Ginger's Nuts

Well that was the frostiest final since Nadia and Jason grimaced from opposite sides of the sofa.  Nutty Rylan looked lost and alone without his Daddy Razor and Claire from Steps. As usual, the dull Americans sat on the settee with blank stares like they were waiting for an STI check down the local clinic.

For all of two minutes, during the final ad break, I had a sudden loss of faith in the British public and started to panic that the Pratts might have won but I needn't have worried.  Queen Rylan was rightly crowned and had one of his dramatic meltdowns as the Yankee Chavs exited to a hail of boos from a sea of duffle coats and woolly hats. Spencer Pratt's eviction outfit was the same fleece he'd worn for three weeks.  Was he sponsored by Millets?  At least he was warm.  Poor Rylan forgot he was in Borehamwood in January and went out in a mosquito net and nipples like bullets.

I was really shocked that Razor was booted out first on the night.  He was a revelation in the house and so bloody funny.  Snoring, farting and letting his balls hang out all over the place he was up for anything and a totally great housemate from Day 1.  His bromance with Rylan was touching, genuine and brought us laughter every day.  His balls were also on display when he stood up to The Pratts whilst the other housemates just stood around like nervous Meerkats.  His warning from Big Brother for doing so was the low point for me this series as that's when it dawned on me that Channel 5 had a 'special' bond with their US imports and would do everything within their power to keep them happy and safe until the final.

What was it about these second rate actors that caused such a stir?  They spent most of their time in the house just sitting around or lying in bed moaning about how hard it was for them.  They were getting paid for being lazy sociopaths.  Maybe that's why so many of the Channel 5 audience could relate to them.  The Jeremy Kyle, benefits generation had found their very own role models.  The sort of people who voted online that they would rather dance (slut drop) like Heidi Pratt than be able to sing like Claire from Steps. Obviously Channel 5 know their audience and were handed their biggest ever ratings for the final.  However they shouldn't get too cocky.  Channel 4 got too big for it's boots and manipulated the audiences so much that the core fans drifted away in the end.  I just hope we don't get more actors in the next series being paid to perform a role.  Please leave that to shows like TOWIE and Geordie Shore and let us see true personalities shine in the Big Brother House.

Claire was the next one to get the boot on Friday and as much as I love her she didn't really leave much of an impression except when she sat on the Diary Room chair.  She was really nice and Mumsy but could have done with some of Razor's balls instead of running off to the bedroom to fold jumpers every time there was a whiff of an argument.  How she survived so long in Steps is a miracle and obvious now why her departure was such a surprise to her band mates.  She's a people pleaser who avoids conflict at all costs.  A gay icon?  A diva? More like a jelly baby in Ugg boots.

Toadie was third!  How the hell did that happen?  Nice bloke but he almost made The Pratts look interesting.  I'm sure he only used the show to get a free gym pass for a month to work off his Christmas dinner.

So the scene was set for the showdown we all wanted.  Rylan v The Pratts.  Mr Entertainment pitted against a pair of big sulks.  Thankfully Essex fun prevailed over LA fakery and the X Factor's X Ginger became Reality TV Royalty.  Hopefully we've seen the last of Spencer and Heidi until they return to promote Heidi's challenge to Adele.  The hills are alive with the sound of a Wii Sing Party!

Brian and Emma were on sparkling form this series and both seemed to have found their stride.  This wasn't a classic CBB, despite the ratings.  Let's hope Channel 5 get a group of bigger personalities next time.  Or at least make sure that everyone has a personality!

Until the summer then. Good, but could do better xxx

Sorry but just been distracted by Keith Chegwin in pink satin trying to be romantic on Dancing on Ice.  That'll do pig ;-)

Reality Bites

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!

I Used To Be A Celebrity...Get me In There!

Train fares are going up.  The whole country is in varying stages of the new cold virus.  Argentina want the Falklands back again and I've put on so much weight over the Christmas holidays that I've just broken our toilet seat.  Just when my glass was getting half empty, Channel 5 have only gone and kicked off the new season of Celebrity Big Brother to help us get over those January blues.  It's a perfect antidote to the dullest Christmas telly ever.

OK so first out of the gate was Frankie Dettori looking like Andy Capp after a gastric band op.  Not so much an Italian Stallion.  More of a Latin Verne Troyer.

