I have been watching the Channel 4 reality TV series called SAS – Who Dares Wins (SAS-WDW); two episodes of the series have been aired already.

Having invested a couple of hours of my time in watching, I have come to the conclusion that, whilst the programme has its interesting elements, it is badly flawed, in fact so badly flawed as to be largely pointless.

If you haven’t come across the series yet, here’s a quick synopsis: a group of specially selected members of the public are subjected to Special Forces (SF) selection exercises to basically determine if they are hard enough. Those making the yes/no decisions are from a small group of ex SAS, SBS soldiers.

The victims (because that is what the selection candidates are, albeit willingly) proceed to get exercised, drilled and bullied/beasted to the point of exhaustion and subsequent ejection. Week on week the pool reduces. From a realism perspective this approach is probably aligned to the actual process because those in the services have to be the toughest (both physically and mentally) that the UK military can offer.

Here’s the fly in the ointment as far as I am concerned.  

To be an SF operative, you probably have to be a sociopath, or even a psychopath. These soldiers may need to kill people without hesitation/remorse and, quite possibly with their bare hands whilst looking their targets in the eye. They have to be able to function under intense pressure, under fire and in situations where most ordinary people would wet themselves with fear.

I don’t care how tough any of the victims on SAS–WDW are, they will have no idea if they could cope with the real world of SF operation (rather than some staged TV show where UK law and health and safety legislation have a role to play).

If the series asked contestants to take knives to their colleagues, or just beat the pulp out of one another without provocation, it might help better determine if they were made of the right stuff.

I am sure that detailed psychological profiling helps identify those that have psychopathic tendencies; maybe once the kill-without-remorse trait is established, the physical conditioning could be introduced – not the other way around.

In SAS-WDW, the SF training is more like science fiction and that is actually a good thing because the fact is that even those that made the grade (like the ex-SBS, Foxy) can only take so much before they get crushed. In episode two, Foxy revealed that he was medically discharged from the SBS with post-traumatic stress disorder. So this man that made-the-grade, saw active service and still has the physique of He-Man isn’t even good enough anymore. What hope can the reality TV contestants possibly have?

A work colleague of mine has a partner that is ex-military and I got to discussing SAS-WDW with her in the office. I was fascinated to hear that her fella actually knows Foxy. She then showed me some images taken after her chap was attacked; he was on close protection duty in Iraq when the vehicle he was in got ambushed. The 4x4 was literally shot to pieces and the photograph I saw was more real than anything on SAS-WDW. The good thing is that, armour plating, quick thinking, skilful driving and promptly returned fire saved the day and all in the SUV survived.

That is the reality of an SF operative and that’s why the SAS/SBS recruit from the military in the first place. At least an already trained soldier has been tested under fire and has a courage/resilience that gives them a fighting chance of making it through selection and, more importantly, coping when in the field.

With regards to the bunch of narcissistic, arrogant, fitness freak, show offs (and I admit that’s a sweeping generalisation) on this TV programme, I have to say that I couldn’t care less who wins. Not one of them will become a Special Forces soldier as a result and the show is therefore pointless.

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Today has been a bit of an eye opener/tear jerker/epiphany for me; it would appear that I have probably wasted the best part of four years of my life. Why? Well the ‘B’log really should have been a ‘V’log.

And just in case you are more of a Luddite than me – vlog is short for video log. In these online environments, one views stuff instead of reading it - like watching the news on the telly rather than reading the paper.

If you are wondering what dinged the bell for my latest bout of introspection, this BBC News article http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-34504053 shares the details of the UK’s top ten highest earning/most influential YouTubers.

Top of the chart is a chap that has his own YouTube channel named "KSI" with 10 million subscribers. What does 22 year old JJ Olatunji (JJO) do on his vlog? Well primarily he videos himself playing and delivering commentaries on computer games, oh and once he vlogged about dying his hair blond (maybe that’s where Lewis Hamilton got his inspiration from).

Personally I think this sort of material couldn’t be any duller; I’d go so far as to state that engaging with it would be a form of torture. But I am obviously missing something fundamental because 74.9 million views in September evidence that KSI is a big deal. The fact that JJO earnt £2.9 million pounds last year from advertising revenues is even more of an indicator.

The BBC article reveals that YouTubers are becoming celebrities in their own rights and some are even finding their likenesses added to the portfolio at Madame Tussauds’ wax works attractions. Next time you go to one, there’s a real possibility that you’ll see loads of dummies of people that you have never heard of.

