My portrait of Duilia is finally finished, complete with Van Gogh sunflowers and iridescent orange hair.
there was a marvellous documentary on TV tonight about two seemingly rather prim WI ladies who are part of a campaign to decriminalise prostitution in order that working women may lead safer lives.
As research they travelled with a camera crew to Amsterdam, Nevada and New Zealand, to try and find a model for a legalised British brothel.
In a New Zealand sex shop the ladies were at first bemused by the range of sexual devices on sale.
‘Can you tell me something about ‘The Arse Midget’?’ one of them enquired of an amused shopkeeper.
‘Yes lady,’ he replied. ‘It’s for sticking up your arse!’
Despite the comic moments, the programme had a serious purpose in trying to persuade the wider country at large of an issue of pure common sense. Were brothels to be legalised, the practice could be regulated, and women who, for whatever reason, find themselves working as prostitutes would be protected by employment rights, security and a clean environment in which to carry out their job.
The WI have to be applauded for their attitude and their stand on this, and the Rational Party supports them all the way.
Go WI!
This programme cheered me, having had to sit through an hour of Rex and Nicole on Big Brother. Nicole, for those of you who do not know, is the girlfriend that Rex has been banging on about for the last mythical-god-knows-how-many weeks and who has now been placed in the House as a permanent housemate.
She’s done nothing but whine ever since, while Rex holds her tight, saying things like ‘What’s wrong, Princess?’.
It would appear that Big Brother has withheld her suitcase as punishment for her jumping over the divide from Hell into Heaven. Most housemates would have taken this in their stride, but poor Nicole is bereft.
‘I’m High Maintenance!’ she keeps wailing. ‘I want my suitcase!’
When it arrives I hope someone locks her in it and posts her back to Chelsea.
Showing posts with label Big Brother 9. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Big Brother 9. Show all posts
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
Monday, 4 August 2008
Friday 31 July 2008
As we predicted (to be fair it has been the most predictable Big Brother ever) Luke was voted out of the Big Brother House. I would have preferred Dale to go.
Dale worries me since his entire vocabulary seems to be constructed around the concept of the penis. Last week, when nominating Mohamed (who seems to be only nominated because people consider him greedy. I think there’s some borderline racism going on here, as I don’t see a huge amount of people nominating Rex because he’s a pompous git, with far worse sins than greediness) his reasons for nominating him were ‘He’s a dick, a knob, a cock, a tool and a tit.’
This obsession with penis epithets can’t be healthy. I suspect part of Dale’s problem in the House is that he has no thesaurus in which to look up the word ‘penis’ and thereby find fresh new words to describe his favourite thing in the world.
Later, we watched a film called ‘Some Things Never Die’ (I think) which starred James Doohan and George Takei (Scotty and Sulu, Hoorah!). Doohan is the sheriff of a small mid-west town plagued with mysterious deaths and Takei is a mad Japanese scientist who has been campaigning for years against a new form of pesticide.
It’s an enjoyable bit of low budget hokum, although none of it makes any scientific sense at all. A new mutated species of cockroach (which metamorphoses from a worm that comes out of a lake) has been killing people all over town, and the local vet, George Takei and two teenagers try to solve the mystery and save the town.
There’s also a giant sized ‘mother’ cockroach, and they’re all living (a little predictably) up in the old mine.
I loved it.
Dale worries me since his entire vocabulary seems to be constructed around the concept of the penis. Last week, when nominating Mohamed (who seems to be only nominated because people consider him greedy. I think there’s some borderline racism going on here, as I don’t see a huge amount of people nominating Rex because he’s a pompous git, with far worse sins than greediness) his reasons for nominating him were ‘He’s a dick, a knob, a cock, a tool and a tit.’
This obsession with penis epithets can’t be healthy. I suspect part of Dale’s problem in the House is that he has no thesaurus in which to look up the word ‘penis’ and thereby find fresh new words to describe his favourite thing in the world.
Later, we watched a film called ‘Some Things Never Die’ (I think) which starred James Doohan and George Takei (Scotty and Sulu, Hoorah!). Doohan is the sheriff of a small mid-west town plagued with mysterious deaths and Takei is a mad Japanese scientist who has been campaigning for years against a new form of pesticide.
It’s an enjoyable bit of low budget hokum, although none of it makes any scientific sense at all. A new mutated species of cockroach (which metamorphoses from a worm that comes out of a lake) has been killing people all over town, and the local vet, George Takei and two teenagers try to solve the mystery and save the town.
There’s also a giant sized ‘mother’ cockroach, and they’re all living (a little predictably) up in the old mine.
I loved it.
Saturday, 26 July 2008
Thursday 24 July 2008
I’m getting a lot of readers from Reading, for reasons which are not entirely clear. I’m just hoping it’s not both of Zezi Ifore’s fans who are taking note of my (to be fair entirely justified) negative criticism and are planning my downfall.
