing game. There are a creative. Fun to be around. You

know, looking at this, you might think This Morning's just taking the

piss, but it isn't. Although some of its guests are. How do you start

your day? I am a feat guy. Not these people, they kick off with a glass

of their own BLEEP. -- urine. I could just think clearer. Clear

enough to think, I know, I'll drink my own piss? So it's socially

unacceptable and it tastes horrible, but on the plus side, it's also

frowned upon by doctors, specifically a telly doc who looks

like Prince playing Doctor Who, doing his best to balance the

piss-taking with medical fact. It is not medically recommended,

especially if you are unwell or on medication. We would not recommend

it. Mmm, I guess it all boils down really to who you want to believe?

The qualified medical professional who tells you not to drink piss, or

the hairy bloke in the stripy jumper who does? Things were inevitably

building towards the money shot in which the happy couple would go on

the piss, necking a glass of home-brew Pee-no Grigio live on air,

which probably enough to get viewers experimenting with swallowing their

own vomit. Arghh, look at that, you know what that is? That is Cameron's

Britain. Cameron's Britain everybody. Tsss. Inevitably, the

informative item prompted some lively feedback, which tight-panted

bulge-displayer Jeff Brazier did his best to reel off quickly before he

had some kind of weird fit. Zoe says, if that is what they want to

do, then let them, people are too quick to judge. Now. Sticking with

urine and adding some excrement, this week also saw the US TLC

channel air stomach churning scenes in the gruesome My Strange

Addiction. Which showcased a woman with a penchant for sniffing and

chewing used nappies. I love it. It tastes amazing. I have one in the

kitchen, when I am sleeping. Oh, that's really put me off my piss. To

be fair, this celebratory urine drinking isn't the most upsetting

fluid-intake scene I've witnessed on ITV recently. That'd be Monday's

harrowing Coronation Street in which Hayley Cropper drank the ultimate

bedtime nightcap. Come on everyone - Down in one! Down in one! Down in

one! Still nice of her to give him a hand job on the way out.

Pop now, and crooning haircutted pebble Justin Bieber's been in

trouble with his alleged egg-throwing hi-jinks providing

startling fodder for noisy entertainment shows. A felony

investigation into accusations the superstar singer pelted his

neighbour's home with eggs. Frankly, I don't care what he does with eggs

as long as he's not fertilising them. But are pop stars out of

control? US comedian and shambles Doug Stanhope thinks they're not out

of control enough. And he'll say so now.

I'm Doug Stanhope and that is why I drink. You know what? Any time you

complain about the kids today, you know you are walking on dangerous

ground or just being a pathetic old lock. This is the weakest generation

in recorded history. Jason Bieber made the news by pissing into a mop

bucket. There is footage of Justin Bieber relieving himself in a mop

bucket. That makes the news today? That is so indicative of what a shit

generation this is. That is the rock and roll lifestyle. You are not Led

Zeppelin chucking TVs out of hotel windows while the drama is dead in

the pool. Oh no, Justin Bieber peed into a bucket. I know every

generation complains about the new kids coming up after them, but in

the past, it was always complaining that the new kids were too out of

control and taking too many chances. These kids today are smoking

marijuana. We will be the first generation that is the opposite of

that, when we will still complain about the kids today but in the

opposite fashion. Look at these locking kids. We had a good time.

These sissies drink Red Bull for some pep. The closest they have ever

come to a fist fight is on a message board. Are you looking at my

girlfriend? I am going to unfriend you from my Facebook registry. I had

better delete that BLEEP part. Wildlife! And a series of depressing

news reports describe how a Texan hunting society has auctioned a

permit to shoot and kill a rare Namibian black rhino. The rhino is a

magnificent horny beast sadly destined to be unceremoniously

mounted over a stranger's fireplace, just like your mum. Corey Knowlton,

the man who paid $350,000 for the permit, outlined his reasoning in a

penetrating interview. I'm a hunter. I want to experience the black

rhino. I want to be involved with the black rhino. Sorry, what did

that permit allow you to do again? In emotional scenes Knowlton

explained that shooting the black rhino is in fact the best way to

protect the black rhino. The fact of the matter is, we raised $350,000

from the black rhino. It is absolutely going to conservation.

