Weekend Weirdness

A few random thoughts which have hit me over the past 24 hours:

I am having a hard time coping with the idea that someone who was born in the year I got married (1988) is old enough to be Doctor Who's Companion. Good luck to Karen Gillan, though as it seems that, like Irn Bru, she has the potential to be fizzy, ginger and phenomenal. I'm glad to see that Scotland is still represented in the TARDIS and just hope she gets to keep her accent.

Britain's Got Talent last night was very hard to watch. If you didn't see it live, you can't really have escaped reports of a young 10 year old contestant being overwhelmed with nerves on live tv. She was allowed to sing again after Simon Cowell overruled the producers who had said there wasn't time. I watched the show with my almost 10 year old, wondering whether I could have put her through that process and whether there should be a ban on children so young being in that sort of show. Maybe that would be going too far, but I think that there needs to be some sort of review to ensure that vulnerable participants get the support that they need. I'm not sure that Susan Boyle, even, who has been reported as being very stressed this week, has been properly looked after. The support that contestants are offered should be in line with best practice and appropriate to their individual needs. There may even be a case for children recording their items rather than performing them live.

I did one of these random trivia questionnaire thingies on Facebook yesterday and one of the questions was "would you have lunch with George W Bush". My friends had all responded with various degrees of "are you having a laugh?" and I was the only one who said that I would, and he'd get a hell of an earbashing. Does this make me weird?

To find my reaction to the Telegraph's notion that Lib Dems could join his Government, rearrange the following sentence "dead over body my". I mean, really, the sunshine must have gone to their heads. Why would we?

Anyway, I'm now going to lie in the sun and read Julian Clary's autobiography and watch the Cute Baby Bunnies play in their run. A perfect way to spend a Summer morning.

Oh, and as far as Formula 1 is concerned, the drama ain't over yet, you mark my words...

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