Showing posts with label TV and radio. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TV and radio. Show all posts

Monday, June 02, 2008

On a very quiet tube train...

You know those iPod adverts where people are dancing with abandon? Well, I’ve never done that exactly. I know the feeling though. I’ve stood on a solemn underground station platform staring into the middle distance whilst Electrobank by the Chemical Brothers has pulsated through my brain. Occasionally my foot might tap or my head might nod, I may even mouth the words. I have not, yet, danced.

Today, however, I did laugh out loud in a silent tube carriage. I downloaded Radio 5’s Fighting Talk podcast. An Australian comedian whose name escapes me made it to the ‘Defend the un-defendable’ final. At the start, the host Colin Murray introduced him as ‘the comedian who makes me fear for my job every time he comes on’.

The un-defendable position he had 60 seconds to defend was… “Ashley Cole vomited whilst having sex… vomit is a key part of my lovemaking because…”

He paused…

“Sometimes you need lube”

I just count myself lucky that snot didn’t come out of my nose.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Fat not phat

“How did he do it?” Asked the bloke at work as I described to him what I’d seen on ‘Half-Ton Dad’ on Channel 4.

It was an all-pervasive question; how did he get to weigh half a ton? How did he conceive a child? I can’t say I found out the full answer to either question. I turned over at the point they were slicing great slabs of his flesh from his thighs in the vain attempt at getting him under the svelte thirty stone mark.

I’ve seen programmes like this before where some of the ‘how did he do it’ questions are answered. There was one bloke who claimed that his pizzas were healthy because they contained all the main food groups. Now I don’t care how fat, stupid or American you are; surely everyone knows that vegetables, cheese, bread and meat are not main food groups.

Also there was the bloke became housebound so put his money in a bucket and lowered it to children down below so they could get his Kentuky Fried Chicken bucket. You would think that the first time you had to resort to such a drastic action would be the point at which you start to think you’ve got a problem to sort out.

So, how did he do it? He ate a shitload of food, that’s how he did it.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

It'll be all white on the night

Following Louis Theroux trip to San Quentin Jail, where he met a married neo-Nazi with two children who was having a non-physical homosexual relationship with a gay jewish man in make-up, one could only conclude ‘only in America’.


Except, last night I stumbled across BNP Wives, which did exactly what it said on the tin. I couldn’t work out whether it was shocking or funny. One lady said that the difference between white Europeans and Asians was that (and I have to confess, I didn’t know this) ‘they look after their cars, we look after our houses’ – she fully expected the UK to become a Muslim state as the result of ‘a war… or something’.

Another was seen protesting about the opening of a Mosque, nobody seemed interested in signing their petition. One lady said she wasn’t bothered if there was a Mosque in the area to which the BNP wife responded under her breath ‘you will when they rape you’. Later she was confronted with someone who tried to prize a reasoned argument as to why the Mosque shouldn’t be built; the answer was: ‘we’ll lose four municipal car parking spaces’.

And then there was the BNP Wife who was flyering around a neighbourhood. She said that she didn’t deny the holocaust, she just questioned the numbers (having read a book called ‘Did 6 million jews really die in the holocaust?’ – it’s not on Amazon. Which, unless it was 5 people of varying backgrounds who died of old age, is surely a technicality. She did say that some good had come from it – dentistry and plastic surgery, for example.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

She's in control

Looking back, I’m surprised I haven’t mentioned Ginger Woman; Emma’s superhero alter-ego. Over the years, she’s managed to be in the right place at the right time to break up street fights, direct traffic around burning cars and bring to justice a couple of local tyre thieves. Oh, and she became implicated by a tabloid newspaper in a terrorist attack… but that’s another story.

Like all good super heroes Ginger Woman’s world is a secretive one. She lives in the shadows waiting to be called upon. What she does in the shadows, who knows?

On Wednesday we watched Arrange me a marriage. The woman whose marriage was being arranged was Lynn. Lynn’s parents are friends with Emma’s, one of Lynn’s closest friends is in our ante-natal group and one of the blokes selected has a son Emma taught.

Emma doesn’t know Lynn and the three people connected to Emma don’t know each other. She’s clearly is in control of a lot more than I’d previously realised. I’m just innocently making my way through life whilst she’s the master puppeteer of Oxfordshire society. I feel like Nicholas Garrigan to her Idi Amin in Last King of Scotland.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

The good, the bad and the ugly

Having worked over 40 hours in the last two and a bit days, I’ve taken the day off today. Tomorrow I’m back at work, tackling that key tasks of archiving my emails and drinking coffee.

