Here we are, frantically battling against the bias at the BBC. Year in, year out, we stab away at our keyboards, foam-flecked spittle flying, blood pressure on the point of spontaneous combustion.
Auntie, meanwhile, gaily carries on, undeterred, oblivious and undaunted.
Then, along comes Bob. Hell hath no fury like a live-aid organiser scorned. The BBC sits up and openth one eye.
So. Should we recruit a celeb?.
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