Did anyone watch Sky’s Mayoral debate? It was fundamentally pointless. This was one of the last chances for Londoners as a mass audience to see the candidates, and learn more on policy - but not so. Instead, it was a return to the same stilted punch and judy routines: Boris is a racist, Ken hates everyone, yadda yadda.

Boris trotted out tired old lines he’s used in every speech and debate so far, but got uproarious laughter this time. I couldn’t work out why until I noticed on Tory Troll that the debate was in Sloane Square - Boris country. A sneaky little attempt to weigh it in Boris’ favour on Murdoch’s (minon’s) part, perhaps? The audience simply hated Ken.

And this came with the last minute sucking up to Paddick as Ken and BoJo tried desperately to harvest Lib Dem votes. Paddick, meanwhile, was as rude as possible to them, presumably in an attempt to keep hold of his voters, and mark him out as an assertive, strong candidate.

As it is, he just looked like a shrill prat.

I’d go on, but there’s a far more interesting account over at Tory Troll, who was actually there. I quote perhaps the most interesting backstage detail:

The rest of the debate descended into a flattery-fest as both Boris and Ken fought to see who could be nicest to Brian whilst Brian tried to be as nasty as possible in return. But once the cameras turned off, the crowds left and Andrew Gilligan was out of view, Boris and Ken were left on the stage and suddenly they looked and sounded like old friends.

And like Ken’s embrace of Boris as the two walked off the Question Time stage last week, I saw a moment of truth behind the stage-managed indignation of recent weeks. Because behind all of the personal attacks that the candidates, journalists and bloggers have made over this campaign, it is easy to forget that this is a contest between two well-meaning and likeable characters. And although Boris’ has not quite been able to bring himself to look Ken in the eye when they were standing at the podiums, I suspect that they would quite happily share two stools at a bar.

Last time I went to watch a televised debate, it was the BBC’s Question Time programme. Today’s ITV Mayoral debate - to be broadcast tomorrow - was a very different experience. The organisation was poor, the audience was loud, and the questions were planted. A genuine debate I think not. A valuable experience, though, it most definitely was.

After a very long time queueing, we were ushered into the studio with a slightly banterous security guard. Admittedly this was not the most enjoyable part of the evening; he thought he was being funny when he was searching my bag, asking if I had brought a sword with me. I’ve heard that one before. Before long we were ushered into seats by a really switched-on usher who didn’t quite grasp that filling a row from the aisle outwards is not the most sensible way to get people to their seats. Ten minutes of musical chairs later, we were settled and ready to start.

The production company had other ideas. ITV had over-allocated tickets, as they are justified in doing, which left many people disappointed outside. The early bird really did get the worm this time. For those of us inside, the heat was mounting as the studio lights glared down on a large audience. A number of reserved seats remained to be filled, but as soon as they were taken the show got on the road.

It soon became clear that those sitting in the reserved seats were the least camera-shy. Or, to put it less bluntly, the correlation between people asking questions and people sitting in reserved seats was roughly 100%. They all had prepared, written questions. They all had a cause to raise in some pseudo-aggressive manner. Having been told so many times that “we, the audience” were leading the debate, I found myself tempted to expose the sham question-asking. It was utterly unnecessary: you need not sex up a TV debate when viewers are already viewing it! I wonder how many people turn off their TVs thinking “I don’t want to see any more of that debate because the questions are not nearly as direct and vitriolic as I would like”.

My temptations to heckle were clearly not contained to myself: the audience was almost encouraged to shout as they pleased, and a huge number of people in the audience took pleasure in obliging. At times it became clear that the heckling was preventing debate: the candidates were often left finishing their arguments under total cover of miscellaneous grumblings. When Ken Livingstone issued some slur or other towards Boris Johnson there was an immediate wave of applause, followed by a loud and sustained “boo”, topped with random yells of “Boris! Boris!”. There were a few occasions where the candidates were clearly refusing to be taken on an issue, but the cries of “answer the question, Boris!” did nothing to progress debate. For his part, Alastair Stewart made sure he got answers without behaving like Paxman. It was a genial, slightly less than high-brow affair, and Stewart filled his role perfectly. Top marks for him.

