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The Acaster Commission.


Today’s blog is about Gladiators, because James Acaster told me it should be.
(I couldn’t discuss Eggheads as I’ve already covered it twice, and didn't want to talk about David Trent, for fear of facing the wrath of the world’s angriest comedian.)

I assume James meant the 90s LWT programme and not those Roman chaps who were paid in salt. Either way, I’m at a disadvantage; I didn’t watch the show, and everything I know about the muscly, fighty, slavey kind was gleaned from Russell Crowe, who probably wasn't the best source.

With the first option, I’m aware of the basics. I know it was hosted by Ulrika Jonsson (with a name like an anagram), John Fashanu (likewise) and Jeremy Guscott (remember him?). All the contenders were named after Lynx deodorants. Most people fancied Jet, but she just made me think of Wings. Wolf looked like the guy in the painting in Ghostbusters II.

Everything I thought I knew about the second option has since been discredited by QI. They rarely fought animals, were often not slaves but volunteers, and a thumbs down from Johnny Cash didn’t mean instant death. Despite my earlier statement, they weren’t paid in salt. That last one's a relief: no-one wants a wallet full of condiment.

So, that’s all I can say on the subject. I tried my best with limited means. That's what happens when you take Acaster’s advice. I’ve definitely learnt my lesson.
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