BB9 is proving to be somewhat interesting since so far all the people I wanted to go have actually gone: The ghastly and possibly mentally ill Alex; the selfish, nasty and horrible Sylvia; the travesty that was Dennis (let’s face it, he was just Shabaz with flexible legs) and hopefully this week, the spoilt and terminally sociopathic Rebecca.
Let’s keep our fingers crossed.
BB9 is proving to be somewhat interesting since so far all the people I wanted to go have actually gone: The ghastly and possibly mentally ill Alex; the selfish, nasty and horrible Sylvia; the travesty that was Dennis (let’s face it, he was just Shabaz with flexible legs) and hopefully this week, the spoilt and terminally sociopathic Rebecca.
Let’s keep our fingers crossed.
Thursday, 26 June 2008
Tuesday 24 June 2008
Sylvia has become quite evil. However, I imagine that as she has been nominated by at least half her housemates, she will be going on Friday. Mohammed has also been nominated, but he has not been half as annoying as this spoilt young harridan.
You’d imagine that someone who escaped at gunpoint from a civil war would have a little more humility, civility and respect for other human beings.
Meanwhile, back in the BBLB House, The Gormless Shoe Tree known as Zezi Ifore continues her lemming-like rampage toward the cliff of obscurity.
I have had reports (since I try to watch the show as little as possible while she is present) that Zezi, banished to do a report from the camera run - where presumably she could do no more harm than squash the occasional cameraman to death - somehow managed to push her face so close to the one way glass that many of the Housemates saw her.
‘Oh no! Did they see me?’ wailed the Porky Permed One in a panic. This is an achievement that not even the stupidest of celebrities has managed to pull off. One would have thought that the presenter of the show could have managed to keep herself from buggering things up, but no. I use the term ‘presenter’ very loosely though. My latest theory is that she’s on work experience.
You’d imagine that someone who escaped at gunpoint from a civil war would have a little more humility, civility and respect for other human beings.
Meanwhile, back in the BBLB House, The Gormless Shoe Tree known as Zezi Ifore continues her lemming-like rampage toward the cliff of obscurity.
I have had reports (since I try to watch the show as little as possible while she is present) that Zezi, banished to do a report from the camera run - where presumably she could do no more harm than squash the occasional cameraman to death - somehow managed to push her face so close to the one way glass that many of the Housemates saw her.
‘Oh no! Did they see me?’ wailed the Porky Permed One in a panic. This is an achievement that not even the stupidest of celebrities has managed to pull off. One would have thought that the presenter of the show could have managed to keep herself from buggering things up, but no. I use the term ‘presenter’ very loosely though. My latest theory is that she’s on work experience.
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
Monday 23 June 2008
i am disrupted
and the things i want to do
are still in my head
My chicken patties are just as good cold as hot. I ate half of one before I went to work.
Big Brother is becoming interesting in that it is turning into what it should be, a bizarre and surreal psychological experiment. As soon as one raving nutter leaves, it appears that another emerges to take her place. Sylvia, who has been in Alexandria’s shadow until now, has blossomed into a full scale Barking Madwoman since the evil one’s departure. This may have been triggered by the entry into the house of Stuart, a Northern Property Developer and Personal Trainer. I sniff disdainfully at this job title and file it in the same place as ‘Toy Demonstrator’ which is Mohammed’s job, apparently.
Stuart is very fit and seems to possess the power of indelible eyeliner. Sylvia was over him like a rat in a KFC bin.
I foretell that only Doom will come from this.
and the things i want to do
are still in my head
My chicken patties are just as good cold as hot. I ate half of one before I went to work.
Big Brother is becoming interesting in that it is turning into what it should be, a bizarre and surreal psychological experiment. As soon as one raving nutter leaves, it appears that another emerges to take her place. Sylvia, who has been in Alexandria’s shadow until now, has blossomed into a full scale Barking Madwoman since the evil one’s departure. This may have been triggered by the entry into the house of Stuart, a Northern Property Developer and Personal Trainer. I sniff disdainfully at this job title and file it in the same place as ‘Toy Demonstrator’ which is Mohammed’s job, apparently.
Stuart is very fit and seems to possess the power of indelible eyeliner. Sylvia was over him like a rat in a KFC bin.
I foretell that only Doom will come from this.
Monday, 23 June 2008
Sunday 22 June 2008
in the hospital
my mortality waved and
said ‘yes! here i am!’
Sunday has become my cooking day. I had already prepared some pattie pastry yesterday and, before we set off to see Robert – since his mother had come down from Sheffield to spend the afternoon with him. – I prepared my spiced chicken filling which needed to cool before it got rammed in the pastry.
Typically, Robert had given us the wrong name of the ward, and after wandering through several deserted corridors and reception areas we found him. He was on the phone. The NHS provide bedside phones. They are incoming only, no doubt to stop convalescing patients with too much time on their hands from ringing Poland, or those numbers where you can meets lots of gorgeous people within your postcode area. You’ve seen the sort of thing. Ring this number, or text H-O-O-R to get a list of girls/guys/olds/desperates/plain wierdos online NOW!
