I'm a lady

I need an exorcist!  I think my mouse is possessed by an evil entity.  On Friday it sent a work email to the wrong people.  Thanks God there wasn't anything contentious in there but it was almost as embarrassing as the time I pressed 'Reply All' by mistake and sent a torrent of abuse straight back to the target of my wrath.  I was about to put this down to my inability to multi-task when my online order from Sainsburys was delivered. As I emptied the orange bags I found two of nearly everything on my list.   Whilst I was dialling their Customer Service I discovered a stream of double-clicks in my trolley and my mouse had vanished.  I spotted it two hours later in the dog's bed. On Friday evening as I watched Big Brother I was making notes on here and the cursor was going crazy.  It was as jumpy as Ed Milliband's PR team after they told him that The Sun newspaper photo opportunity was a good idea. There goes the Scouse vote.  So the mouse batteries were removed and I went back to old school USB.  I'm sure I saw it move on it's own later but that might have been down to the bottle of Jacob's Creek.

What a week it's been on Big Brother.  Usually it takes a week or so for the masks to drop and the paranoia to set in.  This lot have dived straight in and it's been kicking off like an East Croydon illegal rave.

Lady Danielle was the first to lose her marbles.  The refined Scot spat her disdain at the immoral inmates at every opportunity.  Like Glasgow's answer to Moses she stormed around the house throwing her stone tablets at the unbelievers and predicted a day of reckoning for the Whore of Babylon (Helen) and her cohorts.

A lively conversation about Toya's fanny spray tipped Danielle over the edge and The Beast was awoken.  Danielle tuned into Linda Blair and let rip a volley of four letter abuse at her nemesis.  Helen rose to the challenge and they were at it like an audition for the Jeremy Kyle Show. I didn't learn that sort of language at my Sunday School.  While Jesus was carrying his cross up the hill I'm sure he didn't call the baying crowds 'F****ng Tw*ts'. Like the good Catholic girl she is - Danielle decided to ask God for his forgiveness for her behaviour and next day everything was fine.  Lady Danielle was absolved of her sins and she turned into a completely different person.  Overnight she became friendly and tolerant and faded into the background.  You'd almost think it was a game plan.  Oh and I'm not sure I understand why Toya uses feminine spray anyway.  I thought a vagina was like a self cleaning oven.

Pauline also had a major personality switch.  The public's favourite on launch night was granted The Power and boy did she accept the mantle.  Like Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest she's ruling the house with a metal coat hanger and woe betide anyone who crosses her.  A vicious, smiling assassin who has somehow managed to recruit a group of adoring disciples and split the house.  It was a tactic that appeared to be working until she turned on Jale and Christopher with such OTT venom over minor meal time transgressions.  Some housemates became more scared of her but the cracks are showing.  After they heard the crowd chants on Friday there's a lot of damage limitation at work now.  Only Sappy Steven and Horrible Helen still seem completely on-side.

It wasn't all Mean Girls this week.  Winston and Tamara struck up a cosy friendship.  She said on her VT that she likes men who are good looking and stupid.  KERCHING!!! Flash Gordon and Dale Arden flirted all week and went on a date that ended up with some inevitable tongue action.  Could this save Tamara from an early exit?  Mystic Mark didn't think so.  He saw her exit in the Tarot cards. For a moment we thought he might really have psychic powers.  Then he did a tea leaf reading and spotted an Afro hairstyle so predicted that Marlon was the new Power Housemate.  About as psychic and Derek Acorah.

Tamara was evicted and Flash......sorry.....Winston had a wee cry in the Diary Room.  Probably thinking he'd blown his chance of a big summer romance in the Big Brother House and will need to find some other way to raise his profile.  Schoolboy error to latch onto one girl in the first week.  Ask Lee Ryan.

True to form it was the females who created the most dramas from the start while the boys sat around in the sunshine topping up their tans watching the bitches claw each others eyes out.  You could almost hear David Attenborough's commentary.

Pitbull n Boots

So before I discuss this week's Big Brother scandals and traumas I can't let the other big TV event go without a mention.  The World Cup kicked off in Brasil on Thursday but sadly the opening night was hosted by ITV and the dreadful Adrian Chiles.  The man is a buffoon and I have no idea how he manages to remain as anchor to ITV's football coverage.

