We, the British – stoic in our sensibilities, steadfast in our sentiments, and famously stiff in our collective upper lip; our tears seldom shed, our smiles seldom seen, our heads often shaken.
Even whilst sharing a mutual objective, the motive of the Englishman is varied and many. I see it in their eyes. I hear it in their sighs. But none of this matters.
Ultimately, we are gathered here today to serve one extraordinary purpose – to save lives.
I am late. Hesitantly, as is my nature, I enter the Church Center and navigate my way to the first nurse. She asks if I’ve brought any paperwork. I have. She asks me to go to the waiting room. I do.
Time temporarily stops, my eyes glaze over and I stare straight through the nurse in to the blood farm behind. Blue uniforms swim through the aisles between the beds like sharks having caught the scent of blood. Cacophonous alarms signify the conclusion of each harvest, and dry zombie donors drift like spectres around the demure religious hall.
What do you get when a terrestrial television channel has an empty prime-time slot, a mysterious gymnast, and acrylic plastic surplus to requirement?
ITV‘s prime-time, acryli-fest gameshow – The Cube. That’s what.
Back for a second series The Cube fulfils the part of ITV‘s remit that clearly states the must utilise the abundance of Poly[methyl methacrylate] stored within the warehouse since Simon Cowell’s Plastic Death Dungeon of Doom was officially decommissioned in late 1997. Oh, you didn’t see that one?