There was an old Rastafarian sitting at the next bed along, visiting his son.
‘He runs this ward!’ he shouted to us, pointing at Robert. ‘We call him El Presidente! He’s always on his satellite phone.’
I can’t help but feel a little disturbed by the running of the hospital. One obviously can’t blame this on the staff, since they seemed both quite efficient while being understandably overworked, but there was an air of resources being overstretched, and, from what we were told, the usual NHS bureaucracy and overuse of managers.
If I’m run down by a bus I’ll ask the ambulance to take me to St Marys.
Robert’s mother, it appears, arrived at Victoria on the coach and, having been told to take the number 11, jumped on the first one she saw, only becoming concerned when the bus passed through Trafalgar Square and headed off toward the east. She got off at the next stop and flagged down a car, who said he was a cab, and paid twenty-four pounds to get to the hospital.
She seemed, apparently, remarkably unconcerned by her adventure.
After a couple of hours we left and I returned to roll out my pastry and do the patties. I put six of them in the oven and watched some of Big Brother’s Little Brother. Thankfully, Zezi Ifore, the Gormless Shoe Tree was not immediately apparent, and George, the lesser of two evils, was doing the sofa interview, with a comedian whose name for the moment escapes me, despite the fact he’s very funny. What a difference! George was articulate, allowed the guest the chance to speak and was altogether half-decent and decidedly non-neanderthal. I prayed to Argos, the omnipotent, albeit mythical God of Catalogue Shopping, that Zezi had gone the way of all BB rejects, but alas, there she was at the Forum screen with Timmy Mallet, and even he fairly glowed with wit and talent in her presence. Zezi bombarded him with questions, didn’t listen to anything he said and finally (thank you, Argos) Timmy shouted ‘Can I finish speaking??!!!’
This of course translates to those perceptive folk among us as ‘Just Shut The Fup, You Ghastly Woman!’ which is what 90% of the audience have been shouting at their TV screens for the last two and a half weeks.
I ate three of the patties out of sheer exasperation at such a waste of Channel 4 wages.
Later, returning to the kitchen I discovered that only one pattie remained, and that the Ugly One was looking far too contented and smug as he watched Sylvia being a right cow on Big Brother and brushed crumbs off his vest.
my mortality waved and
said ‘yes! here i am!’
Sunday has become my cooking day. I had already prepared some pattie pastry yesterday and, before we set off to see Robert – since his mother had come down from Sheffield to spend the afternoon with him. – I prepared my spiced chicken filling which needed to cool before it got rammed in the pastry.
Typically, Robert had given us the wrong name of the ward, and after wandering through several deserted corridors and reception areas we found him. He was on the phone. The NHS provide bedside phones. They are incoming only, no doubt to stop convalescing patients with too much time on their hands from ringing Poland, or those numbers where you can meets lots of gorgeous people within your postcode area. You’ve seen the sort of thing. Ring this number, or text H-O-O-R to get a list of girls/guys/olds/desperates/plain wierdos online NOW!
There was an old Rastafarian sitting at the next bed along, visiting his son.
‘He runs this ward!’ he shouted to us, pointing at Robert. ‘We call him El Presidente! He’s always on his satellite phone.’
I can’t help but feel a little disturbed by the running of the hospital. One obviously can’t blame this on the staff, since they seemed both quite efficient while being understandably overworked, but there was an air of resources being overstretched, and, from what we were told, the usual NHS bureaucracy and overuse of managers.
If I’m run down by a bus I’ll ask the ambulance to take me to St Marys.
Robert’s mother, it appears, arrived at Victoria on the coach and, having been told to take the number 11, jumped on the first one she saw, only becoming concerned when the bus passed through Trafalgar Square and headed off toward the east. She got off at the next stop and flagged down a car, who said he was a cab, and paid twenty-four pounds to get to the hospital.
She seemed, apparently, remarkably unconcerned by her adventure.
After a couple of hours we left and I returned to roll out my pastry and do the patties. I put six of them in the oven and watched some of Big Brother’s Little Brother. Thankfully, Zezi Ifore, the Gormless Shoe Tree was not immediately apparent, and George, the lesser of two evils, was doing the sofa interview, with a comedian whose name for the moment escapes me, despite the fact he’s very funny. What a difference! George was articulate, allowed the guest the chance to speak and was altogether half-decent and decidedly non-neanderthal. I prayed to Argos, the omnipotent, albeit mythical God of Catalogue Shopping, that Zezi had gone the way of all BB rejects, but alas, there she was at the Forum screen with Timmy Mallet, and even he fairly glowed with wit and talent in her presence. Zezi bombarded him with questions, didn’t listen to anything he said and finally (thank you, Argos) Timmy shouted ‘Can I finish speaking??!!!’
This of course translates to those perceptive folk among us as ‘Just Shut The Fup, You Ghastly Woman!’ which is what 90% of the audience have been shouting at their TV screens for the last two and a half weeks.
