TV license to kill your patience

The television licensing people and I are playing a game. The rules of the game are pretty simple. The first player – that’s me – abides by all known laws this side of the Mars–Jupiter asteroid belt. The second player – Grand Duke John Hales of the London South West Enforcement Division – simply has to send a letter to me every month asking if I’ve broken any laws yet. Simple game.

Mr. Hale’s opening gambit this week was the TV Licensing equivalent of the “When did you stop beating your wife?” poser: a letter expressing a desire for me to “have the information you may need before a hearing is set at your local court”. Is this a cheap way for Angry Geek to boost his ratings, with a quick legal battle to sell to the tabloids? Of course it’s bloody not. I’m not going to court, is why.

The letter is full of the most exquisite wording, with all the subtlety of an elephant–based strip parlour operating underneath a nunnery. But not once does it say that I’m going to court, of course. It’s just a friendly factbook should that happen, complete with info on what I can take into court. If you’re wondering what these tips consist of, it’s things like “You can take a lawyer in to court!” and “The chap in the funny wig is the boss man!”, all bullet–pointed and reading like hints from a video game load screen. All it’s missing is a little stickman rendition of Deputy Chief Admiral Of Pain John Hales, pointing towards the words ‘court’ and ‘enforcement’ and winking at the reader. Maybe a speech bubble insinuating something about ‘accidents’.

I don’t watch television. I don’t watch television because even if it wasn’t full of utter shite these days, the rare moments of brilliance it does have are usually on at times when I’m busy doing other things – reading papers, spiking the sushi in the JCR, writing Angry Geek/Felix Hangman fanfiction – and so I’m forced to watch it online later. Why would that be a surprise these days anyway, given that I’m connected to the Internet? There are animated gifs of cats sitting on robotic hoovers that are worth more than ITV’s entire seasonal output.

Anyway, I’ve calmed down since discovering that people far crazier than I have been posting about John Hales for over four years on internet message boards, with the most sane posts being entire drafts of legal writs filed against him for defamation of character, and the least sane debating whether or not he really exists at all (complete with signature comparisons for post– and pre–2008, like a low-grade CSI set on the District Line). The moment where a man looks at these websites and wonders if they might have a point, as I did only yesterday evening, is the moment he takes a long hard look at himself and realises this madness has gone far enough. Look at it from John’s perspective. All day he’s signing these fricking letters. He probably doesn’t even care. And there are people out there debating whether or not he even exists. That’s got to get to you.

So I’ve torn up my hastily drafted response along with the illustrative ten–step guide to the rather obscene processes the letter laid out in words, and instead I’m going to write back to him with a factbook of my own. I was thinking maybe a walkthrough to Pokemon Gold and Silver, or a recipe for some kickass Rocky Road I had made for me at the weekend.

I’ll let you know how he replies. If you’re reading this John, no hard feelings. Here’s to next month’s thinly veiled threat.

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anangrygeek@googlemail.com