To judge the prospective mayors is a more difficult task. I remain convinced that none of the candidates is truly worthy of this great city, and remain reluctant to express support for any of them. But this evening’s performance has consolidated my opinion in some areas and shifted it in others. Ken Livingstone is most in control of facts and figures, but he has a sad tendency to accompany them with half-truths and outright fallacies. Boris Johnson knows Livingstone’s lies inside out, but is shaky on his own spending plans (whilst pretending to be “consistent” on the issue). Brian Paddick performed much better than usual: he was more calm in fighting for airtime and sounded like a typical LibDem on Question Time, seeking out applause. A marked improvement.

Some nutjob asking a question (rehearsed, from a reserved seat) said that she thought Enoch Powell was right about immigration. While the audience was “oooh!”-ing and “boo!”-ing, the candidates were fighting for the chance to answer first. Paddick won, and received his best round of applause of the night. He is becoming much better at these sorts of events, and given that he has only been in politics for five minutes it is to his credit that he has learned so quickly. Paddick certainly gets top marks for effort.

The debate demonstrated amply that the three candidates featured passionately want to run London for the next four years. It would be deeply unfair to suggest that Boris Johnson is uninterested in London: he’s arguably more in touch with the aspects of London life that mean most to people. It is telling that his applause came mostly from statements of objection to simple observations about London life: Ken Livingstone can claim to have lived in London all his life but he does not have the same cultural affinity with it. That said, Mr Livingstone has a far better grasp of London politics - hardly surprising when he has dominated the leadership of it for decades, despite a period of rest after Thatcher prevailed over him in the GLC. Brian Paddick, it seems, cares little for much aside raw policy; including arguing his case. His performance today was better than previously, but it would be unfair to pretend that he is an overnight master of PR.

The debate ended and the planted questioners were asked to stay behind (presumably to get paid?) while the rest of us left the studio. A glorious line of silver Prius cars adorned the road outside. One had a card in the window advertising its customer as one “B Haddick”. That rather sums up the campaign, I think.

In a previous article I described the difficulty that all organisations would face charging for information in the near future, and indeed are encountering already as a consequence of a shift in this generation’s mindset. I was reminded of this today by an article where FLDem5, a writer for the Daily Kos, noted the inaccuracy of the conventional media.

She closes with a list of a website and two media conglomerates e-outposts making an error which a commenteer points out the New York Times was guilty of as well. There are, doubtless, better examples of bigger mistakes being observed by smaller blogs but it is worth bearing in mind that with all the funds that are brought to them from cable subscriptions and the cost of hard-copy none of these outlets have managed to be as efficient as a blogger on a website that has never charged for access and presumably never will. Their role is to deliver information to the public and in this they have failed, while a contributer to a website that exists entirely off of the proceeds of pay-per-click ads {which can be ignored or instead voided with the use of adblocker} has reported accurately.

Therefore although there may seem to be some future for such organisations if this is the level of relative precision that shall be demonstrated it is by no means one which is assured.

It is peculiarly refreshing to see the BBC’s White Season gaining so much attention.  If white British people feel they are ignored by politicians and the media, at least the media is responding to their indignation.  The Newsnight poll shows what most of us always knew: white working class people feel ignored by the Westminster Village.

There is one fundamental flaw in the coverage so far, I fear.  All we have heard today is a wide range of opinion on the fact that white Brits feel ignored.  The full coverage on Newsnight will feature a debate on the question of why this is the case, but few white working class Brits are going to watch Newsnight.  Therefore, the problem has been compounded by the “taster” coverage throughout the day: they may no longer feel ignored, but feeling “discussed about” is a worse fate.