His pre-match conversation was focused on talking about the empty beach and ass licking his 2 Euro legend colleagues.  A real coup to get Vieira and Cannavaro but someone forgot that with 3 thick accents on the panel, the banter wasn't going to flow.  It was like some Brit abroad trying to ingratiate himself with the local waiters.  They were confused.  We were confused and poor Lee Dixon on the end wasn't sure why he was there.

Outside we had Ian Wright.  His opening question to a deserted beach was 'I wonder why it's called Sugar Loaf Mountain?'  Seriously mate.  That was the best line you could come up with.  4 years to prep and you actually said that.  Next he hugged a German surfer but the questions didn't get any better 'So you reckon you have a good shot?'  Things can only get better....right?  Wrong!

The opening ceremony started with a half empty stadium.  It looked like the stewards were filling up seats with staff and shifting them around to make the place look busy.  The Brazilians must have known it was gonna be a shocker and decided to give it a wide berth until the match started.  Two words spring to mind.  Cheap & Nasty.  Was Katie Price their Artistic Director?  The anti-climax started with some old Brazilian pop princess in a sparkly leotard and blue ankle socks.  Then they brought out the big guns. Pitbull and J-Lo.  Well I say they brought them out but the stage lift broke down so they had to clamber out of a big hole before the vocals on the backing track kicked in.

Jen checked for snags on her tights, straightened her poison ivy minge strap and flashed a smile.  After a couple of Ola Olas it dawned on everyone that the sound had been turned down and the Latino Superstars were being drowned out by the crowd noise.  They carried on bravely but you could tell that J-Lo wasn't happy.  Love don't cost a thing but it's worth forking out for a good sound engineer.  The President of the International Olympic Committee must have been crying into his Beck's at this point.

ITV then cut to an ad break and never bothered to go back.  Just as I was starting to love the shambolic mess, they brought back Adrian Chiles.  He filled time with his inane and pointless chatter about it getting dark outside and more fawning over Vieira and Cannavaro. Not sure if it was his Brummy accent or the banal questions but Patrick & Fabio seemed to be answering completely different questions.  Lee Dixon was just happy to make up the numbers and who can blame him.

I guess ITV know that the Beeb will thrash them and this car crash just filled in time between the adverts. The beautiful game turned into an ugly mess.

Finally the football started and I switched over to Big Brother.

No Flowers of Scotland

No.  I'm not talking about the Scottish independence vote. That's far too serious and worrying to be covered in this irreverent nonsense.  The fate of my beloved homeland will no doubt be decided by a load of people who have no clue about the economical and social implications and treat it as though they're voting for an X Factor winner. I'm still undecided and will probably not really grasp the gravity of my choice on the day.  There are some things that really shouldn't be left to chance when lives and a nation's future are at stake. A public that voted for Jim Davidson to win Celebrity Big Brother have no right to decide on Scotland's journey.  That's not democracy, it's a travesty.

No.  I'm talking about the how the producers on Big Brother seem unable to find a remotely personable housemate from a land that is full of friendly, funny folk with passion and big hearts.  Every year we have wonderful Welsh characters, gregarious Geordies and cheeky Cockneys.  So why do we always have to suffer dour Scottish housemates who are about as likable as Chlamydia.  Sandy, Lynn, Federico, Jason, Shahbaz, Mikey, Dennis and now Danielle.  More on her later.  Come on BB. Gi's a brek! Try and find us someone we can feel proud of and more representative of a warm and passionate people.

So on to launch night 2 and the promise of a game-changing twist.  I had a horrible feeling that Emma might be over-selling this historical revelation.

OK so first out of the eye on Friday was Toya without an H.  She's a video blogger whose uploads appear to be attacks on her old boyfriends.  Don't scorn this woman unless you want to find your best Calvin's on eBay and your inability to find a clitoris being shared on You Tube.  Not quite sure why she was wearing a pink cupcake.

Could it be a hot Beckham look-a-like next.  No.  It's Samwise Gamgee off Lord of the Rings.  Chris is a miserable out of work actor who's polite and hates teamwork.  He'll fit in a treat.

