Why do I say such horrible things? Mostly because they are true. Last night, lazily accepting Charlie Brooker's suggestion that it would be a good idea, I tried to watch a bit of X Factor. I saw a gay bloke doing karaoke and some mostly overweight teenage girls each trying to be bouncy. Sorry, I meant Beyoncé, for whom I have little enough regard in the first place. First place? I don't know, I couldn't bear to sit and find out, so I watched something else before Black Mirror, which said much of what I expected it to say. Result: evening salvaged, plus revulsion at humankind satisfyingly undiminished
If I ever for a moment thought my views were unfair, living as I have for most of my life among the educated and positively seeking out opportunities to sneer at the ugly, ignorant masses; if I ever wondered whether my views were tainted by an innate, superior self-belief; if I ever held for a moment the dim possibility that I might be unjust in my condemnations, what happened today confirmed it forever and ever.
And once again it's Charlie Brooker's fault because when I sat down to a late breakfast I turned on my TV to find that, instead of the safe BBC it was still tuned to somewhere else. And just starting was the Jeremy Kyle Show. Aaargh, put out my eyes! I darted for the remote but then thought, "what harm can it do?" Fuck me, was I in for a shock. It is all so much worse than I thought. Here's a picture of today's participants.
Sweet Jesus, is this what the nation has become? Yes, apparently so. And we give these people the vote? We allow them to shop and run up debts. We let them drive cars? We let them travel overseas for foreigners to gawp at and judge us by? They are allowed to roam the streets free? Surely they should be penned-in or staked-out for their own protection. What is their purpose? They make truly rubbish pets.
That they are not prevented from breeding is bad enough, but - and I feel I have to ask again - we actually let them vote? Give them a political voice? Voting? Really? No wonder the UK is so thoroughly screwed.
If I ever doubted my mission - as the next king my reign will begin with a cull - I have to thank Jeremy Kyle (though my souls shivers at the notion) for stiffening my resolve. People of Britain (not that lot, you lot, the good ones... my favourites) fear not; Mr Kyle will be among the first to go.
Instead we will turn to culture, so in my capacity as patron for the arts I introduce a dear friend of mine, one Mr John Luce Lockett. If you're ever in Northampton - or on the Internet - do yourself a massive favour and buy something of beauty. Because, if you don't watch Kyle, you're worth it.