OMG! SHUT UP!  It's Ryland off X Factor. Definitely this year's front runner but his form might be damaged by his BFF. Katie Price is sure to use this as an opportunity to get herself in the tabloids for the next couple of weeks.  With the odious publicity whore supporting him, it could be the kiss of death.  If he does win I suspect she'll be all over him like a rash and we could be looking at marriage number three.  She's tried straight and bi/tranny and so a gay husband would seem to be the next obvious headline grabber.

Paula Hamilton.  A posh ageing ego who thought Toadfish from Neighbours was a Channel 5 runner. Awkward!  It's like Jasmine Lennard Mk2. For someone who claims to have so much style and a glamorous life she looked like a novelty hot water bottle when she entered the basement.

Trisha seems a bit like her TV shows.  Comfy Sunday night in slippers with your Mum.  Hopefully her Kirby roots will surface as she looks like she has the potential to be the head bridesmaid on a hen night to Blackpool.

Toadfish from Neighbours was sent to the basement but that won't bother him.  Coming to London and sleeping rough wherever they can find a floor just comes natural to our friends from down under.  Let's hope he doesn't over stay his welcome.  Aussie house guests can be more difficult to get rid of than a cold sore.

Gillian Taylforth was up next. An Eastend legend who is famous for giving birth to Ian Beale and giving blow jobs on the M25.  An obvious choice for the Queen's next birthday honours.  More deserved than someone who can ride a bike a bit fast!

It was totty time after the break and we got a nervy Scottish hunk with nice calves and some thick bird called Miss Banghard with big bangers.  Yes that's her real name.  You couldn't make it up could you?

Razor Ruddock was obviously just dragged in from the local pub after Jim Davidson's past came back to haunt him.   You could almost smell the stale lager and cigarettes as he lumbered along the runway.

Claire from Steps stepped up next showing off her curves.  That was me being polite and PC!  Claire obviously decided that slobbing around in the house for 3 weeks was preferable to doing a fitness DVD.  I love Claire and she's my winner at the moment.  She seems like a bit of a fragile character so let's hope the Big Brother House doesn't turn into a Tragedy for her.

They saved the worst till last.  Two strange American reality TV wannabes.  Speidi are the product of the US version of TOWIE and just like our own 'talent' from Brentwood they have an unhealthy and delusional view of their own celebrity.  They'll be good value and the obvious villains of the piece but a bit too contrived for my liking.  They might be a pair of pratts but at least they've proved on previous shows that they can play their parts without scripts and edits so a more safe bet than James Argent and Joey Essex.

This year they've gone all Downton Abbey and introduced an upstairs downstairs theme.  Let's hope it's not like the Downton Christmas special.  That was like watching paint dry until they killed off one of the stars in the final reel. Actually that might not be such a bad idea.  'Big Brother House.  This is Brian. The public have been voting and the housemate who will die tonight is..........'

Great to have Big Brother back.  Will it be a good one?  I'll get back to you :-)

This Is A Man's World

The Big Brother House has always been a barometer for UK life and this year's deadbeats and desperados didn't disappoint on that front.  Genius casting produced a show that gave us clichés and gross caricatures to love and hate for 3 weeks.  However the really clever thing about Big Brother is that it's a show that should make us take a look at ourselves and society in 2012.  It started as a social experiment and despite the sleazy headlines and contempt from Daily Mail types it still manages to produce a cacophonous display of British behaviour.  Sometimes that's hard to watch but it's always fascinating and often a bloody good laugh.

Today's world is where a woman like Kristen Stewart is labelled a flagitious floozie and publicly humiliated for daring to have an affair whilst informally attached to her vampire lover.

It's a place where Big Brother's big busted Imogen Thomas becomes as hated as Myra Hindley for shagging a scraggy old footballer.  Said footballer, who has betrayed his wife, children and brother goes on to be rewarded with the Captaincy of the British Olympic Team and becomes the first Brit to ever win the international Gold Boot award.  What a hero!  He might be a 'see you next Tuesday' but who cares as long as he can kick a ball around a bit.

It's a world where an American R&B star can knock six bells out of his pop princess and still sell bucket loads of records and win the Best Male Video at the MTV Video Awards.  His rehabilitation being strangely masterminded by the female victim who still seems controlled and influenced by this thug.  I believe she referred to this as 'love'.  Ladies - this is romance in the 21st century.  Instead of a single rose down The Harvester expect a black eye and your false nails ripped off.

