A Final Picture of Paul McCartney

When you're an insomniac with depression* late night is the worst time. When lying in bed under the glow of some infomercial - as that's all that's on and you don't deserve good TV anyway - it's hard not to let the darkness in. The thirtieth viewing Chef Tony's Miracle Blade cannot take your mind off your mind. So you think. And think. And you think about maybe not bothering with tomorrow. And you think that, yes, self-balancing accugrip handles are a kitchen revolution. To be left alone with your thoughts, in the dark, is one of the worst experiences you can have.

Then came channel Eleven and with it The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson. A show that at its worst was a distraction and at its best was life-sustaining. I've written a bit about the comforting effect TV has had on this lonely guy from country Australia. Like this thing on Letterman. The difference between those shows is Ferguson's was made for me.

The Late Late Show seemed specifically designed for insomniacs with a weird, dark, off-kilter sense of humour like me. And it had a way of creeping up on you, even on terrible no good days, and pulling laughter from deep inside you. It would ambush you into feeling better.       

And it wasn't a talk show. It was something else. It was a thorough deconstruction of the talk format and terribly unserious about itself. It stands up to repeated viewings; the same can't be said for any of its peers.

It was something special. And now it's gone.

The final Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson will air @ 11:30pm tonight on Eleven 

*I promise I'll think of a new opening line in the new year