Here I go again. I can't help myself. It's got to the point where me complaining about Corden's ever-presence on my television via Twitter is probably so prevalent that it's more annoying than he is. But look, I swear I'd see less of the cunt if I was actually him. Yes yes, I realise that he is just some geezer on television. I know this. I know all of it. And I even thought Gavin & Stacey was rather good. That is, also, irrelevant as far as this discussion goes. What I'm really pissed off about, more than anything, is the ubiquity.
There was a time, older readers will remember, in the early 90s, when you were never more than five seconds away from Tony Slattery, whatever TV channel you were watching. Ah, yes. I can imagine the blank looks on some of your faces. Tony who? Slattery? Doesn't even ring a bell, I suppose. But yes, there was about a six-month spell in about 1991 when he was on everything. I mean everything. You ended up going down the shops and expecting him to be serving you at the counter. Not that there was much wrong with Slattery, you understand; and I'm sure he's a delightful enough cove in person - but it's the omnipresence that did for him in the end. It got to a stage where he was more well known than the Queen, than Jesus Christ himself... er, all right, I'm exaggerating, but you get the general idea. And now... well now, not so much. As I say, probably a charming chap, didn't really do anything offensively bad... it's just that he was everywhere, and we all got sick of him.
It's the same with Corden. Sometimes I expect him to come leaping at me out of the fridge when I come home from work. "Not now, Corden!" I scream, battling with him in the kitchen, my foot skidding in the cat litter tray... you know the kind of thing. You can't switch on a television set without his big gurning face looming at you. It's off-putting. It's creepy. It's like that bit in that rubbish Doctor Who episode where everyone ends up getting the same face - speaking of which, he's even on that bloody programme this weekend.
There's no escape. Before you know it, Corden will be reading out the Shipping Forecast, presenting Rugby Special and doing the Lottery numbers. He's everywhere. He's everyone. He is everywhere you look. Everywhere you go, it's Corden. It's beginning to drive me slowly insane.
I'm trying to develop a new product, the CordonBlock device. It's in the early developmental stages, but I hope you'll bear with me. My idea is that it's an intelligent piece of software that scans your TV looking out for signs of the great man. As soon as you hear a lot of shouting in a regional accent that makes no comical sense, but which is inexplicably greeted with roaring laughter, like a Cockney Max Boyce, it immediately launches a jug of boiling water into your eyes. And thus you are spared having to see him.
People following my childish rants on Twitter have already quite rightly pointed out the CordenBlock's flaws. Firstly, while you're spared the sight of him, you're not spared the sound of his voice yelling away in a high-pitched fucking nonsense. Even worse, the CordenBlock has rendered you helpless and blind, meaning that you're unable to locate the TV remote to get rid of him. A nightmare, given that there's a pretty good chance of him being on 28,000 successive fucking programmes, contributing precisely nothing to each and every one of them, and in all the ad breaks as well, and in your nightmares, like that scary old couple from Mulholland Drive, boring into your very soul...
Secondly, the sheer amount of boiling water required could deplete the world's resources to a dangerously low level. Given that he's on TV about a billion times every half an hour, the power surges and water used could very easily bankrupt everyone who owns the CordonBlock, and put Britain even further into recession. (And we can't have that. It'll mean our Coalition Government targeting even more poor people and badgers, for a start, while ensuring their millionaire City mates who caused the whole fuckup in the first place are safely cosseted away from any pain.)
Anyway, many readers have suggested to me an alternative means of removing Corden from TV: a 'CordonBlur' device which obscures his entire face from the screen whenever he's on it; or a 'CordonBleu' device which turns the entire screen blue, just to be sure he can't be seen in the slightest. Others say that a giant opaque dome should descend from the ceiling, covering the TV, while flashing lights and klaxxons warn of the impending danger. Further suggestions have been made of a "CordenCordon", an exclusion zone that could keep viewers a safe distance away from the scene of the crime.
A great idea, but the most creative suggestion came from reader @glsurman, who said bait could be laid in HMV for our hero, and the device could be called "Cordenatrapnoturningbacklostinmusic". Genius.
Perhaps I might offer another, cheaper, suggestion: a network of spotters, linked by Twitter and Facebook, who can warn others to Corden's presence on a nearby screen. The message could go like this: "C*RD*N ITV1 NOW: THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL".
Together, the hive mind can defeat him. Oh he'll try. He'll try and turn up wherever we least expect it. In a cereal box. Down the bottom of the garden, next to the radishes. Under a patio stone. Hidden under the dining room table. Oh, he's a slippery one all right, but we can work together to defeat him. Who knows? Maybe only having him on TV every few weeks might make him, you know, bearable again.
Until then, though, keep em peeled. We can fight this menace together.