Don't Mention the Nazis

Spending a few days at my Mum's recently has allowed me to become properly reacquainted with the Daily Mail. Tuesday's headline explained that the parts of the UK are 'really' being 'swamped by migrants' – David Blunkett says so. How do you know if you've 'really' been swamped, I wonder? I suppose you must feel terribly wet.

A further illustration was offered by the newspaper the next day in the form of a cartoon depicting the 'UK Migrant Dam' cracking up as someone cries: 'Does anyone know a politically-correct term for “swamped”?' The implication, I think, is that such a dam really does exist, that migrants are in fact a form of liquid, and that politically-correct language is being used to cover up these 'facts'. And since humans are 90% water, more or less, maybe the Mail cartoonist has a point – though obviously migrant water would be filthy and stagnant, as opposed to the distilled water flowing through UK residents.

'Swamped' does rather sound like a word that should be preceded by 'I'm not a racist but...' However, the bottom line here is perhaps not race but (as ever) money. If all these migrants were clutching gold bars would anybody care where they came from? The problem is that they are penniless, and everybody hates and fears poor people. Especially if they are concealed behind a dam, so you don't know what they look like.

Liquid probably fails as a metaphor under the circumstances – doesn't it suggest solvency? The Mail cartoonist should probably look elsewhere for a visual analogue for migrants. How about rats?

the TV times

With analogue TV, you knew where you were – you either had a good picture or it was fuzzy – but the digital system has an impressive roster of ways of fucking up. The other day I was catching up with Coronation Street on ITV2 and the sound started to warble, so that Fiz suddenly sounded like a cross between a Dalek and a lamb - if such a horrifying creature can be imagined. As for the theme tune, it was like it was being played on a steam-powered synthesiser. Fortunately Deirdre has taken a break – I don't think I could have stood one of her anguished 'Ohhhh Kennn!''s under these strange circumstances.

Talking of Daleks, I quite like Peter Capaldi's sarcastic take on the Doctor, though there are times when he seems to be struggling to maintain his dignity as he has to shout lines like: 'Dalek antibodies!' or explain to his companions (and the audience) that the moon is, erm, a giant egg. This last episode (Kill The Moon) was a particular stretch, and it's a good thing the programme can't 'jump the shark' – it's too fragmented into individual episodes – or it surely would have on this occasion. The moon, it turned out, was also crawling with giant spiders, one of which was killed by a schoolgirl with a household disinfectant spray said to kill '99.9% of all known germs'. The Doctor was unsurprised, since this only proved that the spider was a germ – my jaw began to drop at this point, and it continued to do so as the programme continued.

It isn't that I expect strict scientific accuracy from Doctor Who, which is probably more science fantasy than science fiction, but there's such a thing as taking the piss. At the end we saw the moon hatch and a big bird flew out and laid an egg, which became the new moon. This was such a bizarre spectacle that it almost made the whole thing worthwhile, even though by now it feels like the only way Doctor Who could ever make sense again is if it all turns out to be set inside the mind of a lunatic who only imagines himself to be a Time Lord.

The next day I scoured the internet to see if anyone was as flabbergasted by this episode as I was. No. They were praising it as 'bonkers' and calling it a wonderful slice of 'whimsy'. There was one post I found where someone had listed the reasons why the moon was unlikely to be a giant egg, but this almost seemed beside the point. The moon isn't a giant egg for the very good scientific reason that THE MOON IS NOT A GIANT FUCKING EGG OKAY?

Then again, I had no problem with the next episode, which was about a living mummy on the Orient Express – the Orient Express that flies through space. That seemed to be the right kind of bonkers.

Maybe they could do with some of that carefree plotting on Downton Abbey. The new series dawned with Sir Hugo de Bonneville protesting his indifference to Ramsay MacDonald's parentage – 'I don't care if he's the son of Fu Manchu.' Given Downton's usual level of historical accuracy, this could well be a plotline with legs. It would certainly make a change from Lady Mary's vacillation between wholly interchangeable suitors. The main appeal as ever lies in Maggie Smith's occasional bon mots – they should set up some kind of bon mot alarm to jolt viewers from their slumber whenever one approaches.