I’m not much of a sleeper, but I was determined to stay in bed for a goodly length of time. As a result I’ve managed to catch up with the dark netherworld of daytime terrestrial TV.

First up was Jeremy Kyle, which I can’t watch for more than about 3 minutes at a time. The topic was ‘You slept with my cousin’s fiancé’. Gormless Chav Number 1 took a lie detector test to find out whether this was true. Kyle announced that it was, to which Gormless Chav Number 2 (who had been cheated on) sat in his Adidas tracksuit and shouted ‘Booyaah’. It was like watching Newsnight.

On Channel 4, rather more unpredictably for 10.30am, was a short documentary on the making of a glamour model. Seren, a media student from Goldsmiths College, was embarking on a glamour model career to ease her student debt.

The agency who signed her up needed to give her a distinctive look to make her stand out. They decided to brand her as the ‘smartest glamour model on the circuit’. Summarised as: pictures in FHM, talking about the pictures in Media Guardian. The creative director suggested she was pictured surrounded by books. Great.

In the end branding of the ‘smartest glamour model on the circuit’ involved shots of her topless in a white shirt and knickers. Very cerebral.

They interviewed her afterwards asking whether she knew they were branding her the smartest glamour model on the circuit. No, she said. Do you think the pictures reflected that? They said. No, she said.

She reflected, slightly shocked, before continuing...

I suppose I did cover up my fanny with a copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

African queen

GMTV is not known for its subtly. The only shock is that they haven’t yet managed to get the advert breaks sponsored.

This week they’ve been running a trailor promoting a week in which Fiona Phillips is flying out to Tanzania to visit a girl she sponsors. The little girl’s name is Neema.

It’s not right to criticise this, and I wouldn’t. But the trailer opens with an introduction highlighting that this little girl and millions of others, have little hope. In short, they are so poor they will die without help.

The trailer continues to a soundtrack of authentic African music. Lots of pictures of children with no shoes and living in mud huts studying from old textbooks.

Fiona herself is shot, sans make-up, staring into the middle distance from what may be the back of a safari jeep, but may also be the balcony of her five-star timber framed hotel suite.

Whilst it’s nauseating and patronising, it just about maintains its credibility. Then the final caption comes up, in their infinite wisdom, they’ve chosen to call this segment of the show Finding Neema.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Tour de Brother

I haven't mentioned Big Brother this year, I am watching it, kind of, in passing, when there's nothing better on. Its just its not really been interesting enough to comment on, I suppose.

I'm also watching the Tour De France; the parallels between the two are remarkable - especially when you can think of nothing better to write about. Firstly, it's a competition of backbreaking longevity and it doesn't pay to go out too hard - an excessively exuberant Big Brother contestant is likely to be voted out early whereas a Prologue specialist is unlikely to complete the first week.

Both competitions have their specialists - the Tour has sprinters, climbers, and domestiques whilst Big Brother has Charley, the specialist hate figure, the good old-boy, Liam, the future Nuts model; Chanelle and the odd-ball - Tracey (who uses the phrase 'Ave It' when she can't think of anything else to say - like a blank tile in Scrabble).

These people spend most of their time anonymously cruising through the competition. Overall victory is never likely but they will have their day; either in a public vote, or a moment of comedy, or a barnstorming argument. This is what the tour would view as a stage win.

They're both compelling viewing because they weave a intriguing story that you don't really want to miss, yet the overall winner becomes obvious from fairly early on. The winners tend to be good at everything without being spectacular at anything. Brian, for example, is not particularly witty, clever or entertaining, he's just a decent bloke. Victory can be secured from some way out - this year's Tour winner is pretty much decided with a week and a half still to go; the Tour winner cruises into Paris, whereas Big Brother winner cruises into a Davina interview and China White's. In many ways, the competitions are very similar.

Plus, of course, they're all constantly cheating and probably on drugs.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

HAFL - Hooble As a Foreign Language

Millie is just starting to become aware of the television as a source of entertainment. Previously she just saw it as a source of flashing colours and spent many hours with her nose against the screen taking it all in.

This morning, The Hoobs were on, which she seemed to be enjoying. It had someone signing for the deaf in the corner. Goodness knows how they sign ‘Tiddlepeeps’ and ‘Hoobledoobledoo’.