Subtitle time.  Nor'n Ir'n veggie Ashleigh is another model but no business acumen suggested here.  She works in a clothes shop and re-homes cats on a Derry council estate. Pretty girl but what the hell was she wearing on her feet?  Her shoes looked like the topping off Toya's cupcake.

Ash sauntered down the runway next showing off his catwalk skills and trousers at half mast.  He's a tall lad so maybe the shop had run out of 34" inside leg.  A lazy Lothario who women can't say no to.  I can see the appeal but a bit too Miami Nice for my taste.  I bet he turns out to be a shy Mummy's boy.

Marlon is a local lad and one of Croydon's finest.  Values possessions more than love and would rather live a lonely life than suffer the humility of an old car and Barrett's shoes.  At least he doesn't have a contrived urban accent so the jury's out on this one.

The last one in was Jale.  A Turkish delight in a red duvet.  A disruptive call centre worker who has to meditate twice a day to control her aggression.  Intolerant and incapable of sharing her life with other people and hated by most of the human race since her schooldays.  Sounds like she'll be a perfect housemate.

Once all 16 were safely in the house, Emma dropped the bombshell.  All powerful Pauline was given the task of handing one of her housemates a free ticket to the final.  Not exactly the earth shattering news we were expecting and a rubbish 'twist'.  Big Brother is all about nominations and the public voting to save/evict the housemates.  Pauline chose Helen for some obscure reason and now she's basically out of the game and won't have a true Big Brother experience.  I think this is a lame decision and spoils things for Helen and the viewers.  Call me old fashioned.......

Quote of the week goes to Mark who, during the Least/Most task, asked his fellow housemates 'what does obnoxious mean'? He clearly didn't watch back his time on Channel 4's Shipwrecked.

And so to Danielle.  This year's entry for the Worst Scottish Housemate Award.  Despite a shady background in Web Cam Services and lurid press stories, she's spent the last 2 days telling everyone at every opportunity about her Christian morals and lady-like behaviour.  It all got too much for her when the gang dropped a few F-bombs whilst discussing the definition of a loose vagina.  That's a high-brow debate in the Big Brother House don't ya know!  Tears and tantrums followed and to make matters worse she was voted the Most Judgemental by her new housemates.  A manipulative attention seeker with a lack of self awareness.  She'll probably win the bloody thing!

Might Be Minging Power Strangers

It's back!

A summer of watching a load of egotistical jessies running around in their shorts under the floodlights and whipping their tops off at every opportunity.  No I don't mean Big Brother.  I'm talking about the 2014 World Cup.  Don't get me wrong.  I love a good footie match but 4 weeks of blanket prime time coverage with every match being mulled over by a load of sweaty pundits in Armani suits isn't my idea of TV Gold.  I'd rather give myself a Brazilian with a set of rusty tweezers than watch Adrian Chiles chewing his fat over the Iranian front 4.

Armchair pundits on Twitter are far more entertaining.  Social media discussions can definitely enhance the boredom of 90 minutes of ITVs exclusive coverage of Ghana's Group G challenge.  Having said that we need much less ball by ball commentary on Twitter.  Put your smartphones down FFS. Those of us who are interested are actually watching the match and don't need you filling up our timelines every 30 seconds.  That is as pointless as trying to have a reasonable debate with the YES vote extremists for Scottish independence or the UKIP party manifesto.

Thankfully those of us not obsessed with dribbling Prima Donnas can enjoy the summer in the company of Emma, Ryan and Ian and the class of 2014 in the revamped Big Brother House.  On launch night Emma looked stunning in a white catsuit more luminous than Rylan's teeth and not even a hint of a camel toe.  Emma could wear a Morrison's bag-for-life and look elegant.

So first to step out of the eye was Tamara.  A ruthless headhunter who hates glamour model types.  She said this with her tits hanging out whilst boasting that she enjoys a Man Buffet.  About as classy as Louisa Zissman.

