A Final Picture of Paul McCartney

When you're an insomniac with depression* late night is the worst time. When lying in bed under the glow of some infomercial - as that's all that's on and you don't deserve good TV anyway - it's hard not to let the darkness in. The thirtieth viewing Chef Tony's Miracle Blade cannot take your mind off your mind. So you think. And think. And you think about maybe not bothering with tomorrow. And you think that, yes, self-balancing accugrip handles are a kitchen revolution. To be left alone with your thoughts, in the dark, is one of the worst experiences you can have.

Then came channel Eleven and with it The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson. A show that at its worst was a distraction and at its best was life-sustaining. I've written a bit about the comforting effect TV has had on this lonely guy from country Australia. Like this thing on Letterman. The difference between those shows is Ferguson's was made for me.

The Late Late Show seemed specifically designed for insomniacs with a weird, dark, off-kilter sense of humour like me. And it had a way of creeping up on you, even on terrible no good days, and pulling laughter from deep inside you. It would ambush you into feeling better.       

And it wasn't a talk show. It was something else. It was a thorough deconstruction of the talk format and terribly unserious about itself. It stands up to repeated viewings; the same can't be said for any of its peers.

It was something special. And now it's gone.

The final Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson will air @ 11:30pm tonight on Eleven 

*I promise I'll think of a new opening line in the new year      
            

            

Xmas Blues

The town squares are all empty
with no children at play
A horrible bad awful thing
happened today

The air was thick with silence
'cept occasional bells ringing
Even The Bryds stopped with
their horrible singing

See all were inside with
their teevees switched on
Mouths slack-jawed open
their smiles were gone

The TV newsman took off his glasses
turned to the camera and said
the terrible news;
Santa was dead

Shocked thoughts of what
soon turned to how
Was he devoured by Rudolph?
Did the sleigh hit a cow?

But when the news spread
it was worse than they feared
A body found in the ocean
smelling of peppermint & wet beard

Twas the melting of sea ice
that did old Nick in
Seems this climate change
is an actual thing

It seemed sudden but
was not sudden at all
those rich scientists had
already writ on the wall

Still it surprised Santa
'though it was partly his fault
distributing coal at Xmas?
What a red-faced dolt!

He knows when you're sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knew he was drowning not
swimming in North Pole lake

So when the calendar flicks over
to this Christmas Day
A solemn moment of
quiet tribute we'll pay

So turn off the clocks
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
hold on... what's this?
The estate of Auden on the phone

They shout about copyright lawyers
that will chop off my head
Good lord, don't they know?
Santa is dead!