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The Rise of the Podcasts

Podcasts have opened my eyes like nothing else in my life – variously, these are obnoxious, political, philosophical, and, sometimes: helpful.

First off, let’s get this straight: TV is dead and buried. The body is somehow still recognisable, although only through dental records, informers, talent shows and semen stains.

Sure, if you’re that way inclined, then Hollyoaks, The One Show and even Granada Reports are part of your digestive tract, but in reality, I mean, in this day and time and space? Nah, you pick and choo-choo-choose – like a little tribute to Thomas the Tank Engine’s fat controller and The Simpsons’ Ralph Wiggum? Mmmm…? The former was overworked, underpaid and they had no cycle lanes on the Isle of Sodor, so he’s excused as to how his life got fucked.

Brian! Please concentrate!

Okay, to get back to my point… Fucking hilarious, Brian. Like you ever, ever had a point?

Podcasts have opened my eyes like nothing else in my fucked up life – variously, these are obnoxious, political, philosophical, and, sometimes: helpful.

Mmm, where to begin? MMM? Is that very similar to MMA? Yeah, you’re right. Joe Rogan, the erstwhile podcast king – fuck him. Yeah, fuck him. But the guests? You’re going to learn something, fellow travellers, not from your host, but about fighting, about hunting, about entertainment, about philosophy, about science, about how to live together and about debate – and just blah de blah and Monster Munch pickled onion flavour.

Okay, I exaggerated about the Monster Munch and the science, but… fuck science.

Of course, I realise that Joe Rogan is financially viable and could be shut down at any minute. Meh, but he’s there.

What’s a bad podcast?

>Anything you agree with;

>Anything you disagree with; and

>Anything you can’t understand.

As I write this, a mentally unstable person of nondescript descent has stabbed people of equally nondescript descent on Victoria’s tram station in the city of Manchester. Make your own Podcast about this. Seriously – because you can’t rely on Lucy Meacock. It’s not her fault. She might say: “Man dies behind the wheel,” whilst cat in Didsbury goes viral badly.

For pod life, you basically find what floats your boat, jump on it and hang on for dear life.

Seriously, make Manchester podcasts and get in touch with me. I really don’t care what the subject is. If it’s any subject, I’m in.

Podcast wormholes are easy to fall into, as I’ve found to my cost. By the way, podcast junkies, if you follow the same thing all the time, you’ll get lost, as sure as eggs is chickens.

As previously described in my scrawlings, I’m all about the punk ethic of do-it-yourself, and the podcast is the ultimate expression of this.

Ultimate? Okay, probably not, but let’s deal with what we’ve got, eh?

Our whole world could become pod. Only the things we agree with; only the things where our children are superstars and athletes. But I digress and feel like I’m being chased by dogs.

I will end on a recommendation and a gee-up: Manchester podcasts get in touch.

I’ve followed the career of Brian Limond – aka #Limmy – for a long time.

Watched how he has made his own stuff bit by bit, figuring out the tech and at the same time continuing to be fucking hilarious. If you don’t get the Glasgow accent? Then learn it.

His progress is incredible, his use of tech is incredible, and the guy is a great example of how to make your own TV.

I will leave you with a cheesy pod reference:


And ergo:



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