I trust that the White Season will be of substantive value when it begins, but so far this vapid feeding of stories through various BBC outlets leads one to question whether an elaborate publicity stunt is getting in the way of a worthwhile series.

I don’t usually post on ITV’s crime/drama repetoirre - as frankly, I don’t watch it. However, this is slightly different. I have watched Miss. Marple, entirely too many times, and so am more able to comment.

So, who should be the new Miss. Marple? No-one. There isn’t any need for one. The poor old woman has been done to death over the years. After all, there’s only a limited number of novels to be covered - and they all have been. Several times. It’d be far better for ITV to produce some decent new material rather than recycle these same tired old plots again.

Or is this a tacit admission by ITV that they’ve got no-one able to produce any decent new material?

Channel 4 are doing something amazing at the moment. “Celebrity” Big Brother has been bumped to E4, so the January schedules were looking a little thin until some bright spark suggested making some programmes about food and showing them in the same slot every night for a week fortnight. This week was all about how chickens are treated. Next week focuses on health, quality and the like.

Hugh’s Chicken Run

I spent three hours this week watching Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s programme on chicken. The premise of “Hugh’s Chicken Run” was simple: he would rear two crops of meat chickens in the same shed, split down the middle. One group of chickens was reared within EU standards of meat chicken production, and the other was free range. The difference between the two groups was remarkable. The programme also charted a community project in Axminster where local residents reared some birds on an old allotment, and a campaign to rid Axminster of intensively farmed birds. The mini-series also charted Hugh’s efforts to get supermarkets to agree to speak about bird welfare on camera, and a lot of talk of how “the industry” was trying to make life difficult for him.

I have a huge amount of respect for this kind of programming. It’s fine for us to complain at atrocious animal welfare, but something else to get off our backsides to do something about it. Fearnley-Whittingstall reared two groups of chickens, and the comparison between them was very obvious for all to see. His argument was simple: paying £1 more per chicken is not unreasonable for anyone on any sized budget.

But the mini-series had its failings. Most obviously, it was too long. The premise could have been more effectively condensed to a single show, either an hour or 90 minutes in length. Endless trailing of “still to come” and tiring repeats of clips that were shown in the adverts anyway began to grate. I can understand that after four weeks of killing ill birds every morning would unsettle anyone, and Whittingstall crying made for an emotional piece of television, but I must have seen that scene a dozen times.

My other chief objection is one of personal taste. I found the presenting style too soppy and self-involved. Clearly Whittingstall felt that the chicken industry was crusading against him, that the supermarkets were refusing to engage with him, and that the consumers didn’t feel as passionately as he did about the whole thing. It was evidently an emotionally draining few months for him (the factory chickens being culled just 39 days after hatching), but the programme lost something in the overplaying of emotion. Anyone would be upset at killing off birds because they could not walk because of the conditions you chose to put them in, but by the tenth time I heard “the industry will be all over me” I wanted to tell Mr Fearnley-Whittingstall to get a grip.

Jamie’s Fowl Dinners

Jamie Oliver never ceases to impress. He comes across as a genuine, decent, nice guy. He made the change from celebrity chef to political campaigner overnight, and appears to have found his most natural place on TV. His programme on school dinners shocked the public and changed the law. Parents had no idea what their children were eating in school dinners: having trusted educational authorities to provide nutritious food, they were amazed at the 35 pence-per-person slop their kids were being served. I can still remember the army of dinner-ladies he took on a camp to teach how to cook with fresh produce: these people wanted to cook proper food but were held back.

“Jamie’s Fowl Dinners” is clearly trying to do the same thing for the chicken industry. We consume millions of eggs a day, yet most of us simply do not care where they come from. Supermarkets are competing to force the price of eggs and chickens down, so conditions degenerate. If only people knew what nasty conditions these birds are kept in, surely conditions would change?

The set-up of “Jamie’s Fowl Dinners” was different to any kind of cookery show TV has seen. An audience watched a mixture of short films about a bird’s life, with key moments played out in live action. They then watched Oliver prepare chicken and egg meals, and ate his cuisine. Needless to say, most renounced their love-affair with the cheep chicken (forgive the pun).