For non-connoisseurs ‘Hoobledoo’ is how the Hoobs say hello to each other. They say it all the time. Eventually, on about the sixtieth ‘Hoobledoo’ Emma pipes up; ‘So, is this the Hoobs then?’

It would have been a bit weird if it was said by a Fimble.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Where evil lurks

A friend of mine does a lot of work in China and Korea. One of the things he talks about is how difficult it is to understand the fundamental logic system adopted in these countries. About how much harder it is to work out how action a. lead to action b. His British schooling and logic system sometimes appears completely incompatible with that of South East Asia.

I saw him last night and he had more stories of derring-do in the region; when I got back I turned on the TV; there was a repeat of the Louis Theroux weird weekend "The most hated family in America". I saw the programme on Sunday, but found myself compelled to watch it again.

The Westboro Baptist Church believe, I think, that "God hates fags", "America loves fags", American troops represent America, they are therefore defending fags, therefore God tricked George Bush into invading Iraq so that he could pick off the troops with his wrath. Ergo; troop deaths are to be celebrated; so amongst other things, they picket troop funerals.

The logic is not nearly as simple as that, the whole belief system is encased in a shell which says; if you hate this logic, you're doomed to hell. Naturally, everyone hates the logic, therefore the Westboro Baptist Church are the only people who are going to heaven. In short America is doomed. Hate (or at least anger), which they receive in spades, makes them more righteous and good. Like a boa constrictor, the more you struggle the tighter the system is.

And then, on top of this, being friends with people is a slippery slope to hell. In part because you become tainted by the evil that America does. Also, friendship leads to fornication (if only, eh fellas?) The Pastor, Fred Phelps a confused old man who develops this amorphous philosophy, has sired thirteen children. None of which through fornication, one assumes.

Nor do they actually want to convert anyone to their way of thinking because everyone is doomed to hell already. Which, presumably makes the whole activity of picketing US troop funerals, Swedish vacuum cleaner factories and 'Jew' churches with signs that say 'God Hates Fags' and 'Fag Troops' completely pointless. They go out into the community to shout things without any reason or desired outcome.

At which point the logic unravels into a heap on the floor. It's not so much extremism, which, at least has a political logic to it. It just doesn't have a logic system; it doesn't want to grow, it doesn't want to change things, it doesn't want to explain anything. Theroux's other programmes attempt to get to the nucleus of the issue, an element which is causing the bizarre behaviour. But, partly due to the impenetrable belief system and partly because Phelps was barely articulate (at one point, Theroux sweetly wraps him up in knots with a question to which all Phelps can do is drop into his "I know all about you, you're evil and doomed to hell" rhetoric), he could only conclude that there was some kind of anger at the core of the whole thing. What kind of anger, he couldn't say. In which circumstances you have to just smile sweetly and move along. Which is what he did. Due to his 'fag' fixation, one may assume that Phelps himself has had a serious buggering at some point in his past. But that's mere speculation on my part.

Oh God, to compound it all; Ben Shepherd on GMTV (who's favourite band is Jesus and Mary Chain) has just introduced G4's last ever live performance. All this and G4 splitting up? What is the world coming to?

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Jaded

I know, it's not healthy, but just one more thing on this racism debate. On Newsnight last night Paul Morley made a point that the whole thing had triggered a plea from the nation to define what is and isn't racism.

There isn't a single definition and interpretation; it is different calling someone a 'ginger' to calling someone a 'paki' even if both are discriminatory in some way.

One thing is for sure, however, much easier to avoid walking into a racism storm than not. Nobody, least of all Channel 4 who are £3 million poorer for it, saw Jade and thought 'we need someone to get hammered over racist remarks, she'll do.' Nobody was lying in wait, her tirade couldn't have been engineered.

In other words, whether she's racist or not, there was no compulsion for her to go anywhere near the issue. After all, the best way of avoiding being hit by a car on the motorway, is to avoid standing on motorways.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Whatever you say I am is what I am not

More refined thinking on the Jade/Shilpa debate seems to conclude that Jade hasn't (yet) been conclusively racist. Racism is a rather inflammatory way of describing something that is more likely simple ignorance and stupidity. It's likely that Jade is incapable of anything as sophisticated as racism; which involves the development of a pretty thorough, if warped, ideology. It is not easy to hate an entire race. More likely; Jade is a simpleton and a nasty piece of work who is ferociously cruel when crossed. This is no lesser charge.

