Victoria Coren: Do I love her, or is she a nut?

A couple of days ago my girlfriend told me I fancied Victoria Coren. I never told her this mind, and it wasn’t until I saw her on that tv thing Charlie Brooker now does on C4 that I realised I did, for I usually despise her column in the Observer, and she’s the most uncomfortable, out of place moo on Only Connect (that clever telly show on BBC4 at 2 in the morning, you’ve prbably never seen it because its so underadvertised, and rightly so).

The final (or, as Coren likes to put it, the GRAND final) was no exception, there is a bit in the programme that kind of sums up the usual bouts of dead air weirdness and confusuion. If you go here (for one week after this blog was written, before it is taken off iplayer) and skip forward to 06.50 until 07.11 you will witness one of the most weird, strange, odd, uncomfortable silences/bad jokes/whats going on/this isn’t University Challenge (apart from beardy chessplayer bloke was on both, and shit at both!!) you’ll ever see, guaranteed. It made my stomach act strange from then on, though I did continue watching, crazy!

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