Friday, August 31, 2007

Apple and NBC call it a day

In the comments to TV on iTunes, Stephen Gallagher, taking the long view, wrote regarding paid-for television downloads:

The future's pretty much set. It's going to be one click, a deduction from your online credit account that's so small you don't think about it, and a download that's no different to an off-air recording.

I think we'll get there eventually, but not with the fucktards at NBC running the show.

News broke today that NBC were not willing to renew their contract with Apple, allowing the computer company to offer downloads of NBC's TV shows through iTunes, without renegotiating terms. Specifically, they wanted what Apple have so far denied every single one of its partners - the ability to determine pricing. Apple have always stuck to their guns in regards to pricing, even though it has sometimes cost them - as it did earlier this year when Universal Music threw their toys out of the pram and refused to resign.

NBC, perhaps thinking that they could bully Apple (who currently control 80% of the online channel) into letting them have their own way, must have been pretty surprised when a press release was later issued, point blank telling the greedy twat-weasels to go fuck themselves.

Apple® today announced that it will not be selling NBC television shows for the upcoming television season on its online iTunes® Store ( The move follows NBC’s decision to not renew its agreement with iTunes after Apple declined to pay more than double the wholesale price for each NBC TV episode, which would have resulted in the retail price to consumers increasing to $4.99 per episode from the current $1.99. ABC, CBS, FOX and The CW, along with more than 50 cable networks, are signed up to sell TV shows from their upcoming season on iTunes at $1.99 per episode.

What an embarrasment for NBC. And what an entertaining spat.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

The numbers are down

Mostly, anyway:

Check out the spend on originated output - down £200m in five years!

Clicking the image will take you to the television section Ofcom's annual Communications Market Report for 2007; several hundred pages of telecoms porn, and always interesting reading.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

TV on iTunes

Rather a surprise - Apple have finally, with no fanfare at all, begun adding TV shows to the UK’s iTunes store. Nothing from the Beeb, or ITV and C4; rather US content from Disney, ABC and Paramount Comedy.

This means the likes of Lost, Ugly Betty, Desperate Housewives, South Park, Spongebob Squarepants and more - pretty much the same as the initial offerings when the video service was launched Stateside.

Prices are rather steeper than $1.99 however, with single episodes coming in at £1.89 a pop! That’s $3.80. Something about that feels a bit uncomfortable - must be Steve Jobs' knuckled fist up my bum.

Fortunately, season packs are available with hefty discounts. A full season of Lost will set you back £32.99, a tenner less than if one were to buy the individual episodes. Still more than a DVD, but the picture quality’s good and the convenience can’t be argued with.

Here’s to more content soon (what are the chances of simultaneous US\UK releases, do you think?)

Friday, August 24, 2007


Well, this is boring. I spent nearly all of today napping on the sofa, more like an octogenarian than a strapping mumble-something. The temazepam must be finally having an effect. Yes, broken foot and insomnia. Although the sleeplessness came first. Exhaustion and lack of concentration may have played a part in the injury. Whatever next, eh? Or heretofore, as the case may be.

I don’t know. I’m confused.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007


I will be the first to admit, having never broken a bone before, that when I see footballers howl in agony and take eight weeks off when someone stands on their foot, my first thought tends to be something like: bloody great overpaid sissy prancing fairy-boys.

Well, if Beckham or Rooney were ever upset by this (and I suspect it may have put them slightly off-balance), I apologise. I apologise because I can attest that it flaming well hurts.

I have mentioned from time to time that I play a regular game of five-a-side with some buddies from the pub. We’ve been doing this for a year and a half, and although most of us are now pretty fit, we’re still crappy footballers. This can be rather dangerous.

I’ve certainly had my fair share of bruised shins and bloody noses resulting from wayward feet and high-speed collisions, but never anything that could invalid me out of the next game. Now, however, I can claim rightful brotherhood with the pantheon of footballing heroes by boasting that I have had broken the legendary 5th metatarsal of my right foot.

There I was, end of the first half, right on the edge of the penalty area, only the keeper to beat, ready to shoot, unable to miss when FUCK AH FUCK SHIT GOD DAMN DAMN SHIT AH I’m okay, I’m okay, play on, I’ll just go and run it under the tap for a bit.

Which I did, and then I came back and played the rest of the game, because I’m a testosterone charged, pain loving macho strong man freak, who worried that if he limped off, everyone would think him a bloody great sissy prancing fairy-boy.

Lunatic! Fool! Poltroon! That night I couldn’t sleep I was in so much pain; so first thing Monday morning, I put on three pair of socks, tied my laces really tight and hobbled all the way to the first aid unit at the hospital. Who sent me to my GP. At the other end of town. Who sent me back to the hospital, for an X-Ray. Which finally confirmed, after two hours limping around town, with the cold-sweats and ready to puke, that I had a broken foot and needed to go to the nearest A&E.

Thirteen miles away.

That poor radiologist. I could see she hated giving me the news, the entire weight of the PCT’s inadequacies weighing upon her. I felt sorry for her, but I killed her anyway. I mean, what would you have done?

She lies in peace now, entombed in her lead lined lab. I found myself a lift to Banbury, got myself checked out and cast by some very pretty young girls, and now have nothing to do but splay on the sofa with my foot on a pillow, trawling Facebook for old school friends and fielding calls from panicked and over-harried workmates.

And I can’t wait until I can play again.