We could create a meritocratic society based of age or height, which would be OK for me. But we live in a society based on transactions; when you do something good; you get rewarded for it. The more talented and good you are, the more you are likely to benefit.

Millionaire Jade seems rather overcompensated for whatever talent she is selling. She is not very bright, funny or attractive. She has no capacity for strategy or politics. But she is neither thick, dull or ugly. She's a successful, strong independent woman and a caring mother. Her talent seems to be that although she's like no other woman at the same time she's like every woman. She is rewarded handsomely for her, em, normalcy.

But she can't represent the average woman in the street now she's been exposed as a viscous bully with an ugly ruthlessness. She is stripped of the only talent she has, and so her marketability has plummeted, which is presumably why sponsors are turning away in their droves. It always seemed unlikely that Jade could sustain such a profile and riches in return for such flimsy talents. It seems that the celebrity market is on the verge of an adjustment.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Nay Sayer

Oh Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo. What did you do?

When Leo Sayer walked in to Celebrity Big Brother, it was his to win. H from Steps, Jo from S'Club, Danielle Lloyd were fame seeking desperadoes, Dirk and Jermaine the Hollywood weirdoes, Shilpa was the wrong class, sex, nationality and, let's face it, race to really garner a groundswell of support. Cleo had a chance, but it was Leo's to lose.

He fitted the bill perfectly; just enough profile for people to know who he was, but he'd been out of the limelight long enough to avoid accusations of fame seeking. He'd been successful, had his time, left his legacy and was now able to drift around the outer rim of the celebrity world like a kindly uncle. He knew everyone; Donny Tourette had been to his house, he greeted Jermaine with 'Hi Jermaine, how's Michael', even Kuddly Ken Russell knew him. All he had to do was hang out in the house for three weeks being small and curly wearing that bemused look on his face. Then he could come out (and not in an H way - H from Steps, gay, who knew?), release a Greatest Hits compo and enjoy a little Indian summer.

Then he revealed the monster. It's not just his slow mental breakdown, that could happen to anyone; it's the inner feelings he revealed. He is Leo; no surname required and he is Legend. He hated celebrity, then dismissed Jo from S'Club as a non-celebrity because she didn't wear expensive clothes and didn't have a car. S'Club are has-beens, according to Leo. Now, the concept of a has-been is entirely subjective, but it's been 23 years since Leo had an original hit whereas at least Jo saw chart action in this millennium. Then he flounced out due to a percieved lack of respect; when the key to winning Celebrity Big Brother is to demonstrate that you don't need anyone to validate your celebrity through fawning respect.

One thing for certain about this year's Celebrity Big Brother is that it's crushingly dull, the other is that Leo Sayer leaves the show a damaged man.

Whilst I'm at it; when Jack (Jade's boyfriend) entered the house he introduced himself as a football agent. Fair enough, at least he didn't want to be his legacy to simply be Jade's Boyfriend. I would wager that he's not a very good football agent given that he's entered a house cut off from the outside world just as the January transfer window opens.

Look, I've never pretended to be vying for a job with The Telegraph.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Carbohydrate TV

TV gave up on Christmas. The big Christmas film has been gazumped by Sky Movies, and plugging in your brand new Nintendo Wii is always going to be preferable to watching Noel Up The Telecom Tower.

Focus has switched to New Year; schedules have been finessed to offer some comfort in the bleak mid-winter. This Life +10 aimed to take us back to the dog-days of Britpop. This Life was all terribly zeitgeist-y apparently; 5 lawyers who lived in London, did drugs, had sex and listened to Portishead. A reflection of my generation indeed, well I do have a Portishead album.

It did make me feel a bit sick that Egg was seen writing on his Mac Powerbook whilst listening to his iPod docked in a Bose speaker system. Turns out My Life is a bit of a thirty something cliche.

Celebrity Big Brother is the ultimate in carbohydrate TV offering comfort that's both unchallenging and soporific. How do they put together the Celebrity Big Brother contestants? Do they all sit down at a early production meeting and pick their ultimate wish-list...

"So, who do we want?"
"What about Nelson Mandela, Madonna, Khazakstani President Nursultan Nazarbayev and Pele?"
"Great, let's get to it."

Three weeks later...

