For fear of missing out...

Right now, at this very moment, I'm listening to John Martyn. Arguably, Martyn is the most laid back you'll get. I'm listening to the album Bless the Weather – in fact, as we speak, the title track is playing. It's great if you want some peace or if you want something murmuring in the background, helping you get along. I first got into John Martyn during my troubled teenage years, although I don't ever recall buying an album by this great musician, who is sadly not with us any more. It was always put on the turntable round at somebody's house and we'd all simply chill out – in fact we'd get so chilled out we'd fall asleep, which was nice. For a long while I didn't listen to John Martyn. I don't know why, but it's difficult as I don't possess any material of his – but since it's been possible to download music from operators like Spotify, my life has changed and now the man is back in my life, albeit at the crack of dawn. You can bet, certainly over the next few days at any rate, that I'll be listening to John Martyn at around this time in the morning. And if you're interested, one of his best albums was entitled Solid Air, an album title I can understand.

A clean bike at last! It was getting to look a bit like Andy's Kona!

So here I am, it's 0632hrs now, dark outside and I've enjoyed eight hours of sleep, which is rare for me. I normally hit the sack around 2300hrs and sleep badly, waking around 0430hrs and then having trouble getting back to sleep. Last night, not so much fed up with the quality of British television, but simply feeling too tired to stay up and watch Manchester by the Sea, which I really wanted to watch, I hit the sack at 2200hrs and after listening to the news on Radio Four, none of which I can remember, I switched off just as Joan Bakewell was about to embark upon a programme about death – not the sort of thing I wanted to listen to last thing at night. Why does Radio Four do that? I've often put the radio on at night, with a view to distracting myself from the fact that I can't sleep, and there's something miserable on, like programmes about disease or death; and it's not just in the dead of night, often it's at 2100hrs. Depressing.

I'm going to make a point of hitting the sack at 2200hrs from now on because there is nothing worth watching on television these days. Why is James McAvoy ALWAYS on Graham Norton's show? That man must be making so many movies. Norton is always on after the news on a Friday night and invariably I sit there and watch it, because Norton is probably the best thing on television when it comes to 'entertainment'. I love the big red chair, but invariably don't like the musical bit, it's invariably the lame part of the show. I mean, Cheryl Cole was on the other day. That said, Cole is one of those people who is so bad she's good. She mimes, she's not a rock and roller, there's a lot wrong, most of all the huge tattoo on her arse. I don't know about you, but that would definitely put me off. Just knowing that tattoo exists would annoy me, but it's not something she's going to get rid of easily, meaning it's there for life. Imagine lying in bed next to her knowing that her tattooed derriere is festering under the bedclothes, just inches away. I hate tattoos and would never have one done. It's a bit like scribbling in Biro on your exercise book: you start with one squiggle and soon the cover is peppered with drawings of some sort – ruined in other words – and I guess Cheryl Cole has ruined her arse. If ever I interviewed her it's the first question I'd ask: "How do you feel about ruining your arse?" Or, "Don't you think you've ruined your arse?" She's looking in need of a good meal too, somebody give her an ice cream, anything, a Belgian bun (like the one I ate in Morrison's in Reigate yesterday afternoon). What she really needs, of course, is a roast dinner: chicken, roasties, greens, gravy, apple pie and custard, that's what I'd offer her if I saw her in the street.

So I went to bed early and managed to get eight hours' kip. Fantastic. Cycling takes it out of me, I've noticed. Yesterday we rode the slow way to the bus stop. We were going to ride to Westerham and visit the Tudor Rose for breakfast, but I had stuff to do and couldn't really afford to be back late. I stormed up Beddlestead Lane and felt great on my return, using the off-road path on the 269, talking to myself here and there, as you do when you find yourself alone in a wide open space, nobody around for miles, as it seemed to me yesterday morning. When I reached Warlingham, having said goodbye to Andy at The Ridge, I stopped off at the gas station to jet clean my bike. The bike is clean. Very clean. And I don't want to get it dirty on today's ride so it'll probably be the long way to the bus stop again.

One reason I stay up late is the fear of missing out. The truth of the matter, however, is that I won't miss anything. In the same way that nothing is that funny, nothing is that good either, so I'm going to try and set myself a new rule: hit the sack at 2200hrs. I mean, Fiona Bruce presenting Question Time, who's idea was that? It's the BBC and it's awful political correctness. Have you noticed how Doctor Who is doing its bit for diversity? There's a white, black and Asian assistant for the female Doctor Who. PC is everywhere at the BBC. Didn't they get rid of that long haired bloke on Countryfile to make the programme more diverse? I think they did. They couldn't get rid of Craven because that would have been ageist. Is that how you spell 'ageist'?

