I know the London Olympics were great and all that, and I did enjoy the fervour of the burgeoning national pride they inspired. But there’s been an Awful Lot of sport on telly these past few months. Which has been hard for those of us that need our regular fix of something to slob in front of that doesn’t involve very fit people running about, making us feel bad about eating a whole large packet of Tyrell’s salt and vinegar (you umami-packed seductive bastards) in one go. So, for me, it’s quite nice that we’ve got some excellent tosh back on the box.
And Celebrity Big Brother has hit the ground in camp, leopardprint running shoes. I stopped watching Big Brother after the first season on Channel 5. Too many ad breaks and it has all started to horribly claustrophobic. It also goes on far too long. It’s not a good sign when you think you can smell the telly. In this case a rank mixture of the nocturnal odours of too many inactive people on a weird diet plus the whiff of damp towels.
But with the merely three-week long Celebrity Big Brother, both Empress of Twitter Grace Dent and I have been lured back. The major thing they’ve done to make it too tempting to resist is to have the delectable Martin ‘god of EastEnders’ Kemp as a housemate. My entire purpose for watching the soap back in the day (and, as I recall, PLA had a bit of crush too. We share such good taste).
Then they chucked pretty, witty, savage-tongued Julian Clary into the mix. And THEN they added Bet Lynch in a “GET IT, GOT IT, GOOD” t shirt and animal print leggings, and Heather Trott (AKA Julie Goodyear and Cheryl Fergison). Then there’s Loose Woman and ex Nolan (and so used to shacking up and sharing a hairdryer and make-up with a lot of women, one might imagine, given the number of sisters she used to sing with) Coleen Nolan. What with her and the other glamour pusses, I get the sense that the bathroom drains are soon going to get blocked with hair extensions of many colours.
The rest – an Olympian judo player, someone from Jersey Shore, a bitchy journalist who thinks she’s too darn pretty for this world, some assorted muscle-clad lads and a scattering of glamour/underwear models – are just The Rest to me right now, but that’s fine. We need some wallpaper for our superstars of soap, comedy and daytime telly.
There they all are in the house now, like the most fabulous, crazy selection-box of characters, with a burning desire to get more attention than anyone else. Continue reading