Column | Floor drain television – NRC

It seems to me an interesting meeting at the gates of heaven: Paul van Vliet and Jerry Springer. One was the subtle cabaret artist with well-groomed theater shows, while the other excelled in a kind of unhinged tokkie TV, in which all kinds of illiterate asos and knackered hooligans enthusiastically punched each other in the face for years. Pathetic? Yes. But sometimes just nice if you were a bit broke on the couch.

Speaking of television: last Wednesday evening I was there On 1 to talk about Paul van Vliet, one of my most amiable colleagues with whom I have been friends for a good forty years. Few people have seen that bit in Op1. Rightly so. Perhaps you had switched on, but fell into a bottomless sleep after the first two subjects in this good-natured mumble show. Or start zapping screaming. That is of course also possible.

I don’t know if it was because of the boring questions or the even slower answers, but it was a slog for all parties. At first it was very good about electric cars and then the mayor of Utrecht was allowed to talk about her business trip to Ukraine. She had been there to help think about the reconstruction of that country. The war damage must be repaired there quickly, otherwise the Russians will soon have nothing left to bomb.

In the meantime I wondered why Sharon Dijksma had been invited by Zelensky and not the mayor of Appingedam. That is one of the hardest hit municipalities in the Groningen earthquake area. He could have explained to the Ukrainian president how we approach these kinds of matters in the Netherlands. Roll up your sleeves, don’t talk but polish, not words but deeds. Nothing can be seen of the damage in Groningen!

Zelensky would then have objected that things are different in our country. That the Dutch State had first earned a disgraceful amount from that gas, so then it is easy to pull out your wallet and tidy up the mess.

Maybe next time we should send a proud Rutte, a cheerful Vijlbrief and a shiny Wiebes to Kyiv. That super trio may jubilantly explain that repairing the damage is a piece of cake and that the job was done for us in six months.

But now the mayor of Utrecht was there. Why them? No idea! In two years’ time I would like to hear what has become of the nefarious recovery plans. What I think? Don’t ask stupid questions.

During the interview, I felt sorry for everyone anyway. With the interviewers in whose ears there was constant chattering. With the guests who especially had to sit right behind their sticker and whose water glasses were constantly refilled. And with the viewers, who had to watch a kind of crematorium television.

It already starts behind the scenes. You will be received in a basement in the media park that is reminiscent of the family room of a hospice. There everyone sits in civilized silence until the signal comes that we are going to start. And then? Then it’s an hour of polite and neat and correct and neat and slack and slow chatter. I had to constantly bite the inside of my cheek to stay awake. My head kept wanting to lay on the talk show table. For a moment I had the urge to say to that nice Tijs van den Brink: “Goddammit Tijs, what do you think the Creator thinks of these kind of shitty evenings?” But I’m an adult now. I no longer puberty and bleated along quietly. I’m not saying some Jerry Springer should refresh this program. But can it be something more?

I came home broken and luckily a fantastic surprise was waiting: the docusoap by Olcay Gulsen and Ruud de Wild. Floor drain television. Vanity and sorrow of the murkiest waters. I cried with laughter on the couch. I admit it’s gloating. But it’s been a long time since I’ve laughed so uncontrollably hard at shocking amateur drama. This will be my salvation in this otherwise pointless existence for the next few weeks.