Jamie Oliver succeeded in a way Fearnley-Whittingstall could not: he appeared to divorce himself from the reality of what he was doing, totally lacking emotion at any stage of the process. He passionlessly produced his slaughterman’s licence and slit a chicken’s mouth. Don’t misunderstand me: his words were heartfelt and his voice emphatic, but the whole programme had a different tone to Whittingstall’s. Whittingstall seemed to want to be a persecuted campaigner; Oliver seemed to want to persuade people of his point of view.

The programme was educational. Seeing the actual “egg products” that are listed on processed food boxes was more stomach-turning than the chicken-killing. Watching hour-old chicks being sorted between female egg-layers and male duds was concerning: watching the males gassed with CO2 was upsetting. “This happens with all chicks, battery farm or free range”, we were reminded.

Jamie Oliver’s programme had a clear purpose, a clear argument to put forward. I suspect it will be criticised in many corners for being one-sided and partial. This is unjust. The programme had a clear editorial bias: so clear that it is difficult to see how one could be unknowingly influenced by it. Many of his guests remained adamant that they would continue to eat fast-food and cut-price fresh chicken. Many viewers will conduct their weekly shops this weekend and will stock up on cheap bird parts. But many will have been surprised by what they saw, and will change their shopping habits.

This programme sought to change people’s shopping habits. But the methods employed were those of education, not half-truth; fact, not deception. The supermarkets would rather you don’t think about where your food comes from. Really, they are to blame for all this. If I were a supermarket, I would not stock battery-farm eggs or anything sub-free range. Prices would rise, and the market would see some of my custom disappear. Sometimes ethics come above profit.

Jamie Oliver and I take the same view of chicken. We both cook it, we both eat it. But we both think the birds should be treated well during life, and should be killed humanely. The cut-price chicken industry ignores these two crucial aspects of food production, and it is a huge failing. Ask a supermarket why they stock cut-price chicken and they will point out that the public buys it. The farmers get only 3 pence per factory chicken retailing at £3. If the public is to be held responsible for the food it eats, the supermarkets have a right to show the consumer how it is grown. This programme did that. If the consumer continues to buy rubbish chicken, so be it. If they are educated, at least they can take the active decision not to care.

I hate to dig up old news, but there seems to be a bit of bovver* over the Catherine Tate Christmas Special.  The Spectator’s Coffee House blog had unkind words last week, with a follow-up a couple of days ago.  Now, Tory MP Nadine Dorries has written to OFCOM to complain that the show was not the normal description of “family viewing”.

I watched the programme.  It was unimpressive, but compared very favourably with the veritable dud that was the To The Manor Born one-off.  The programme was exactly what one might expect from Catherine Tate - a randy nurse, an easily entertained couple, and a foul-mouthed granny.  What part of the Catherine Tate Show did Ms Dorries think would be suitable for a family audience?  It was shown after 10.30pm, after all.

As the BBC have said, part of the comedy of at least one of the sketches is the foul language.  The scene itself happened to be too strained and contrived to be remotely funny, but the principle remained.  There is nothing special about Christmas Day that prevents the BBC from broadcasting swearing.  Indeed, there is nothing special about Christmas Day that extends the watershed by over 90 minutes so “family viewing” can be had long after any child’s bedtime.

The BBC has the right - indeed, the responsibility - to broadcast original programming that is bound to pull in viewers.  Quite why people think this should be sacrificed because it’s Christmas Day, I don’t know.  Face facts: the programme was on when almost everyone in the country was indoors.  It was on at a reasonable time in the very late evening.  By all means write to the BBC to tell them that it was rubbish, but there is no reason why it shouldn’t have been broadcast, and no reason at all why OFCOM should be involved.

- - -
*Excuse the pun.
PS: Who can complain at a programme that has friends in such high places?