I ate three of the patties out of sheer exasperation at such a waste of Channel 4 wages.
Later, returning to the kitchen I discovered that only one pattie remained, and that the Ugly One was looking far too contented and smug as he watched Sylvia being a right cow on Big Brother and brushed crumbs off his vest.
Friday, 20 June 2008
Friday 20 June 2008
i could go to north greenwich
to look at the dome,
then i’ll sigh, wonder why
and go home.
I saw Douglas Hurd in Hammersmith Tube this morning. What celebrity omen will this portend?
And of course, today everyone is talking about Alexandra from Big Brother who was taken out of the house due to her repeated intimidatory behaviour, which of course she did not see as being intimidatory at all.
Is she mad, or merely a sociopath? It is clear that she has severe emotional problems and has great trouble dealing with anyone who does not agree with her rather narrow view of the world, as well as which she pronounces muslim with three syllables, which none of the real muslims who I know do.
She also had an argument with Mohammed, who wanted to have a cross-dressing party, and insisted, rather curiously, that Mus-a-lim men did not do this, and ‘we are drinking and smoking, which is bad enough, but this is going too far.’
It’s an odd set of values. Allah, it seems, may turn a blind eye to the drinking and smoking, but wearing a bra may send you to Hell.
From what I’ve learned, it seems that the alcohol prohibition is not one of the more seriously enforced Muslim laws, and as tobacco was presumably not extant in the Middle East when the Koran was written it seems difficult to imagine how a smoking ban could have been incorporated. I am not aware of any specific part of the Koran which forbids the wearing of women’s clothes for fancy dress purposes as I am not an expert, although I do seem to know more about it than Alex does.
Anyway, this pure moral Mus-a-lim woman the next day, having found herself up for eviction, seemed quite happy to launch into a rant about how ‘personal offence is never forgotten’ and that she has gangster friends who are going to get to know everyone’s friends and family. It was very disturbing viewing as, for me, it was quite clear that Alex was threatening to have her ‘gangster friends’ deal with the people who nominated her. Whether or not Alex has any friends at all, whether they be gangsters or fellow croydon-facelift hairstyle fetishists, is a moot point. I suspect she hasn’t.
Before this programme I made the mistake of tuning into Big Brother’s Little Brother just to check if the ghastly Zezi Ifore had been sacked yet. Alas no! There she was, baring her unfeasibly large teeth and bouncing around in a yellow and black number looking like a bee hunting for a place to die.
Ok, there’s several things wrong with Zezi (not including the unfeasibly large teeth and the bee outfit):-
1. A presenter should, wherever possible, present in as professional a manner as possible. It isn’t right to shout ‘Yeah!’ at inappropriate times or dance like an infant at ballet school behind someone else who is co-presenting.
2. When interviewing, it usually isn’t the case that the interviewer says more (mostly about herself) than the interviewee does.
3. A presenter should not interrupt or talk over people.
4. A presenter should really have better teeth. I know I wasn’t going to mention the teeth, but the Gormless Shoe Tree insists on pushing her gob right into the camera and it looks like we’re entering some kind of mouth-based Moria.
Get Zezi Out! Get Zezi Out! Get Zezi Out!
to look at the dome,
then i’ll sigh, wonder why
and go home.
I saw Douglas Hurd in Hammersmith Tube this morning. What celebrity omen will this portend?
And of course, today everyone is talking about Alexandra from Big Brother who was taken out of the house due to her repeated intimidatory behaviour, which of course she did not see as being intimidatory at all.
Is she mad, or merely a sociopath? It is clear that she has severe emotional problems and has great trouble dealing with anyone who does not agree with her rather narrow view of the world, as well as which she pronounces muslim with three syllables, which none of the real muslims who I know do.
She also had an argument with Mohammed, who wanted to have a cross-dressing party, and insisted, rather curiously, that Mus-a-lim men did not do this, and ‘we are drinking and smoking, which is bad enough, but this is going too far.’
It’s an odd set of values. Allah, it seems, may turn a blind eye to the drinking and smoking, but wearing a bra may send you to Hell.
From what I’ve learned, it seems that the alcohol prohibition is not one of the more seriously enforced Muslim laws, and as tobacco was presumably not extant in the Middle East when the Koran was written it seems difficult to imagine how a smoking ban could have been incorporated. I am not aware of any specific part of the Koran which forbids the wearing of women’s clothes for fancy dress purposes as I am not an expert, although I do seem to know more about it than Alex does.
Anyway, this pure moral Mus-a-lim woman the next day, having found herself up for eviction, seemed quite happy to launch into a rant about how ‘personal offence is never forgotten’ and that she has gangster friends who are going to get to know everyone’s friends and family. It was very disturbing viewing as, for me, it was quite clear that Alex was threatening to have her ‘gangster friends’ deal with the people who nominated her. Whether or not Alex has any friends at all, whether they be gangsters or fellow croydon-facelift hairstyle fetishists, is a moot point. I suspect she hasn’t.
