VALUE FOR MONEY ?

Six years ago, having passed the threshold of 75, I began to enjoy not having to pay for a TV Licence any more.  But the Dumb and Dumber axis that is the BBC and HM. Gov. has seen fit to require those of us struggling to survive on a fixed income to cough up £157.50; that is, of course, unless you are in receipt of  income support, for which I do not qualify although I suspect that there are many thousands if not more who are in the `not quite poor enough` category.

Anyway, some weeks ago I had a large envelope from TV Licensing HQ demanding payment but, given my disenchantment with the BBC, I put it to one side hoping it would go away.  It didn`t and yesterday I had a reminder.  Now, Mrs. Snopper worries about things like that and her concerns were heightened by a report that said that, of those fined for not having a licence, the vast majority were women.  And I guess I might have been concerned about adding to my charge sheet following my conviction a few years ago, thanks to Avon and Somerset Constabulary, for doing 80 miles an hour on the A303 near Wincanton. 

So I wrote a cheque and posted it off to somewhere in Darlington, on the notion that I wanted to make the method of payment as inconvenient as possible.   One bright day, if the cheque doesn`t bounce or if I`ve written it out wrong, I might get the licence.

But I do seriously wonder whether it represents value for money.  The BBC is a huge organisation; grossly over staffed and, like Manchester United, has an inbuilt air of presumed entitlement and arrogance - it is the Manchester United of the media world.  And what do I get in return for my £157.50?  Hardly any live sport - Marine v Havant and Waterlooville anyone? - no cricket or rugby union;  a news and current affairs outfit that is mired in left leaning, biased, London centric, right-on wokery and negativity. 

As for entertainment, it is frankly dire, with a succession of mind numbing game shows, antique shows, cooking shows, dancing shows and a presumption that if comedy is crude, shouty and full of foul and abusive language then automatically it is funny.   Well, Mrs. Brown, Mr. MacIntyre et al, it ain`t.  

But there is at least one note of comfort for me.  You see, not having paid for the licence for six years has meant I have been reluctant to complain to the BBC - seemed bad form to complain  about something that came for free - but now I feel free to do so without troubling my conscience.   Trouble is, there`s so much to complain about I`m not sure where to begin, although a good moan about the broken promise and the compulsion of it all might be a good place to start.