Whilst I am clearly behind the times, I can report that my son is an avid consumer of YouTube material, his favourite content has been posted by people similar to JJO and specifically playing a game called “Minecraft”. I don’t understand the fascination at all and, if I am honest, would probably feel less perturbed if my son was watching porn (because surely that’s a more natural thing for a young-fellow-my-lad to be getting up to).

Further reflection (but not about porn I assure you) has led me to ponder on the potential for launching my own vlog. Instead of reading my outpourings you could watch/listen to the material coming straight from the horse’s mouth (so to speak). Now watching me contemplating and commenting upon just about anything that takes my fancy might not be that exciting (because even Mrs B. doesn’t get excited by my face anymore) and, though I can assure you that dying my hair blond wouldn’t get featured, you might prefer to watch JJO play with himself.

From a commercial perspective though, I couldn’t do any worse; the amount of income generated from adrianbaldwin.net over four years is…

…absolutely nothing.  

By way of another proxy; the number of readers that have come up to me to ask for my autograph or take a selfie…

…the same result.

And to complete a trilogy of failure measurements; the number of my idols (e.g. Bruce Dickinson, Ian Kilmster, Ozzy) that are aware I even exist…precisely nil.

The fact is that entertaining you my dear reader actually costs me money and that, by way of technicality, makes me a charity.

I have clearly missed a trick and will now have to work out how to switch my webcam on and how to video what it sees. Once that is sorted, maybe I’ll start writing scripts instead of blogs.

Only one letter is different, but if I’d selected the ‘V’ over the ‘B’, I could have been rich. A famous line from Del Boy springs to mind…

"This time next year Rodders…"

Watch this space!

Well maybe not this space exactly, but you get drift.

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I should probably be embarrassed by just how excited I am about the upcoming cinema releases of “Star Wars VII– The Force Awakens” and “Spectre” - like millions of others, I rushed to view the trailers as soon as they were released.

The fact is that these movie franchises have been a part of my life for, well, just about all of it and the next instalments are as eagerly awaited as any books from my favourite authors or albums from my favourite bands.

But getting to the cinema, unless I want to go on my own, is never that straightforward. Issues such as the kids (getting babysitters) and Mrs B’s differing views of what constitutes essential viewing, mean that I haven’t been to the cinema for some time. The last film seen on the big screen was “Avengers – Age of Ultron” (I took my lad and his mate for a birthday outing) and before that it was either “Skyfall” or “Muppets Most Wanted”.

Rest assured though that every effort will be made to see the latest Star Wars and Bond releases – even if I have to go on my own.   

Much less effort is of course required to see stuff that's on the telly. In the absence of cinema attendance, I can report that in recent weeks I have watched some fine material on the small screen (and not all Rugby World Cup related). I’ll share some personal highlights in the following paragraphs.

I have thoroughly enjoyed “Cradle to Grave” and “The Kennedys”, both comedy sitcoms set in the seventies (and the Kennedys in Stevenage). Great acting, great cars, great clothing, great interior decorations and some laugh-out-loud moments. Both series shown on the BBC and still available on the iPlayer if you missed out.

As far as I am concerned, the BBC is on a roll right now. In addition to the top picks above, Doctor Who is back and DIY SOS: Homes for Veterans has been brilliant so far. With regards to the latter, the first episode last week featured Princes William and Harry who were brilliant ambassadors for our troops and the Royal Family. I’d go so far as to say the DIYSOSHfV is essential viewing.

My final BBC Octoberish experience has been Doctor Foster. Set in Hitchin, the town of my formative years, still the home of my parents, and an occasional rendezvous point for drinking with my old school/work buddies, I was encouraged to watch it by family members that observed the filming in progress.  

Doctor Foster is about extra martial affairs, betrayal, retribution and destruction and though star-studded, well-acted/scripted, intense, and set in Hitchin, I have to say that Doctor Foster (DF) made for some bloody miserable viewing.

There is a saying “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” – that’s the central tenet of DF.

In terms of the way the story unravelled, my analogy – like watching a slow motion car crash, you know it’s going to
happen, you know it’s going to be painful, there’s nothing you can do about it and you are just waiting for the impact. 

DF is a case study in how to have everything and then lose it all; if you are contemplating an illicit affair and want some insight into how destructive such a thing could be, I’d wholeheartedly recommend you take to the iPlayer.

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I’ll admit that the month has flashed by and that the attention given to my website has been impacted by work and the stuff of living…

…and, perhaps bizarrely fixing clocks (three repaired this month so far) but maybe that’s a post for another occasion.

In the meantime, this article is a random assortment of thoughts and experiences from the month so far. It’s almost a quarter to November and I feel duty-bound to share something from the last few weeks.