Before this programme I made the mistake of tuning into Big Brother’s Little Brother just to check if the ghastly Zezi Ifore had been sacked yet. Alas no! There she was, baring her unfeasibly large teeth and bouncing around in a yellow and black number looking like a bee hunting for a place to die.
Ok, there’s several things wrong with Zezi (not including the unfeasibly large teeth and the bee outfit):-
1. A presenter should, wherever possible, present in as professional a manner as possible. It isn’t right to shout ‘Yeah!’ at inappropriate times or dance like an infant at ballet school behind someone else who is co-presenting.
2. When interviewing, it usually isn’t the case that the interviewer says more (mostly about herself) than the interviewee does.
3. A presenter should not interrupt or talk over people.
4. A presenter should really have better teeth. I know I wasn’t going to mention the teeth, but the Gormless Shoe Tree insists on pushing her gob right into the camera and it looks like we’re entering some kind of mouth-based Moria.
Get Zezi Out! Get Zezi Out! Get Zezi Out!
Thursday, 19 June 2008
Thursday 19 June 2008
i must go to sleep
before the songs start looping
over and over
I posted the following on the Big Brother General Forum. It was removed within minutes, but not before having received at least ten positive responses.
‘In a shock move, Big Brother Bosses removed Zezi Ifore from the BBLB House late last night following repeated warnings over unacceptable and repeated bad presenting.
At approximately 8 pm 'The Gormless Shoe Tree' as she has become fondly known to both her fans, was called in to the BBLB Diary Room, specially fitted with a pretty coloured mobile in order to help her concentrate.
While the charges were explained to her (very slowly) which included 'Wearing a loud frock in a built-up area' and 'General Annoyance' Zezi talked over the conversation and stared into the camera, occasionally shouting 'Me! Me! Me!' and demanding packets of Love Hearts.
It was explained to Zezi that she had intimidated thousands of viewers with her threats to 'see you on the next show'.
In order to improve the quality of BBLB presenting it is rumoured that Ms Ifore will be replaced by a loaf of Warburtons Toastie.’
I am concerned at the very least at the common sense of those moderating the forums, and at worst with their complicity in what is a sinister repression of the views of fans. It is not just me whose posts have been deleted. Other people have told me they have posted criticisms of Ms Ifore and their posts have been indiscriminately removed. So vociferous has the reaction been to this presenter that she was questioned about the adverse reaction on the forums in this week’s Metro. Since then, mention of Ms Ifore has been curiously absent, and one now realises why since any criticism is ruthlessly censored as soon as it is posted.
I am told that BBLB have nothing to do with the forum moderation and that Channel 4 hire a third party company to run it, although the forum guidelines (somewhat vague) suggest that the moderators do have a Channel 4 representative as part of the team.There’s a very nasty smell about all of this.
before the songs start looping
over and over
I posted the following on the Big Brother General Forum. It was removed within minutes, but not before having received at least ten positive responses.
‘In a shock move, Big Brother Bosses removed Zezi Ifore from the BBLB House late last night following repeated warnings over unacceptable and repeated bad presenting.
At approximately 8 pm 'The Gormless Shoe Tree' as she has become fondly known to both her fans, was called in to the BBLB Diary Room, specially fitted with a pretty coloured mobile in order to help her concentrate.
While the charges were explained to her (very slowly) which included 'Wearing a loud frock in a built-up area' and 'General Annoyance' Zezi talked over the conversation and stared into the camera, occasionally shouting 'Me! Me! Me!' and demanding packets of Love Hearts.
It was explained to Zezi that she had intimidated thousands of viewers with her threats to 'see you on the next show'.
In order to improve the quality of BBLB presenting it is rumoured that Ms Ifore will be replaced by a loaf of Warburtons Toastie.’
I am concerned at the very least at the common sense of those moderating the forums, and at worst with their complicity in what is a sinister repression of the views of fans. It is not just me whose posts have been deleted. Other people have told me they have posted criticisms of Ms Ifore and their posts have been indiscriminately removed. So vociferous has the reaction been to this presenter that she was questioned about the adverse reaction on the forums in this week’s Metro. Since then, mention of Ms Ifore has been curiously absent, and one now realises why since any criticism is ruthlessly censored as soon as it is posted.
I am told that BBLB have nothing to do with the forum moderation and that Channel 4 hire a third party company to run it, although the forum guidelines (somewhat vague) suggest that the moderators do have a Channel 4 representative as part of the team.There’s a very nasty smell about all of this.
Wednesday 18 June 2008
i hid from the man
who keeps asking me for change.
he must want to change.
The evil Alexandra has been summarily booted out of the back door of the BB House having it seems threatened fellow housemates with revenge for her nomination via some of her gangster friends.
who keeps asking me for change.
he must want to change.
The evil Alexandra has been summarily booted out of the back door of the BB House having it seems threatened fellow housemates with revenge for her nomination via some of her gangster friends.