Women these days are so confused about their place in society that they are reduced to fighting amongst themselves.  What happened to sisterhood?  Did the Suffragettes really suffer for this?  Why do women hate each other so much?  The answer always comes back to one thing.  Men.

So back to my original point about Big Brother.  All of this was served up in massive dollops during Celebrity BB 2012.

With a house full of random hunks, the women were at each others throats from day 1 and the males were happy to allow this to play out.  They just preened and sat about in the sunshine like lazy lions and only roared when it was time for dinner or to stir up the oestrogen.

MC Harvey and his Mini Me were experts at this manipulation.  Harvey seemed to have acquired good morals for the camera despite his many years of shagging around with other people's chicks.  So much so that his campaign against flirty Danica meant he spent most of week 2 in the Diary Room convincing us that she was the whore of Babylon.  This is the man whose respect gauge seems to think that splaying your arse cheeks to show a 47 year old woman your chocolate starfish is just a bit of banter.

The little Judoka got the throw on Rhian too when the silly boy misread her signals and then sulked for a week at getting a knock back.  The nation felt for the poor kid and the Northern Jezebel just had to be taught a lesson.

Danica was a really easy target for being fit and friendly.  She was hated by Cruella De Lennard for being the fairest in the land.  She was done over by Mike for being the first bird to ever turn him down.  Oh the shame and on national telly too.  She had to go for making the situation uncomfortable.  You know what the real situation was?  It was why he's not done something to fix that fat nose with all the millions he's earned from being a twat on MTV.

Sure enough the Great British public evicted the women one by one for their 'disgraceful' behaviour.

The first man to go was Prince Lorenzo.  Apparently the viewers found him boring and he was evicted for being a thoroughly decent chap.  Man up Lorenzo and maybe try slapping a girl around next time to get more votes.

Our Alexis Colby and Krystle Carrington were Julie and Colleen.  I really prayed for Colleen to grab the disabled pensioner *cough* by her stringy mane and throw her in the pool.  The 2 old birds hated each other for no apparent reason but both of them vied for the boy's attention at every opportunity.  A particular low light was Ms Goodyear jiggling her tits in the jacuzzi and Mike asking if they were real.  Are you for real man?  Nobody would actually buy saggy bag breasts like that.

So in the end the bad little boys and bitchy girls were bested by a camp old queen in lippy and eye liner who was inoffensive, witty and sensitive to other's feelings.  Maybe there's hope for us yet!

Boys Just Wanna Have Crunch

Brian Dowling is so right for this job but every time he minces down the runway I can't help but think he's missing a duty free trolley full of fags, booze and green Ryanair teddy bears.  You can take the boy out of the cabin crew but you can't take the cabin crew out of the boy.  He smiles and checks out the audience like he's making sure they all have their seat belts fastened.  I like that he gets a bit prickly with the housemates he doesn't like and isn't afraid to ask the questions that we want answered.  I just wish he'd ditch the Olly Murs style suits.  Tight shiny trousers aren't flattering if you're smuggling excess baggage under your seat.

I don't watch Eastenders so might have been the only person watching on Friday who wasn't surprised to see the ample back of Cheryl Ferguson trotting up the stairs and out of the house.  Apart from blowing off on cue and discussing how her vagina was eating her bed sheets she was pretty unmemorable.  I reckon she deserved to be evicted for her crimes against outsize dresses. Someone give her the address for Simplybe FFS!

Cheryl's legacy was the pet name she uses for said vagina.  I know I'm probably not the best person to judge but is crunch an onomatopoeia or something to do with dunking biscuits?  Judging by the picture up there of Julie Goodyear I'm thinking she's more of a squelch than a crunch.

Julie is a bit of an enigma.  That's my polite way of saying she's a worn out old bitch.  Got to give her credit though as she's got them all fooled in there.  That's not really difficult though with the male housemates making a good argument against the theory of evolution.  If we'd relied on this lot then the human race would have died out many millennia ago.

I do enjoy the Evil Queen's bitchy chats with Julian but I guess that makes me a bit of a cliché.  Julian does seem a bit like a fish out of water in there but he still manages to come up with some cracking one liners.  The White Swallow Hotel was a particular highlight this week although the thought of getting an enema from Julie Goodyear makes me cough up a bit of sick.