Up next was a camp, Scouse window dresser called Mark in a yellow blazer.  Imagine the love child of Marcus off X Factor and Eurovision's Conchita Wurst but more Tweetie Pie than a Phoenix.  Left school with a GCSE in Lunch.  Well I guess that's more useful than General Studies or Latin. Apologies to my Merseyside mates but that affected voice was pissing me off before he even got to the top of the stairs.

Number 3 was Helen.  A Northern beauty therapist with a shady past.  No I have no idea who she is either. Oh hang on.  Is she the one who gave Wayne Rooney a BJ?  Shouldn't she be on Celebrity Big Brother ;-)

Millionaire Steven wants to be a future Prime Minister.  Personally I think all our potential PMs should go on Big Brother so we can see the real people beneath the waxy facades.  Steven has an uncanny resemblance to BB's Ian Lee.  Poor sod!  Wants to show us his soft side. Could be a limp dick.

I was wondering when the hideous Scot would turn up and right on cue we get Danielle.  A homophobic God botherer who claims to have high morals but works as a lingerie model and sold a story to the press about the size of BB Dexter's willy.  That doesn't sound very Christian to me.

Winston, all grin and guns, bragged that he's a bit smarter than the usual Essex boys.  Joey Essex and James Argent are a pretty low benchmark mate.  Cheeky chappy and easy on the eye.  Hope he's packed some Speedos.

Miserable Matthew is a posh Jewish boy with landscaped eyebrows.  Sounds like Julian Clary and has more makeup than the Avon lady but he's not gay.  Honest, he has a girlfriend although she could be his second beard.  Apparently he's scared of boats but not sure why that fact was relevant to his current status.  Maybe Big Brother have a sailing task lined up for the new pool.

Here comes another bloody model/business woman.  Is there a Uni that does degrees in Katie Price? Kimberly claims to be a closet genius.  Somehow I think her genius will remain well hidden throughout the summer.  I bet Lee Ryan will be all over her like a rash at the wrap party.

Irish Christopher was raised on a farm and looked a bit like a lamb to the slaughter.  He's a semi-journalist with a lovely smile and come to bed eyes.  However he's a fan of Katie Hopkins and a secret ginger. I just lost my semi.

Last but definitely not least we have rapper Pauline.  Most down to earth HM of the night.  Love her.  Not sure a white catsuit with netting was a good choice for someone with those thighs and a fat back mind.

More housemates on the way.  I bloody love this show.

The Only Way is Borehamwood.

Dancing on Thin Ice

So that's it folks.  Torville & Dean have danced their last Bolero and not before time. The iconic routine used to fill me with rising emotions but recently I just worried that Chris would drop Jane on her head or get stuck in the splits and have to be airlifted from Borehamwood in a rescue helicopter.  At least Jane Torville's been taking health & safety advice and now performs with a crash helmet hairdo that's been dipped in concrete.  There's no doubt that our Ice King and Queen are two of the most beloved sports stars of the last 30 years but I really don't want to see them doing Bolero in wheelchairs.

Dancing on Ice was a brilliant concept.  It was Strictly Come Dancing with danger.  Celebrities, blades and blood.  The prospect of Bonnie Langford having her head caved in or Andi Peters losing a hand or two has kept us glued to our Sunday evening screens for 9 years.  However, like Strictly, it's a format that's become tired and the thrills are as thin as the ice now.

So what is the legacy of this once great family favourite?

For a show that produced many polished performances it's not the great dances we'll remember.  It's Todd Carty bumbling his way across the ice with a terrified look on his face and crashing out in the competitors tunnel.  How can we forget Keith Chegwin's brave attempts to get Olga's legs behind his ears and Lauren Goodger being dragged round the ice like an Eskimo's dinner.

DOI's outrageous costumes were like an explosion at the Mardi Gras Carnival but the weekly wardrobe highlight was always Holly's tits.  The series lost two of it's biggest assets when she left. The stringy bit of fluff from Norn Iron was never going to fill those cups.

The judging panel didn't have a Len or a Simon.  Instead we had to suffer an acidic balding queen whose highlights were comparing Sharon Davis to human sewage and being offensive to Head Coach Karen Barber.  Shame Tim Healy didn't smack him in the face when he was being vile about Denise Welch.  A talentless waste of space who looks like he's always got a bad smell under his nose.  Wave your hair and your prime time TV days goodbye Mr Gardiner.

