OK so since my last blog I've kinda overdosed on a deluge of 'reality' TV that has left me bloated, bleary eyed and clinically agoraphobic. To friends and family I'm blaming a bad back and our Arctic weather. However, between you and me my condition has escalated due to my crippling addiction to rubbish telly. My TiVo box is like my dealer. No matter how hard I try to get clean the little bugger will pull me down again with reality shows that it's found on channels I've never even heard of!
After the Christmas and New Year holidays, the country starts thinking about summer holidays in an attempt to brush away those January blues. We used to have Judith Chalmers looking like a smiley tangerine wandering around a romantic Sorrento with a silk rose or wine tasting in the Dordogne in a clapped out Citroen. Now we get torn foreskins in Magaluf and shit stained mattresses in Kavos. Sun, Sea and Simple Teenagers. Judith 's travelogues were compulsive viewing and not once did she flash her tits or use a syringe of paint stripper to get her in the mood for a night under the Mediterranean stars.
ITV re-branded with a new look that made our Olympic logo look sophisticated. They made a desperate attempt to rescue Dancing on Ice by bringing back their pantomime dame with a new hairline and adding one of Nicole Scherzinger's backing dancers to the judging panel. What they should have done is got rid of that stringy WAG from Norn Iron who is about as likable as a cold sore. Their trump card was to blow the budget on Pamela Anderson to help her fend off the bailiffs. They resorted to desperate measures when their cash cow landed up in the bottom two in week one. Not even a wardrobe malfunction and a flash of ageing nipple saved her from an icy reception. In the end she lost out to a chubby Keith Chegwin, in turquoise satin. He seemed unusually high for someone who claims to be addiction free now. Lauren Goodger was next for a clubbing after lumbering around with a blank expression as if she knew the predators were hanging around the ice waiting for her to come up for air.
Next up was Tom Daley splashing in my face every Saturday night. This is what the pause button on the TV remote was made for. You can really savour Tom's clean entry. However my only gripe is why they employed the TOWIE live crew for this prime time extravaganza. I'm sure live TV is tricky but a few rehearsals wouldn't go amiss before the red light comes on. Despite the dodgy direction there's been some real TV gold like our Tom trying desperately not to look at Anthony Ogogo's skimpy trunks. Thankfully wardrobe have managed to talk Vernon Kay into long trousers.
Another gem is BBC3's Don't Tell the Bride. Don't tell the bride that your future husband is a selfish wanker who will spend most of the wedding budget on a week long Stag night in Prague. He'll also expect you to say your vows under water in Tooting swimming baths with a Star Wars reception and a Jabba the Hutt wedding cake.
Toddlers & Tiaras has created pint sized reality TV monster in Honey Boo Boo, juvenile pageant queen. A redneck child from middle America who is like a trailer park version of Shirley Temple. Surrounded by a family of foul mouthed couch potatoes who survive on Piggly Wiggly coupons she has become the white trash heroine for a legion of mobile home dynasties and backwood paedophiles. She could probably be the first female president of the US if her young kidneys survive the pints of Red Bull her loving parents give her to help her shine on stage.
Before I finish I guess I have to talk about Celebrity Big Brother. Well it's obvious that Rylan is going to win. He's the only one in there with the presence and personality to win the crown. Despite the efforts at Channel 5 Towers to persuade us that Spencer and Heidi Pratt are worth their $500.000 fee, they are pissing in the wind. These American weirdos have about as much charisma as Gordon Brown. They have completely spoiled the show this year with their downbeat demeanour and negativity. They're about as real as Lance Armstrong's apology for drug taking on Oprah. The whole show is focused on their reactions to every situation and therein lies the problem. They suck the life out of the house with their inability to show any form of human emotion and just sit around all day moaning in mono-tone with their scary lifeless eyes. Poor Brian and Emma are having to big them up at every opportunity. That must be the hardest task that Big Brother has set this year.
So Gillian was evicted on Friday. No great surprise. Kathy Beale without a script was about as interesting as the Stonewall Pans show on Best Direct TV.
Despite this yawn-fest I'm really looking forward to a summer of BB2013. Big Brother is still the best reality show ever and will survive this disappointing blip.
I'd rather bet on that than the survival of Jordan's latest publicity seeking marriage to a stripping plasterer she met a few weeks ago. Then again a plasterer could be quite an asset in the make-up department for the ex-beauty. Taylor Swift and Harry Styles seem like a more long haul romance. Katie Price is a bit like Blockbuster and HMV. No self awareness and not prepared to accept the rest of the world has moved on.
Right I'm done now. TiVo is tempting me again. Off to watch America's Next Fattest Farming Dwarf Truckers.
HEEEEELLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPP!
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