"So, how did we get on with tracking down Pele?"
"Pretty good, it's taken a bit of researching, he first played in the World Cup in 1958 in Sweden. Well, in the Swedish squad that year was Sigge Parling."
"And he's friends with Pele?"
"No. Sigge Parling played for Djurgardens IF Fotball in Sweden; which is the same club that Jesper Blomqvist played for before he went to Manchester United as an understudy to Ryan Giggs."
"You've got Ryan Giggs?"
"No. But Ryan Giggs won the Champions League with another player of note from Djugardens; Teddy Sheringham, this is where I came up trumps."
"You got Teddy Sheringham!?"
"Not really."
"Who then?"
"His automaton girlfriend and disgraced Miss Great Britain; Danielle Lloyd."

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Too many cooks

If you're a celebrity cook and want to avoid the purgatory of UKTV Food, you've got to have A Thing. Jamie Oliver had his gastro-pub Brit Pop thing, Gordon Ramsay is all about The Swearing, Rick Stein's thing is The Fish, Heston Blumenthal is supposedly about The Science.

Nigella Lawson's thing is as a middle class 1950's saucepot; perfect for Yuletide. What's not to love about a woman who's first reaction after jolly good rogering is to marinade a turkey in a festive brine before giving the children hand whittled wooden toys and feeding them a pomegranate merigue mountain? Certainly that's what it looks like in the painstaking re-enactment of a Lawson family Christmas on Nigella's Christmas Kitchen. You never see her husband, however, he's probably upstairs smoking a big fat cigar wondering where it all went wrong.

Nigella is a woman who sees nothing wrong with emphasising the words 'breast', 'squeeze' and 'come' in a sentence about the perfect Christmas panchiporan aloo and she's never far away from her vampish red satin dressing gown. However, not all might be what it seems. She's always shot in a dreamlike soft focus, swaithed in floodlights, this may be to emphasise her perfect womanly ways, or it could be to hide the fact that she probably really looks more like her dad.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

Lower Grade

Good luck Michael Grade, for you work for a company I despise, having left a company I truly admire. Now, I do understand commercial TV; programmes are the things that go between the adverts and not the other way around. However, despite its dominant position, ITV has chosen to give up this illusion to chase the dirty dollar.

Channel 4 have shown how to do it by finding a blend of programming that stretches from reputation enforcing niche to populist banal (although programmes on the axis of Sex Tips for What You Eat and How Clean is You Naked Property Ladder are getting a little too much). ITV's programming formula has either been reduced to using desperate (and cheap) celebrities or mildly talented (and free) nobodies for their entertainment schedule or, in the case of their current affairs stuff; being a visual Daily Express by reacting hysterically to everything. The binding factor is always the introduction of audience participation by text message voting.

All of which leaves me with a cold chill to learn that ITV intend to screen a TV event this weekend entitled Extinct. The BBC might tackle the subject by investigating the socioeconomic drivers that are threatening the Northern Spotted Owl. ITV can't afford to lose viewers to the Strictly Come Dancing results programme; so how are they to ensure they get their money in as quickly as possible?

'Text 8556 and add 1 for to make the Hawaiian Monk Seal extinct, 2 for the Eastern Timber Wolf...'.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Reclaim The Streets

Working at home today meant I was unfortunate enough to stumble upon the GMTV magazine show LK Today, which is complicit in a fraud that engulfs all the creative industries.

Basically, the creative industries need to continuously reinvent their products in order to maintain their income stream. The product is so disposable, the industries can't afford to stay still. The thing is, customer expectations move quicker than the changing trends; people expect the New Beatles on a weekly basis. This is why the music industry basically veers from guitar music to electronic music and back again even though the music press will insist that its post-industrial-krautrock-riotgrrl-shoegazing-jazz-funk-trip-hop. I mean, Klaxons are neo-rave, NEO-R? A? V? E?

The fashion industry is slaved to the same cycles; it has to find new ways of representing the same things. LK Today is a platform on which these ideas are presented unquestioned. Even if they did say 'Are you sure this is influenced by early Byzantine masonry tooling because it doesn't half look like a pair of jeans held together with pegs'. The resident expert will give the Pavolvian response '... and if you throw on a pashmina and pair of sling-backs its a great evening look.'

Today they proudly announced that the Chav look was in, which might surprise Chav-wear magnate Dave Whelan who's £200 million JJB sports empire is basically built on selling Ecko hoodies to faux-gangsta teenagers. Along with some awkward in-studio models they proceeded to scan through a series of stills of Caprice with her hood up and Lilly Allen (great examples, apparently).