Tuesday 17 June 2008
zezi you’re so loud
like you’ve eaten a crowd
of thin folk. they shout
‘please! please! let us out!’
Zezi Ifore is beginning to make me feel ill. I saw her again ‘presenting’ on Big Brother’s Little Brother and was galvanised with shock at how bad the woman is.
In an age gone by women like her were culled and their bones scattered in fields to help the war effort.
like you’ve eaten a crowd
of thin folk. they shout
‘please! please! let us out!’
Zezi Ifore is beginning to make me feel ill. I saw her again ‘presenting’ on Big Brother’s Little Brother and was galvanised with shock at how bad the woman is.
In an age gone by women like her were culled and their bones scattered in fields to help the war effort.
Monday, 16 June 2008
Sunday 15 June 2008
minestrone soup
and morrisons bread.
two glasses of wine.
As usual, it’s taken me about a week to learn the names of the Big Brother Housemates. I can forget Stephanie now, as she was evicted on Friday, and was, if such a thing is possible, even duller in her exit interview than she was in the House.
Not, I am afraid, as dull as Zezi Ifore, the BBLB presenter who, I can only conclude, was given the job because Channel 4 were short on their quota of special needs employees. I tuned in again tonight, hoping that she’d ‘resigned, for personal reasons’ but alas no, the inanimate dumpling was still stomping around the studio, talking over guests and other presenters, fluffing her lines and annoying me far more than Alex and Mario ever could.
Wake up, Channel Four! The woman is rubbish!!!!
and morrisons bread.
two glasses of wine.
As usual, it’s taken me about a week to learn the names of the Big Brother Housemates. I can forget Stephanie now, as she was evicted on Friday, and was, if such a thing is possible, even duller in her exit interview than she was in the House.
Not, I am afraid, as dull as Zezi Ifore, the BBLB presenter who, I can only conclude, was given the job because Channel 4 were short on their quota of special needs employees. I tuned in again tonight, hoping that she’d ‘resigned, for personal reasons’ but alas no, the inanimate dumpling was still stomping around the studio, talking over guests and other presenters, fluffing her lines and annoying me far more than Alex and Mario ever could.
Wake up, Channel Four! The woman is rubbish!!!!
Friday, 13 June 2008
Monday 9 June 2008
the heat has returned.
builders tear off their check shirts.
tarmac swoons and melts.
We should really think about archetypes more. I’m sure Channel 4, or at least Endemol, are thinking about them all the time.
We’ve discussed the Goddess Shabaz, who has been reincarnated as Dennis, the gay Scottish Chucky.
Now we must consider the phenomenon of The Strange Adult Child, whose archetype has been reborn within Big Brother many times. There was Nicky, famously, who did everything bar sing ‘I’ve Written a Letter to Daddy’ to try and persuade us she was actually seven years old, and the reincarnation of Violet Elizabeth Bott. Then we had the screaming twins from Big Brother 8, and this year we have Kat, the giant Thai adult child who loves nothing better than screaming ‘CoooooooKeeeeeeee!’ whenever the need arises.
I have to say I like her. My favourite line from her is ‘I learned a new word today, Big Brother. It is spelt C-R-O-T-C-H and it means ‘Boy Sausage’’.
builders tear off their check shirts.
tarmac swoons and melts.
We should really think about archetypes more. I’m sure Channel 4, or at least Endemol, are thinking about them all the time.
We’ve discussed the Goddess Shabaz, who has been reincarnated as Dennis, the gay Scottish Chucky.
Now we must consider the phenomenon of The Strange Adult Child, whose archetype has been reborn within Big Brother many times. There was Nicky, famously, who did everything bar sing ‘I’ve Written a Letter to Daddy’ to try and persuade us she was actually seven years old, and the reincarnation of Violet Elizabeth Bott. Then we had the screaming twins from Big Brother 8, and this year we have Kat, the giant Thai adult child who loves nothing better than screaming ‘CoooooooKeeeeeeee!’ whenever the need arises.
I have to say I like her. My favourite line from her is ‘I learned a new word today, Big Brother. It is spelt C-R-O-T-C-H and it means ‘Boy Sausage’’.
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
Sunday 8 June 2008
i made some patties
and dark spice chicken curry,
then was not hungry.
I spent a very nice day today cooking (Y Pattio Tan Cymraeg and Chicken and Kashew Curry with Dark Spices) and listening to Radio 4 in the kitchen. This is very relaxing, although I’ve never been a fan of the gloomy serials they tend to chuck in round about three o’clock, which usually seem to involve people having a bad life in the Nineteenth Century and at least one death from consumption.
There was a very interesting documentary on though, once Gardeners’ Question Time had finished. I don’t actually have a garden, but it’s nice to pretend that I have in order that I can listen to the comforting voice and advice of the aptly and marvellously named Bob Flowerdew. The documentary was about Hovis Presley, a man of whom, until now, I had never heard. I do wish I had, since Hovis was a very funny man, with a seemingly worldwide fan base and yet no real urge to be famous. I find it ironic that there are so many talented people who could be famous, when many of the famous slots are taken up by people whose talent is often very hard to detect, like a neutrino, or a quark. Apropos of which, I found it a very adventurous move on the part of Big Brother this year not to confine the brainless bimbos solely to The House. For reasons of its own Channel 4 has decided to employ one of them as a presenter on Big Brother’s Little Brother.
