Kill Bill 3

I awoke a little grumpily this morning.

In part this was due to sleep deprivation - the weather here in the north west of England has been uncommonly hot the last couple of days. Now, I am (unusually) not complaining but the evenings have been very warm and muggy. Despite dispensing with duvets and despite opening windows, the last two nights sleep have been brief and fretful. Mind you, the rather dramatic thunder and lightening at 03.40 this morning didn't help.

That said, the return of Bill Turnbull to the BBC Breakfast News Sofa alongside foxy Sian Williams helped my mood not at all. Why can't he just retire gracefully? In a kind of smarmy, fey, quite camp and irritating kind of grace that is.

Bill's return coincided with the Parliamentary Recess to deliver yet another morning session bereft of meaningful news stories. Again, it is official, absolutely nothing of any importance is going on, absolutely anywhere on this planet of ours, or the surrounding universes (unless you believe all the recent white noise about aliens living amongst us and UFOs and conspiracy theories and the like).

Instead, the whole morning was filled with tales of gingerbread men in the shape of Christiano Ronaldo, and a seemingly blatant advertisement for a male cosmetic firm trying to convince us that we hot-blooded men should be wearing eyeliner and mascara (or Guyliner and Manscara as it is wittingly branded). Of course, the "I'm not at all camp" Bill was all too reluctantly willing to try this out!

There was also the non-story about Carol Kirkwood, the must-have morning crumpet of choice for middle aged men (whose attention turns to Carol Vorderman in the afternoon and the female presenters of The One Show in the evening), not camping in Burnham-on-Sea. Despite looking pretty windswept, the supposed "joke" was that Carol actually stayed in a luxury chalet rather than under canvas.

Nevertheless, Carol found time to feed those sexual fantasies with tales of her time in the girl guides. I suspect that she still has a uniform. A very tight-fitting uniform. Also, it provided an opportunity for Carol to flirt with her "Billy" as she calls him and for banter implying that Carol and Chris Mullin, the sports presenter with whom Carol spent Ascot week and Wimbledon with, knew rather too much about each other - Chris implied that Carol snored and Carol implied that Chris had sweaty feet!

And, the visit to Burnham-on-Sea, conjured up images of past relationships/holidays which I would rather regret. Burnham is probably the closest seaside resort to the city of Birmingham. It is, therefore, also full of Brummies. And, when I was just 17 years old, this is where I went on holiday with my first serious girlfriend, Melissa, and her family. When I say "serious" she was the first girl that let me get further than base one - and, in case my mom is reading I am not admitting which base I got to, but........

I slept in the awning with the family dog, while Melissa slept in the caravan with her mom, dad and younger sister. Thankfully her two scary brothers - one a night club bouncer and the other a convicted GBHer - didn't join us.

It was not the most enjoyable holiday experience that I had. In fact it was right up there with the twin centre holiday to Sorrento and Rome when I got ditched by my fiancee, who subsequently admitted to having an affair with a married man with three children. This is what Bill Turnbill does to me, the swine. All this emotional turmoil just comes flooding back. And, Burnham is a dump.

Please BBC. Kill Bill.