Philip has been looking like he could do with a good rest recently.  ITV are getting their pound of his pasty flesh but since he lost his Holly he just seemed to be going through the motions.  It wasn't helped by the lack of on screen chemistry with Christine bleedin' Bleakley.  The woman is about as cold as the studio floor.  So ITV now have a Schofield-free day to fill in their schedules. I hope they let the poor man have a bit of a break before they launch their next Sunday evening shenanigans.  Celebrity Curling anyone?

I wouldn't be at all surprised if his next on screen wife is Susanna Reid when they discover she hasn't set the morning ratings alight after defecting from the BBC for an obscene pay packet. Will they never learn?  Surprised they haven't asked Philip and Holly to start 4 hours earlier during the week.  They could have a lie down when Lorraine and Jeremy Kyle are on.

Tonight they crowned the Champion of Champions and there was little tension as the arrogant little Scouser lifted the trophy.  I say trophy but it was more like a cheap vase from IKEA Market Place.  Ray Quinn was clearly the best skater on the show but he's a charmless man who looks like a schoolboy on steroids.

So that was it.  The end of Dancing of Ice.  Perhaps 2 years late but in it's day it was great family entertainment in a perfect time slot.  Next week it's Catchphrase :-(

American Horror Story

You can keep your Real Housewives OC/Atlanta/New Jersey/Beverly Hills.  The REAL American housewife is Georgia's Mama June from TLC's Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.  A robust redneck who actually has a red neck due to the constant rubbing of her many chins.  Hubba Hubba!

June is a 21st century Southern Belle-tent. She lives in a hog pen, next to a railway siding, with her litter of piglets.  She can't work due to a condition called 'fork lift foot'.  An accident at the local  Piggly Wiggly has left her with dead toes infested with silverfish.  Thankfully the rotting appendage is kept well hidden in an old trainer sock that hasn't ever seen the inside of a washing machine.  Shame she doesn't have any coupons for Dettol or Scholl foot powder in her vast collection.  Even Dr Christian from Embarrassing Bodies would struggle to hold down his lunch.

Her baby piglet is a frightful pageant princess who lives on a diet of cold hot dogs and spaghetti with ketchup and butter sauce.  Alana's pageant talent seems to involve farting and rubbing her flabby belly at the stony faced judges like a vertically challenged stripper.  Think Shirley Temple on crack cocaine.

There's two sisters called Pumpkin and Chubbs and they are the living embodiment of the expression 'you are what you eat'.  Mama June feeds her guzzling girls from a trough.  Well it's actually something she calls a Multi-Meal.  It consists of grabbing anything and everything from the fridge and throwing it in a huge tin foil roasting dish with butter, BBQ sauce and full fat mayo.  In this house the kitchen utensils are mainly used as back scratchers or to pick up chicken droppings from the living room carpet so she mixes it all together with her bare hands. 20 minutes in a medium oven and serve with baked beans, tinned sweetcorn and more butter.   Nigella she ain't.

The eldest girl is called Chickadee and somehow she's managed to maintain a petite figure despite this tsunami of lard and carbs.  As slim blondes must be as scarce as hen's teeth in Georgia she's popular with the local teenage tom cats and delivered her own kitten called Kaitlyn on Halloween before her 17th birthday.  It's the Circle of Life only more grubby than the Disney version.

Mama June got married recently to her long suffering Sugar Bear.  A small toothless miner with an obsession for garden ornaments.  It took Sugar Bear 10 years to woo his woman.  June was always playing hard to get.  I can't think why.  She wouldn't commit but he wore her down with a romantic date at Bigshow's Burgers.  She wanted Rhett Butler but got Bilbo Baggins in a baseball cap instead.

Last but not least we have Uncle Poodle.  Sugar Bear's gay brother.  A homosexual hillbilly who doesn't say much but minces around the house teaching the piglets Spice Girl dance routines and offering fashion tips like a white trash Gok Wan.

