Philip Hensher: Was Mason a racist, or just an imbecile?

Wittgenstein would have been greatly interested by the case of the BBC Bristol presenter and the taxi cab. Anyone looking at it will find it difficult to classify some of the statements made in the course of the events as meaningful in any sense.

It began when a BBC radio presenter in Bristol, Sam Mason, called a local taxi firm to book a cab for her 14-year-old daughter. Off the air, but from the BBC Bristol offices, she requested that the driver not be Asian because "it would freak her out". "I don't want her to turn up with a guy with a turban on," Ms Mason went on airily, "she's not used to Asians." The taxi firm operator told her firmly that in their view, the request was racist. Ms Mason was flabbergasted, and promised that if it were her, she "wouldn't care if it had two heads, but it's my little girl we're talking about".

At this point, perhaps startled by the comparison of an Asian taxi driver to a freak with two heads, or perhaps not caring for the word "it" in this comment, the operator passed her on to a supervisor who refused to take her request. Ms Mason seemed very surprised by this refusal, saying "I work at the BBC – I'm far from racist." And, after all, she had started the conversation with the words: "I know this is going to sound racist, but I'm not being."

Anyway, the BBC have sacked her, to the noisily expressed outrage of a lot of contributors to various Bristolian outlets. In a poll conducted by the Bristol Evening Post, up to 82 per cent of those asked considered that it wasn't racist to specify, er, the race of the person you wanted to drive you. Or possibly something which no one should be allowed to object to. Of course, they venture, Ms Mason wasn't being racist, and if she was, she jolly well ought to be allowed to be. This was just a case of Political Correctness Gone Mad.

The West Country is not widely known for being welcoming towards people of different cultures. Frankly, I doubt many black or Asian people choose to spend their holidays there. The largest minority ethnic community in Exeter, a city of 111,000 people at the last census, numbers 378 people of Chinese origin. Padstow was still mounting something delightfully called "Darkie Day" in the 21st century.

Bristol does much better than many places, with a recorded total of 28,936 people of non-white ethnic origins – still well below the national average – of which 10,859 are from the Indian sub-continent. Ms Mason's daughter, who is 14, lives in a city where about 6 per cent of the population is non-white. Why, I wonder, did her mother firmly believe that the sight of an Asian would "freak her out"? Why, more to the point, does she feel that her extraordinary and, I must say, incredible belief about a daughter's racism is in some way "not racist" because she says so?

If ever this column set eyes on the epitome and pinnacle of what Doctor Johnson called "unresisting imbecility", Ms Sam Mason is that unresisting imbecile. If she were merely a freak on display in the great circus of human stupidity, one might leave it there with a merry chuckle. But it is that up to 82 per cent that terrifies; the people who believed and voted to the effect that the sentence "I know this sounds really racist, but I'm not being ... please, don't send anyone like, you know what I mean. An English person would be great," could not reasonably be classified as racist. The philosophical semantics of this one are quite beyond me.

X-rated crooner Evans should have gone weeks ago

"Oh, thank God for that," I said. "What's happened?" "That boring old Daniel's been voted off The X Factor." "Oh – I thought it was something serious, like peace breaking out in the Middle East."

The fact is that to us X Factor addicts, getting Daniel Evans, the talentless Ricky Gervais lookalike, off the show has been a growing, teeth-grinding obsession. With a genuinely tragic back story, Evans could have gone all the way if only he could have made one agreeable noise – I mean, just one, it's not that much to ask.

These shows, however, thrive on the inexplicably popular candidate of no ability. John Sergeant's paso doble on Strictly Come Dancing with the long-suffering Kristina was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. No wonder people were voting for him while there was the slightest chance he might, in the future, perform a rumba in a frilled shirt ending at his nipples.

I would never have voted for Evans, however many tragic circumstances he triumphed over. But I dare say there were those who envisaged an attempt on Motown and relished the hideous prospect enough to keep him in for another week of televised car-crash.

I look forward to 'Recession Roadshow'

Surely, in these days of televised cruelty, some bright young thing at the BBC must have suggested that Antiques Roadshow ought to contain more moments of savage disappointment.

I'm sure most of the rubbish lugged along for the experts to evaluate are hideous 20-year-old figurines from the Franklin Mint, acquired by someone's granny from a magazine. But the viewer never sees any of that: disappointment and dismissal are kindly veiled, and it is a series of good luck stories.

It has just scored its first million-quid valuation, broadcast last night. Previously, the show has uncovered some impressive stuff – a Richard Dadd in 1986, or a haul of Caroline silverware.

This much-trumpeted find, however, is rather a different affair. It wasn't discovered in anyone's attic, but is owned by Gateshead Council, and is a bronze maquette for Antony Gormley's much-loved The Angel of the North.

I don't suppose the show's researchers encouraged the discovery of this local icon, did they? I mean, it's not very likely that such an object were genuinely lost, or forgotten about by so important a sculptor as Gormley. With the credit crunch, however, I doubt that the maquette really would fetch a million quid any longer.

I look forward to "Recession Roadshow", in which hedge fund managers bring in their tawdry old Damien Hirst spot paintings, to be told what they could have sold them for two years ago, and the thirty quid, or whatever, which they would now raise on a good day.

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