Great British Bakeoff.

To all those people arguing for non-competitive sports; fuck you, losers! There’s a unique camaraderie amongst competitors because only those attempting the same thing can truly appreciate the virtues of each other. From first to last there’s a bonding of personal achievement, provided it’s judged on true excellence. Whether I came first in school or last in a moto-cross race I was pleased to be challenging myself to do my best. The GBBoff proves this in spades. From the big white tent, the grassland surroundings, the gingham table, the piecing blue eyes of the baking gods and their twin bitch puppies to the motley crew of time-stressed competitors the scene is set for a celebration of what’s wonderfully British. It somehow resurrects niceness to its true standing as a powerful virtue. There are no losers in the GBBoff, it’s totally loser free. The condescension, masquerading as sympathy for the last-in-class, from the non-competitive losers comes from their own need to non-compete. They perceive individuality is best served by insularity, that a person can raise themselves by their own introspective bootstraps. Tell that to a loaf! It needs an oven to avoid the ignominy of a dreaded soggy bottom. But one glace into Paul and Mary’s eyes, one teasing from the puppies will convince you we’re all in this together. Where the other Hollywood will convince you you’re a million miles below star status this one will critically convince you it is all possible, if you keep at it. So thank you everybody concerned, you’ve convinced me. Baking, maybe not but other things.

PS. Apparently the show has provoked a vitriolic response in the twittersphere from some. A timely reminder that how we see the world is our own interpretation of it and should be rightly owned as such.