This is of course, the ghastly Zezi, whose lack of personality, presence and style is matched only by the complete absence of a sense of humour.
In fact, her incompetence is so blindingly public and embarrassing that one feels compelled to watch, much in the fashion, I would imagine, of revolutionary French folk gathered around a guillotine.
How Channel 4 considered this waste of (if we’re honest, rather a lot of) space to be a suitable replacement for Dermot O’Leary is baffling. I suspect it can only be some subtle post-modern ironic joke.
Come on, Channel 4, the joke’s over. Really, it is. It wasn’t that funny either. Can we send her back to KFC now? There’s fries need selling.
and dark spice chicken curry,
then was not hungry.
I spent a very nice day today cooking (Y Pattio Tan Cymraeg and Chicken and Kashew Curry with Dark Spices) and listening to Radio 4 in the kitchen. This is very relaxing, although I’ve never been a fan of the gloomy serials they tend to chuck in round about three o’clock, which usually seem to involve people having a bad life in the Nineteenth Century and at least one death from consumption.
There was a very interesting documentary on though, once Gardeners’ Question Time had finished. I don’t actually have a garden, but it’s nice to pretend that I have in order that I can listen to the comforting voice and advice of the aptly and marvellously named Bob Flowerdew. The documentary was about Hovis Presley, a man of whom, until now, I had never heard. I do wish I had, since Hovis was a very funny man, with a seemingly worldwide fan base and yet no real urge to be famous. I find it ironic that there are so many talented people who could be famous, when many of the famous slots are taken up by people whose talent is often very hard to detect, like a neutrino, or a quark. Apropos of which, I found it a very adventurous move on the part of Big Brother this year not to confine the brainless bimbos solely to The House. For reasons of its own Channel 4 has decided to employ one of them as a presenter on Big Brother’s Little Brother.
This is of course, the ghastly Zezi, whose lack of personality, presence and style is matched only by the complete absence of a sense of humour.
In fact, her incompetence is so blindingly public and embarrassing that one feels compelled to watch, much in the fashion, I would imagine, of revolutionary French folk gathered around a guillotine.
How Channel 4 considered this waste of (if we’re honest, rather a lot of) space to be a suitable replacement for Dermot O’Leary is baffling. I suspect it can only be some subtle post-modern ironic joke.
Come on, Channel 4, the joke’s over. Really, it is. It wasn’t that funny either. Can we send her back to KFC now? There’s fries need selling.
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
Friday 6 June 2008
if i were alone
i would sleep through each day
and walk through the night.
I should, as this is an atheist-based journal after all, attempt to inject some philosophical debate into the topical proceedings which actually, although we are discussing Big Brother, is not difficult.
Upon entry to the Big Brother House, the candidates have to say something profound about themselves, and without naming names we’ll go through a few of the statements.
One young lady it appears, believes in Islam, but is giving it a rest for a while.
Another young lady is a devout Christian, is against smoking and abortion, but if she could change one law would keep nightclubs open twenty-four hours.
And there’s the young man who is a muslim, but drinks alcohol, eats pork and has sex without being married.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I would have thought that religion was, in the main (although historically merely a device to provide some social coherence in primitive times) a structure of moral values. Today, sadly, it seems to have devolved into belief into a particularly pernicious form of supernatural mumbo-jumbo, where the existence of gods, angels, heaven, evil spirits, demons and even vampires (trust me, there are people I know who are convinced that the undead live among us) has become a far more important part of the faith than a set of rather sensible social principles.
What is morally right seems very confusing to the Big Brother housemates. It is terribly wrong (according to Sylvia and Alexandra) for a man to pull a pair of knickers – which someone had stupidly left lying on the floor in the bathroom – on over his pants, but fine apparently to berate the (actually blind) man for this heinous crime and, the next day, encourage other housemates to strip naked and romp around in the pool.
i would sleep through each day
and walk through the night.
I should, as this is an atheist-based journal after all, attempt to inject some philosophical debate into the topical proceedings which actually, although we are discussing Big Brother, is not difficult.
Upon entry to the Big Brother House, the candidates have to say something profound about themselves, and without naming names we’ll go through a few of the statements.
One young lady it appears, believes in Islam, but is giving it a rest for a while.
Another young lady is a devout Christian, is against smoking and abortion, but if she could change one law would keep nightclubs open twenty-four hours.