It may be an American Horror Story but I bloody love this show.  It's like The Waltons on moonshine and donuts but there's more genuine love, warmth and fun in a half hour of Honey Boo Boo than in 9 years of The Kardashians.  Mama June is the real deal and I love her pearls of wisdom and her view of the world.  There is a heart to this show that makes you root for this family despite their faults.  You laugh with them and feel touched by their simplicity.  It would be easy to watch them with an air of disdain and superiority but this is a family full of love and honesty and they just enjoy life and being with each other.  They may be poor, but in some respects they're richer than Kim, Khloe and Kourtney will ever be.

I love you Mama June x

What a bummer!

Thank God Celebrity Big Brother is over! 3 weeks of intense viewing and I'm a wreck.  The best series ever and an emotional roller coaster from the minute they handcuffed Jim Davidson to Linda Nolan whilst we were still nursing our Hogmany hangovers.

The show was a PR coup for Davidson and Dappy. Two men with a chequered past who took a massive gamble but played the public just right to emerge as our winner and runner up.  Within the space of 3 weeks it became almost a crime to have a bad word to say about the poor downtrodden old man and the performing monkey. Did the leopards really change their spots or are we so sucked into celebrity and marketing that we're blinded by what we're served up on our 50" HD screens every night.

It's ironic that an immature doofus like Lee Ryan has become the most hated man in the UK for falling for 2 pretty girls in the house.  While Davidson and Dappy are now hailed as the people's champions, Ryan is getting death threats on Twitter.  How did that happen?

It seems that fame has a strange affect on us these days.  Violent and immoral behaviour is ignored if you're bankable or have a level of sporting prowess.  If you're good at making movies or can kick a ball quite well then the public and your peers will happily turn a blind eye and bestow you with plaudits for what you can do on the screen or on the sports field.  This is particularly prevalent in the world of football where the terraces will forgive any crimes and misdemeanours until a 'hero' transfers to another team.  Then the pitchforks are out and the baying mass of matching woolly hats attack them like they'd just strangled a basket of puppies.

50 years ago a government was brought down because an MP was shagging a topless model.  How did our morals and standards change so dramatically over two generations?

Talking of low standards.  I tuned in to Splash last night.  Vernon and Gabby have about as much on screen chemistry as a couple of ironing boards.  Poor Tom Daley is never quite sure where the auto-cue is so he's relegated to posing in his wet Speedos and trying hard not to look at Keith Duffy's bulge.  Keith was there for the Craic and he didn't let us down. His crack was bared on both dives as his skimpy trunks slipped off as he plunged into the pool.  I bet they were high fiving in the production box. Isn't that the only reason for having that underwater camera?  Tom disappeared for about 20 minutes.  No doubt rewinding that shot on his iPhone in the loo.

Gabby kept saying you could feel the tension in the pool.  Such a shame that doesn't transfer to the viewers.

Why are we obsessed with watching famous people doing stuff badly? Does it make us feel good about ourselves?  We'd rather watch Danielle Lloyd belly flop and bruise her tits than be made to feel inferior by some dedicated athlete striving for perfection.

And that brings me to The Jump.  Channel 4's new hit celebrity show.  Davina McCall mugging to the camera with a bunch of reality TV whores in day-glo spandex.  The show is built around a final death defying ski jump.  The trouble with this concept is that the final jump-off looks about as scary as stepping off a pavement. Why the hell did Sir Steven Redgrave sign up for this?  One of our greatest sporting heroes reduced to racing down a hill with Anthea Turner on a dinner tray.  Maybe he just got his 2013 tax bill?

Last and probably least is the new and revamped series of The Voice. The first 2 series didn't go well. Something had to done.  They got rid of the annoying woman and the irritating no-name on the end.  Trouble is they've replaced them with another annoying woman and an equally irritating band boy.  I LOVE Kylie but she should never have exposed herself on this dire show. Her outrageous flirting with the male contestants is just cringe-worthy.  However the main problem with this show is the 'voice'.  I don't know where the production team get these people from.  I guess there's not a queue banging on the door for a show that has no interest in a performer beyond the final programme.  Maybe if The Voice does manage to find a star there might be a few more decent singers showing up at the auditions.  A pair of tone-deaf twins,  a wailing shoe artist covered in oranges and an old busker with the wife on a flute. The Voice....my arse.