Friend of GB News

I mentioned last week that I have been algorithmically anointed as a Friend of GB News. Not through any conscious effort of my own, you understand, but because some marketing bot decided I looked like the sort of chap who might enjoy a pint with Patrick Christys and nod along earnestly while he tells me he is my only hope in this dark and fallen world.

As a result, an email appeared in my inbox today. A heartfelt missive from Patrick himself, thanking me for taking precious time out of my day to watch his show. Touching, except for the minor inconvenience that I do not watch his show. Still, the sentiment was there. In the same way a phishing scam is technically a letter.

Patrick then embarked on a long explanation of why GB News is so terribly important. Not important in the old fashioned journalistic sense, where you report facts and hold power to account. No, important in the sacred mission to represent the unrepresented masses. These are apparently hordes of disenfranchised Britons who only ever talk about three things. The pub. The dinner table. And the mysterious point where both meet the word mate.

GB News, we are assured, is the only channel that listens to these people. The rest of the media has apparently spent decades treating them like dirt. No evidence is required. It is simply true because Patrick says so, and he has the earnest tone of a man who knows how to carry indignation with a straight back.

He gave examples. The Winter Fuel Payment cut was ridiculous, he told me. GB News rode to the rescue by going into the frozen wastelands of County Durham and listening to pensioners. They humanised the issue. This apparently forced the Government to act. Quite an achievement, given that every other media outlet also reported it, every opposition politician shouted about it, and every charity wrote briefing papers thicker than a church Bible. Still, in the mythology of GB News, it was their camera crew alone who moved the levers of power.

Then he moved on to British farmers and inheritance tax. He assured me that GB News would go in to bat for British farming. Stirring stuff. You half expect him to tack on Jerusalem. It is not clear what the actual policy solution is, but that does not matter. The point is that someone, somewhere, must be blamed. Preferably someone in London.

What really struck me was Patrick’s method. He constantly asked what we, the people, are talking about in our front rooms. What we want to hear. What we want on our screens. A journalist who asks what the audience wants to hear has already left journalism and wandered into motivational speaking. The news is supposed to tell you what is true, not what keeps you warm inside.

But of course the punchline arrived right on cue. After all this rustic sincerity, he invited me to join GB News as a paying member, for a mere fiver. Make sure we are here to stay, he said. It turns out the People’s Channel is only the People’s Channel if the people put their hand in their pocket.

In short, the entire email was a curious mix of flattery, grievance, and a cash register. A sort of political QVC, where the product is indignation, and the guarantee is that no uncomfortable fact will ever intrude on the flow.

All because I was algorithmically categorised as a Friend of GB News. Proof, if it were needed, that artificial intelligence still has a sense of humour.