What's to say about Jasmine Lennard?  What a vile and deluded creature.  She looks like the daughter of Skeletor.  The woman claims she can't get a man to stay for breakfast.  I'm not surprised.  Her conquests are probably covered in scratches and bruises in the morning from her bony extremities.  It must be like shagging a coat hanger.  Glad she didn't hang around for too long.

The rest of the housemates are a bit like lip filler at the moment.  Harvey and Ashley just seem to spend their time whipping their tops off and rolling around with each other on the Astro-turf.  Not that I'm complaining.

Thank God Mike's stopped lifting his t-shirt up at every opportunity. He's got the weirdest six pack I've ever seen.  It's like something hanging up in a butcher's window and definitely not giving this dog a bone.

Colleen's obviously not done her homework before she signed up. Was this really a good move for someone who says they don't like being judged or judging others?  Denise could've warned her pal but then she was drunk for most of her stay in the Big Brother house!

I keep forgetting that Martin, Samantha and the Papal Prince are in the house.  I don't mind Lorenzo but he's got one of those preppy haircuts that are popular with the Ralph Lauren, Hampton's set that makes me want to attack him with my hair clippers.  To be honest I'd settle for some Judo in the garden with or without his floppy fringe.

The two girlies are playing the boys at their own game but it's a dangerous line they're walking and they might find the male pack will turn on them when it comes to the crunch........or lack of it!

Get it! Got it! Good!

Sponge Bob Tiny Pants

This is just plain weird!

Land of Hope and TOWIE

Watching the Olympics this summer has had a profound affect on me.  No I'm not about to start training for the Omnium in Rio and neither am I inclined to even think about reaching for those Men's Rings in the gym.  However Team GB's heroic men and strapping women have given me a real sense of pride and reminded me   that in days gone by it was high achievement that was respected and not what apps you have on your iPad.

After months of grizzling about what a waste of money the London 2012 games were going to be I was hooked and emotional from the first bars of Elgar's Nimrod at the Opening Ceremony.  Who would have guessed that Great Britain and Northern Ireland would produce one of the best sporting events in recent times and come 3rd in the medal table behind the Godzilla and King Kong.

It wasn't all smooth sailing as Paul McCartney died an excruciating death in front of billions.  The Queen was heard to say that she didn't know Ken Dodd was still alive during his turgid attempt at Hey Jude.  A few Diddy Men might have helped.

Determination and bravery were on display across 28 digital channels every night and never more so than when Girl Power arrived in Stratford and the Spice Girls clung for their lives on the top of 5 black cabs. The drivers were weaving around the stadium like they were rushing home to catch Top Gear.  Geri Halliwell was so drained by the time they got to the last chorus of Spice Up Your Life that she'd gone from a nice amber glow to the colour of wet cement after 3 laps. I'm sure one of Posh's legs snapped as the cab swerved to avoid a dancer.

The thing I love about the Olympics is that it's the only time when you get a big pat on the back for losing.  No other sporting event celebrates the runners up just as much as the winners.  That's what makes it great for us Brits. We specialise at being also rans and make great use of the saying that it's the taking part that counts.  We think winning is a dirty word, or rather we try and discourage competitiveness so as not to upset obese and lazy school kids.  All that does is make the fat losers think it's OK to be fat losers. Doesn't it?

The Olympics are like the best reality TV ever.  Who needs TOWIE when you have hot guys and girls in skimpy gear flashing across your TV every night in high definition.  The men's 100m is a sight to behold in slow motion and why is it that rowers always seem to get a semi on the medal podium?  My little red button is worn out after all this excitement.

I've come to the conclusion that I want the Olympics to be on telly every week instead of junk like TOWIE and Geordie Shore.  The cast are much hotter and the emotions more real.  Gripping story lines of athletes struggling with injuries and battling against the odds are so much better than some orange idiot with a trout pout getting her arse cheeks lifted.

The Essex brood might wear outrageous clothes on their show but none of them can wear weird like Clare Balding and Sue Barker.  The Queens of Quality Seconds at Bon Marché.

You can also keep your Joey Essex's and Bachelor Spencer as the sweetest candy this summer was Tom Daley.  Looking worryingly like an eight year old who's gone into early puberty he captured the nation's heart whilst wearing a small blue elbow pad.  Did Stella McCartney run out of material?

I salute you Team GB.  You done good and I'm missing your muscles and sweat.  I miss the boys too.

So until the next major Lycra event I'm passing the time with more British losers on Celebrity Big Brother.

Til next time x