About half of the visitors to this site hand over a significant wedge of money annually to pay for their access to the marvellous products of the BBC. I don't because I don't have a television. If I did, however, I'd like to know where to write to complain about, say, my getting poor value for my money.
PooterGeek's exciting Web competition invites you to visit the BBC Website via the link I have just provided and obtain a postal address (that's snailmail, people) to which such a complaint could be addressed. As I wrote, you must enter at the top of their Web tree and find, in four clicks or fewer, real co-ordinates for the Beeb—including a postcode. You are not allowed to use Google or any other search engine, except the one provided by the BBC itself.
First person to send me a plausible page history (no revisionism, you sneaky bastards) wins my hand in marriage. You are not obliged to claim your prize; even without my love until death, the adoration of the millions here will, I am sure, be sufficient. Winning heterosexual male/homosexual female entrants get Maoi, a real-life Filipina bride. All entrants must be at least 18 years old or have attractive older sisters. The judge's decision is final. No correspondence will be entered into—unless you can find my postal address on the PooterGeek Website.
The comments are open. Let the games begin!
I can do it in two:
Home page (bottom of page) > Privacy & Cookies Policy (bottom of page) which gives
Broadcasting House,
Portland Place,
London,
W1A 1AA
But, point taken; that took several shots. If it weren’t for Le Tour, I would still be TV free, but I cracked.
Oh, much as I like your site (especially the link to me with “No hard feelings” — heh), I must turn down the offer of your hand in marriage. I’m far too difficult to live with, even if I went for men. But with a nice arse, you don’t really want me anyway.
The reason I’m hogging your comments is that I decided that, as the media aren’t responding to the Seymour Hersh story, I’d email the link to the Graun. Know what? I can’t find anyone to tell. (In the bad old pre-internet days, I’ve fed pro-union stories to their newsdesk.) I emailed the Telegraph. Not instead: I meant it to be as well. It turned out to be *alone*.
What offer of marriage? “Several shots” to find an address reachable in two is not a non-revisionist “four clicks or fewer”. I am the judge and I say so. Neither I nor Maoi would take you on after such a poor performance. You may download a free jpg from my gallery as a consolation prize, however.
(And don't think you've got away with the shark comment, Mr Dave. I merely have bigger fish to fry at moment.)
Damian, you cad. I’ll have you know that my fiancee expects a cut of the profits every time you pimp me.
Let it be known that I am also insulted that anyone would ever consider marrying you (despite the nice arse) when you’d already offered ME.