And there’s the young man who is a muslim, but drinks alcohol, eats pork and has sex without being married.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I would have thought that religion was, in the main (although historically merely a device to provide some social coherence in primitive times) a structure of moral values. Today, sadly, it seems to have devolved into belief into a particularly pernicious form of supernatural mumbo-jumbo, where the existence of gods, angels, heaven, evil spirits, demons and even vampires (trust me, there are people I know who are convinced that the undead live among us) has become a far more important part of the faith than a set of rather sensible social principles.
What is morally right seems very confusing to the Big Brother housemates. It is terribly wrong (according to Sylvia and Alexandra) for a man to pull a pair of knickers – which someone had stupidly left lying on the floor in the bathroom – on over his pants, but fine apparently to berate the (actually blind) man for this heinous crime and, the next day, encourage other housemates to strip naked and romp around in the pool.
Monday, 9 June 2008
Thursday 5 June 2008
you’re back big brother
but you haven’t changed at all
you’re still just childish.
And Big Brother has returned for a ninth outing. To be honest, I was on the cusp, yes the veritable cusp of not watching it this year. ‘If there’s another Charlie,’ I vowed, ‘I’m turning it off.’
As it happens, with one or two exceptions, the selection this year is pretty good. I’m rather taken with Luke, the politics student who looks like Stan Laurel and talks like Ashley Peacock. He thinks, poor love, that he looks like Justin Timberlake, but we’ll let that pass.
Someone else who is clearly deluded is Denis from Scotland. Of the BB archetypes (and after nine years I am sure BB are compiling a list of successful and - maybe not so successful -archetypes) Denis is the slightly more sane reincarnation of the Goddess Shabaz, who famously went bonkers in the house, hid all the food and had to be taken away in a madwagon for his own and everyone else’s good.
Denis thinks he looks like a young Tom Cruise.
Grace Dent hit the nail on the head in her own, very readable BB blog on the Channel 4 website when she described Denis’ lookalike as being Chucky from ‘Child’s Play’.
There are the usual social outcasts – who characteristically show more humanity than their housemates – in the form of albino black man Darnell (whom everyone called Daniel or Donald on the first night) and blind Irish transvestite Mikey (I’m loving him!)
There’s also Mario (who looks curiously like Buzz Lightyear) and his girlfriend Lisa (who looks a bit gladiatorial and could no doubt snap any of the men like a twig if she so chose)
My heart sank however when BB announced that there was going to be a secret mission.
I’m bored with secret missions.
Mario (43) has to pretend that he is not with Lisa. He has to pretend that his girlfriend is Stephanie (19), a whining blonde zombie with the personality of a staple-remover.
It would have been more interesting if Mario had had to pretend that he and Luke were a gay couple, but only marginally more interesting.
Let’s face it, secret missions are a little desperate. They are designed to create friction where, in previous series, the interest was in seeing how the friction grew slowly and naturally, occasionally exploding into fury, tears and terrible hair.
Secret missions are dull. They are BB’s Viagra, attempting to inject some excitement into a jaded production team which seriously needs a change of personnel.
but you haven’t changed at all
you’re still just childish.
And Big Brother has returned for a ninth outing. To be honest, I was on the cusp, yes the veritable cusp of not watching it this year. ‘If there’s another Charlie,’ I vowed, ‘I’m turning it off.’
As it happens, with one or two exceptions, the selection this year is pretty good. I’m rather taken with Luke, the politics student who looks like Stan Laurel and talks like Ashley Peacock. He thinks, poor love, that he looks like Justin Timberlake, but we’ll let that pass.
Someone else who is clearly deluded is Denis from Scotland. Of the BB archetypes (and after nine years I am sure BB are compiling a list of successful and - maybe not so successful -archetypes) Denis is the slightly more sane reincarnation of the Goddess Shabaz, who famously went bonkers in the house, hid all the food and had to be taken away in a madwagon for his own and everyone else’s good.
Denis thinks he looks like a young Tom Cruise.
Grace Dent hit the nail on the head in her own, very readable BB blog on the Channel 4 website when she described Denis’ lookalike as being Chucky from ‘Child’s Play’.
There are the usual social outcasts – who characteristically show more humanity than their housemates – in the form of albino black man Darnell (whom everyone called Daniel or Donald on the first night) and blind Irish transvestite Mikey (I’m loving him!)
There’s also Mario (who looks curiously like Buzz Lightyear) and his girlfriend Lisa (who looks a bit gladiatorial and could no doubt snap any of the men like a twig if she so chose)
My heart sank however when BB announced that there was going to be a secret mission.
I’m bored with secret missions.
Mario (43) has to pretend that he is not with Lisa. He has to pretend that his girlfriend is Stephanie (19), a whining blonde zombie with the personality of a staple-remover.
It would have been more interesting if Mario had had to pretend that he and Luke were a gay couple, but only marginally more interesting.
Let’s face it, secret missions are a little desperate. They are designed to create friction where, in previous series, the interest was in seeing how the friction grew slowly and naturally, occasionally exploding into fury, tears and terrible hair.
Secret missions are dull. They are BB’s Viagra, attempting to inject some excitement into a jaded production team which seriously needs a change of personnel.
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