Every night, the same routine. Come 10PM, the telly would be switched over to Channel 1, for the BBC News at 10. In his lilting valley tones, Huw Edwards would tell me of the day's events, and everything, no matter how depressing, how gruesome, how terrifying, would just seem all right. After all, the BBC makes everything better. Doesn't it?
And then I had an encounter which changed my life. Walking through town one day, I was accosted by a man, scruffy in appearance and demeanour. He was bloodshot of eye, frothing of mouth, and pungent of scent. He pulled me to one side.
"You poor fool! I've seen you, every night, watching the news, happy in your rut. Have you ever considered that there may be other news? Ever considered that there are other channels than beloved Auntie Beeb? All knowing, all loving, all caring Auntie Beeb?" He spat with disgust "You've wool in front of your eyes, my boy, and it's time it was pulled away!"
Before I could respond, he had limped away, leaving me with a feeling of fear, an inkling of distrust, and a face covered in spittle.
His words, although clearly insane and delusional, rang true. In a twisted, obscene manner, yes, but true nonetheless. I really should try something new; expand my horizons and all that jazz. So, that night, after a session of Dave's original comedy (hah!) I dared to be different. I dared to break the mould. I dared to rebel.
I watched Channel 4 News.
It was fine, good enough, unremarkable. Yes, it covered the news, and yes, I learned things. But it seemed to lack the comforting warmth of the BBC. But, I persevered; not just with Channel 4, mind. Oh no. ITV, Sky and even (lord forgive me) Channel 5 all graced me with their journalism. I was gradually weaning myself off Auntie Beeb.
It was an odd feeling. Imagine a safety harness that has been there all your life, protecting you from life's little stumbles. You get used to it; so used to it, you forget it's there. It just seems natural. Now, imagine that it just disappeared. Life would seem new and scary and worrying. That's how I felt; I was permanently on edge, more aware of everything grim that was going on in the world. Despite this, I still resolved not to go back to the Beeb.
Then, one night, stuff began to happen. A knock on my door, at exactly 12 o' clock. I shuffled downstairs, blinking wearily. There was no-one there.
The next night, the same thing. A midnight visitor who fled before he could be confronted. So, the night after that, I employed some cunning. I fashioned myself a snug little den out of the coats in the hall, comfy and hidden from sight, and set my alarm to 11:55PM.
***
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Be-.
Then waiting.
***
Two knocks, and I opened the door. Standing there was a bland, featureless man in a grey suit, who seemed completely unsurprised at my finding him. He stood there, nonplussed, for a second, before enquiring, very politely, exactly why I thought it necessary to watch other news. Enquired why I would even question Auntie Beeb's judgement. I told him that an open mind was a good thing, thank you very much, and slammed the door on him.
The next thing I knew, I was in what looked like the waiting room for a doctor. There was a pleasant looking old woman of around 60 behind the counter. She was relatively short, with curled grey hair, glasses and a distinct aura of 'likes cats' around her. She smiled politely at me. I was alone.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but could you possibly tell me where I am?" My head had a slight groggy feeling, and my thoughts were ever so slightly blurred at the edges.
"Why, dear, you're at the Education Centre. Fancy silly old you not knowing that!"
I grinned, sheepishly. Come to think of it, I did realise this was the Education Centre. Silly me, indeed! Then I shook my head, and frowned.
"The Education Centre? What's that?"
The woman tutted. "It's for all those daft numpties who thought they knew better than Auntie Beeb, dear! No-one knows better than Auntie Beeb." She reached under the counter, and pulled out a saucer, cup, and teapot. She poured some tea into the cup, popped in a cube of sugar and some milk, and left it invitingly on the side. "Come and have a drink, deary. You look parched."
I was, so I did. The tea was delicious.
"So who runs this place then?"
"Silly chap! It's Auntie Beeb!"
I rolled my eyes. "Well yes, it's the BBC. Obviously. But who runs the BBC at the moment? Do they run this Education Centre, or is it some other department?" I took a swig of tea. It was really good.
"I said, dear. Auntie Beeb runs it. She helps make everyone feel ever so safe and secure. It's the waves, dear. The waves broadcast by our channels. They make everyone better. And those who forget get taught again."
I laughed. "You talk about 'Auntie Beeb' as if she were a real person."
The woman looked at me, appearing slightly confused. "Well, you're talking to a real person, aren't you, dear?"
My eyes bulged.
"YOU'RE Auntie Beeb?" I looked down at my tea. "Then that must mean-" She nodded. I should have felt alarmed, shocked, outraged that my tea had been drugged. But I wasn't. It was comforting, and reassuring. It just felt right. My vision went shaky, then all I could see was black.
***
I woke up the next morning, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs to find some breakfast. I fed the cat, then flicked the telly on for the morning headlines. BBC 1, naturally. Well, who else?
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