Rugby
The Rugby World Cup was exciting for a while and then, for me anyway, lost its sparkle thanks to England failing to make it to the quarter finals. The loss to Wales was a blow and the Aussies just outclassed us altogether – to be frank it was depressing to watch.

I actually made it to a game at the MKDons stadium. France beat Canada, as was to be expected, but the Canadians put in a spirited performance and the game was gripping. I went with an old work colleague who I hadn’t seen in more than four years and the company/catch up was as good as the match.

Apparently the MKDons stadium had never entertained such a large crowd - with 28,150 souls in attendance, it was essentially a sell-out. I got chatting to a season ticket holder who said that during football games the top tier of the stadium is never open.  Rugby it would appear is better than football!

The Scotland v Australia game this weekend was awesome, exciting from start to finish and the Scots so nearly had it too. If Scotland had played England, and exhibited the standard of play shown on Saturday night, they’d have beaten us too.

Bad karma at the VW Group
I have to say that I am more than a bit disappointed by the revelations of exhaust emissions rigging from VW. The fraudulent behaviour from such an iconic brand is a development that I am monitoring with interest.

I am currently driving a VW Passat diesel estate, the latest in a sequence of similarly branded vehicles and although mine is Euro 6 compliant (and therefore not affected), I feel less satisfied with my car than I did before.  It’s a guilt by association thing. For me, driving it is now a bit like buying a coffee in Starbucks (the tax avoiding baristas) – i.e. a little uncomfortable.  

If I am honest, I don’t want to see the VW Group brought down because of its cheating (it would be crying shame to lose the brand/s, or worse still see it taken over by the Chinese) but I do hope that the financial losses that will inevitably follow teach the company a lesson in behaving with integrity.

Tesla and the future of motoring
Whilst on the subject of cars, I move on to a vehicle brand that isn’t obNoxious at all.

​This month has seen me get a chance to drive the Tesla Model S 70 RWD. I have to say that I was genuinely impressed. Driving this electric vehicle was a bit like driving a huge iPad - touchscreen everything.

As I write “Back to the Future 2” is front of mind because the 21st October 2015 was the date Marty and Doc went back to the future (I am so going to have to watch the movie again tomorrow night). The relevance to this article; all-electric vehicles haven’t exactly inspired me to date but the Tesla actually felt like it represented the future of motoring.

The styling and build quality had a premium look and feel; the performance was impressive (an enviable zero to sixty time and top speed); the technology advanced (Formula-one-ish in terms of battery regeneration and energy harvesting) the car was practical for a family; and, most importantly, it felt like a viable vehicle for daily use.

Which couldn’t be said for the BMW i8 I climbed into a few days before driving the Tesla. Though it looked lovely and the gullwing doors were cool, I came away with the distinct impression that the i8 - no boot to speak of, no bonnet storage either, rear seats barely suitable for small children etc. - had the practicality of a small shopping basket.

Shopping bag shenanigans
And that brings me on to carrier bags and the five pence charge you can expect to pay for one when you go shopping. In certain parts of the UK, supermarkets are reporting that the introduction of the charge has led to a significant rise in the thefts of shopping baskets (they are now being electronically tagged). 

I am baffled that someone would be prepared to steal a shopping basket rather than pay 5p, or simply take a bag-for-life to the shop in the first place…but then what do I know?  

Just after the charge was introduced, I was in the Asda store in Rugby and witnessed something that surprised me. There was a lady in front of me in the queue, who had mostly filled the conveyor belt and was waiting to be served - she watched me join the queue behind her carrying just one item – did she offer to let me go ahead? Did she heck! I shouldn’t have been surprised what came next.  

The checkout assistant asked her if she wanted some bags, and clearly not happy with the new rule, she gave him a grumpy ‘yes’ response. To this chap’s credit he offered this lady a sturdy, reusable bag for six pence but instead she opted to pay five pence for the single-use, flimsy alternative.

If you have to pay for a carrier bag, surely it’s worth spending an extra 1p to buy one that you can keep in your car and use next time you go to the supermarket instead of one where the bottom will have fallen out of it, or the handles have broken, before you’ve got your shopping out of the trolley and into the boot?

Ikea = crap
At on the subject of boots, I need to put the boot into Ikea…again!

After my earlier post expressed huge frustration at the service received in Coventry, guess what my formal complaint resulted in…

…absolutely nothing!

I am thoroughly disappointed in the Coventry branch, so much so in fact that I will never set foot (or a boot for that matter) in that store again.  And arguably that’s a good result because I was at best a reluctant visitor – now I have a point of principle to stop me going back...ever. Even better, Mrs Baldwin even agrees with me on this one.

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