Anyway, I'd better go and make a flask of tea for the ride. See you later...

Doctor Who is rubbish! There! I've said it!

I've never been able to remember the exact detail of The Emperor's New Clothes, but the gist of it is that an emperor, long ago, is brainwashed into thinking that he is wearing clothes when, in fact, he's naked. The tale is often used to illustrate how something that is essentially a load of old tosh is viewed by few (or many) as the best thing since sliced bread. The BBC's Doctor Who is a case in point. In short, it's not very good, in my opinion, and never has been.

Doctor Who: it's not scary and it does not possess any cult significance.

In fact, the only episode that I would give any credit to is the one featuring the original Weeping Angels – that, it has to be said, is brilliant and I would watch it time and time again, it's that good. As for the rest of it? I'd even suffer listening to the Archers if I had to choose.

There are myriad problems with Doctor Who, the first being that whenever you see 'an alien' it never fails to look like somebody dressed as an alien. It's never possible to suspend disbelief, in other words. And regardless of the scenario in which the Doctor finds himself, it always looks as if the whole thing is being filmed in a television studio, even when it isn't. In the same way that 'made for television' movies in the seventies had a certain naffness about them – they never looked like a proper movie of the sort you'd see in the cinema – the same is true of Doctor Who. And even when you see a movie on the television, it looks 'better', more authentic and once again, with Doctor Who, the viewer's ability to suspend disbelief is impossible.

Whenever I sit and watch Doctor Who, in the back of my mind I'm always aware that beneath that monstrous-looking costume of an alien – for that is what it is – there is a man or woman who, at some later date will be featured on a television programme about the making of Doctor Who explaining how difficult it was to get the bloody thing on or how hot it was in there. Again, the ability to suspend disbelief is just not there and why would the BBC spend time and money making a programme about the making of Doctor Who? It's simply not that good.

Indeed, the BBC goes out of its way to make Doctor Who naff by trying to big it up by creating a myth that, even as adults, people cower behind the sofa in fright. Listen, they don't! Doctor Who simply isn't scary! And yet you'll always hear television presenters – especially the BBC prefects and 'head girls' like Zoey Ball, going on and on about how they'll have difficulty sleeping after watching an episode. Rubbish! If Hannibal Lecter isn't scary (it's good old Anthony Hopkins after all) then where does that leave Doctor Who?

That ability to suspend disbelief is stunted further by Doctor Who Confidential, a programme which, in itself, is naff, because it sets out to analyse an episode of 'Who' and thereby ruin it for anybody who is foolish enough to be capable of suspending disbelief. In Confidential we hear how the programme was made, we hear from the writer, the actors, we see shots of camera booms and directors – all of which reinforces the reality that Doctor Who is little more than a television production. There's nothing worse than being told how a magic trick works so that you're aware that it isn't magic after all – of course it isn't – just sleight of hand, and that's what Doctor Who Confidential attempts to do – it ruins any imagination the viewer might possess. And, once again, Doctor Who simply isn't good enough to have a separate programme devoted to how it was made.

I feel the same way about actors on chat shows. Those who are frequently seen chatting to Jonathan Ross or Parkinson or Graham Norton soon become 'themselves' in the eyes of the public and once again that ability to suspend disbelief is damaged forever as when you then see the actor in question trying to fool you that he or she is some major historical figure (or whatever) it's impossible not to see the actor staring back at you. In some cases, of course, that ability to suspend disbelief was never there in the first place – yes, in Doctor Who, but who could possibly suspend disbelief enough to watch Daniel Radcliffe – Harry Potter for God's sake! – as beat poet Allen Ginsberg?

But let's get back to Doctor Who. In short, it's rubbish: the sets are rubbish, the alien outfits are far from convincing, the whole thing is bigged up beyond belief and its hard to watch the BBC's various presenters patronising the British public, pretending that Doctor Who is scary and 'deep' when it isn't and generally making out that Doctor Who holds some kind of cult significance. It doesn't. He doesn't.  It's not the X Files (which never looked as if it was filmed in a studio, and if there were aliens, they always looked a darn sight more convincing than those in Doctor Who).

And yet, if you dare to question the greatness of Doctor Who it's almost blasphemy. The crowded room goes silent, a bell tolls, and the hangman arrives to take you to the gallows. Well, come and get me "aunty", Doctor Who is bollocks! There, I've said it! It's bollocks! Rubbish! A load of old tosh! Put that in your Tardis and smoke it!