"Who's this", said Lorraine Kelly, who's mumsy image hides a murky seedy catalogue of sexual depravity. "This", said resident expert, "is [alpha-chavs] Mike Skinner and Lady Sovereign. But they really haven't got the look, they've really overdone it".

Haven't got the look? They are the bleedin' look. They invented the bloody look. Good god, what is the world coming to?

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

When women bite back

Following Tony Blair’s joke about Cherie not running off with his neighbour at the Labour conference yesterday, Radio Five Live were inviting other ‘wife jokes’. After a series of slightly stale, broadly sexist jokes presenter Shelagh Fogerty stepped in…

“Are men, can’t live with ‘em, can’t chop them into little pieces and boil ‘em”

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

As seen on Channel 4 (kinda)

I've changed my web stat counter thingy to Statcounter. It has a filter do-dah which stops your own hits registering (amongst other things). It turns out I have a healthy number of visits per day from people that aren't me.

It didn't start too promisingly, daily visits trickled in, then suddenly last week it went bananas. Looking deeper it turns out that I was getting a tidal wave of visits to this picture of Sam from Beauty and the Geek.

I wasn't at work today. Millie has started nursery this week (at a cost that exceeds our mortgage) and now thinks that putting her feet in the sandpit is the edge of all human experience. Due to a minor but complex childminding issue I can't be bothered to talk about here, I had to take the day off to look after her.

Nursery evidently makes her very tired, because she woke at 6.45am, then after a bottle slept until 12.30. This allowed me to do a bit of work, and watch the TV. Becoming quite nauseous at Jeremy Kyle I turned to Channel 4 to see, you know, Beauty and the Geek. It seems it's being re-run which is probably driving up my traffic. It's what I call the Garraway/Tits experience where a couple of years ago I had an avalanche of hits because I'd put the two words together in a post (that I can't now find).

Not only that, the episode was the last one, the one I missed having watched the series obsessively for weeks when it was screened on E4. The world is perfect don't you think?

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

F off

I hated The F Word, which finished slightly too long ago for me to write about it with any credibility.

[pauses, thinks, shrugs, carries on]

The basic problem with any cookery programme is that you can't taste the food. No matter how closely a show's guest exudes simple orgasmic pleasure from tasting the partridge and banana fricassee you will never know what it will taste like.

So, the next best thing is to be equipped with the information to make the dish in order to taste it. A recipe supported with some instructions on what goes where, Deliah Smith style. Ramsay dispenses with such triviality; he cooks, sure, but he doesn't tell you what he's cooking or how. So, stripped of any value, the programme is little more than self-conciously over-styled claptrap fronted by a man who says fuck. A lot. This is the essence of the programme. Oh, and killing the pigs he's raised as pets in front of his kids, which may actually be child abuse.

Pig killing and swearing aside, he also instigated his own campaign; clearly smarting from Jamie Oliver's ascendance to deity status with his school dinners thing. The best that Ramsay came up with was an amnesty on cookery books. So not only does the programme fail to enrich us with any cooking knowledge; it tries to take away some that we have.

Personally, I would like to see Ramsay campaigning on something useful; like Casseroles or human cheese. The casserole, we're told, is a good wholesome dinner; warming and tasty. This defies all modern logic; a food can't be good when you put all the ingredients in the same pot and cook it for days. And then there's human cheese. A baby can't drink cow's milk but a baby can only drink milk whereas humans drink almost exclusively cow's milk. This doesn't make any sense. Why do we drink cow's milk? Would you find it odd to watch a cow suckling a human? Of course, shouldn't we, as humans, be drinking human milk? And therefore human cheese? I did start to Google this, but what you find quickly becomes unpleasant.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Nik off

A Big Brother contestant is like a pot of Yoghurt. Whilst kept inside its sealed container it's at its best. Once released, and exposed to the open air, it needs to be consumed quickly before it goes off and tastes like crap.

Which is why Nikki's reintroduction to the Big Brother house is such a disaster. Contaminated by the outside world she's spoiling all those still inside.

What is the point of re-introducing housemates? The final week should be like the last stage of the Tour de France, which is always a celebratory cruise through the streets of Paris. The competition should effectively be over, no more shocks or twists. And there is nothing better than having three emotionally drained people self conciously trying to have the time of their lives in an empty TV studio on the penultimate night.

Meanwhile, Glyn has turned into a proper turd in recent weeks. He hasn't been exposed to the outside world, although in a sense he has. He now realises that people are divided into more categories than just 'Welsh' and 'Others'.

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