A coincidence of scatology. Given television’s desperation to cross any boundary to bolster its dwindling status, MoL went pitching to Channel 4: Get Your Shit Together, based on the premise that you are what you eat. Volunteers shit on camera; in fact they shit on the camera. Expert turd doctors analyse the results and discuss it with the perpetrator before an audience. Thus the bullet-pointed efforts of the overstressed, overworked executive and messy splatter of the second-rate artist. A studio job presented by ex-daytime weather girl of rising stock. Shit and money, the last taboos. (Although nobody really talks about sex in any honest way, only as a projection of what they think it should be, or what they think others think it is.) Channel 4 had that gleam which said this is impossible, this could be huge. The same day an infrequent MoL correspondent wrote complaining about the state of his bowels, which for weeks have had the same unreliable consistency as when on French holidays, “a sort of soft almond whirl of shit and a strange yellowish green”. In an example of MoL positive thinking, he has decided his body is telling him he must be in France after all, so he now proceeds as though on holiday there, speaking French to the uncomprehending natives of Dalston.