I haven't laughed so much since the last time I cleaned out the sink trap

I turned on the TV last night... an increasingly rare occurrence... to see whether the hilarity, real or feigned, being enforced across all broadcasting platforms yesterday was reaching an enjoyable peak or waning.

My query was not answered, or not exactly. I hit the off switch within the minute. Jonathan Ross is unwatchable even when he succeeds in being funny and hands up anyone who can remember the last time that happened?

Ross's horrible mug was the disconcerting sight which greeted me when I switched on, but that wasn't the worst of it. He was telling a totally uncomprehending, obviously bored, allegedly-live studio audience that (Yay! Oi, I said Yay!) the presiding genius of Radio 4's (guffaw now, o ye cool ones) Wimmin's Hour, Jenni Murray (nevererdovver), had won an amateur comedy talent competition. (That is kind of funny in itself but not in a good way). The crowd's joy on receiving this news was, um, confined. Possibly because Ross was clearly on autopilot and couldn't give a flying fuck any more than they could.

This dispiriting few seconds was the close, for me, of a day in which the ubiquitous and terminally unfunny but Black-and-after-all-this-is-for-Africa-innit Lenny Henry had tried far too often (on Radio 3 FFS) to get me to give him money so that he can look good on the telly again next year even when not advertising cheap hotels.

Sorry, Len. I already gave. To Japan. Now FOAD, there's a good chap.

But you'll try again, won't you? Along with all your mates in the Cirque de Shite, all those unfunny 'stars' of 'comedy' (who the fuck is David Schneider?) who get their one chance in a year to get into my face. The great consolation is that for doing so, they are not getting paid (one assumes).

Except you won't get a penny out of me, you overrated, unfunny, sanctimonious, patronising, self-righteous, featherbedded bastards. The 50 seconds or so of which Ross deprived me last night is my last donation to your chance of work in the future and to your 'cause'.

Think of it. Think of all the money I might have given to Africa (all right, this is stretching it a bit) if you hadn't put me off the whole idea with your cavortings and grimacings.

Now...

Dear Prime Minister,

Is is true that you are providing matching funds, using my fucking money, to Comic Relief? You are?

Well, I look forward to receiving your justification of this decision in the context of inter alia the defence budget cuts (you do know there's a war on? Oh, you do - and oo look, you just started another one) and the big stick insane 65% marginal tax rate with which your government is beating off the only people who might, just might, otherwise have revivified our economy, but who are setting up shop in other countries whose governments are not up to their arses in the sort of economic ordure created by your predecessor and in which you seem to be content to let us flounder as long as we all have a jolly good larf on Red Nose Day and forget that our real government is a bunch of foreign oligarchs over whom we - and you - have fuck all control.

Very sincerely indeed, believe me,

Yours, possibly not for much longer,

Prodicus of Ceos

PS - Farage is looking chipper these days, isn't he? Say hi from me when you see him.

cc. Secretary of State for Bread and Circuses