Yes, and with fewer rhinos to spend it on, that money'll go even

further. We are not just saying we are on a rhino hunt, have a beer, it

is a scientific process. Specifically it's an experiment to

find out what happens when a rhino gets exposed to lead. He says the

hunt will be good for the heard by targeting an older male past

reproduction. But the news prompted a barrage of death threats, from

people who wanted to kill him? Don't look at them as death threats, look

at them as conservationists targeting an older aggressive male

past reproduction. Still, despite the outrage, the news made clear

he's undaunted - and proud. In a way, we won, conservation won and

the black rhino won. And it'll celebrate that win with a nice lie

down and a rot. Tainted nostalgia! And there are

testing times for yet another fondly-remembered TV icon from

yesteryear. Yes, once upon a time millions enjoyed these loveably

manipulative adverts in which chimps carried out road works or dressed as

Clockwork Orange characters and lugged furniture around. Do you know

the piano is on my foot? You hum it, some, I'll play it. We now know that

when the cameras weren't rolling they behaved like animals. Not that

being taught to act like humans did them any favours - as a

heartbreaking report on Daybreak painfully revealed. The zookeepers

said the chimps did enjoy walking and talking like us but afterwards

they had real problems integrating them back into chimp society. Just

like Ross Kemp after EastEnders. Fortunately, the chimps have now

recovered enough to enjoy traditional primate pastimes, like

doing nothing and putting shit in their mouths. Oh. Cameron's Britain.

I hope you're proud, David Cameron. That is your Britain. Of course now

we're more enlightened than when these upsetting scenes were filmed.

Today we simply wouldn't force a basic creature to dress and behave

like a human against its will, except maybe in those harrowing and

tragic Ben Fogle Typhoo ads. Oh, it shouldn't be allowed. Of course,

Charles Darwin taught us monkeys and mankind are very much alike.

Tomorrow it'll be 175 years since Darwin became a fellow of the Royal

Society so to celebrate that, and hard-hitting science in general,

Philomena Cunk is about to explore evolution before your very face, in

this week's Moments of Wonder. It is almost unbelievable that

before Charles Darwin invented evolution in 1859, no one had ever

evolved. Without him, none of us would be here today, except in the

form of fossils or Gibbons. The story goes that here in this garden

in Kent, Darwin saw an apple fall from the tree, and wondered if there

was a monkey up there. And if so, where that monkey might have come

from. Darwin was one of the most famous men of his age. Like Paddy

McGuinness is now except Darwin has a beard which Paddy McGuinness did

not, unless they use CGI to paint it out, which they probably do not

because it is expensive. Even though it is obviously just boring today,

the origin of species was the biggest sensation of its age, thanks

to the twist ending, in which Darwin revealed everyone on the planet had

been made out of monkey meat all along. It caused a battle between

science and the church which still rages today although apparently you

do not see them fighting like this because it is a metaphorical battle.

Even today, many people still do not believe in evolution but maybe a

science man can put them right. Hello, science man, who are you and

what are you an expert in or on? I am Mark Thomas and I am a professor

of evolutionary genetics. What did people do before evolution? There

were not any people before evolution. If we came from monkeys

why are there still monkeys? Because some of those monkeys which lived a

long time ago turned into other monkeys that we see today like chimp

monkeys and so on. Oh, right. So the monkeys which did not turn into

humans they must be gutted that they did not turn into humans. Sometimes

when I watch these past life hypnosis programmes on satellite

channels, all the people on those, they are always ladies in waiting or

gladiators, they are never monkeys. Why is that? Probably because they

do not actually remember their past lives. It is probably not true. But

I find it easier to believe I was a lady in waiting than a monkey. It is

may be easier to believe your ancestors were ladies in waiting but

I do not see the problem in believing both your ancestors were

ladies in waiting a few hundred years ago and before that... Monkey

ladies in waiting. Thanks. Because evolution cannot be seen, it is hard

to believe in like electricity or skeletons. But one day, maybe we

will have evolved eyes which can see evolution and that will prove it is

real. Next week, I will be finding out where clouds go at night.

Well that's about all we've got time for this week, until next time when

hopefully you come back, go away.