Even more joyous is the fact that the Big Brother race row is still rumbling on. How long's it been now - two weeks? Surely we've seen and heard enough. But no, every day there's more footage of weeping ex-contestants desperately trying to fan the cooling embers of their moribund careers with laughable claims of denial. I must admit to a frisson of joy every time I see the odious, repugnant, wretched Jade Goody scraping for forgiveness. I know its wrong as she's been skewered in the press and her career's over but ... well, you live by the sword, you die by the sword. Its nice to be nice, but if you are as nasty as she was you deserve to get a good pasting from the fourth estate.
My friend Spoons and I enjoyed a pleasant Sunday lunch the other day, and we were reminiscing about classic reality TV we've enjoyed over the years. I'll accept that maybe our lives are not as rich and fruitful as they might be. But anyway, we were unanimous in our choice of the greatest reality show of all time - The Farm. In which a group of celebrities lived on, erm, a farm. Channel 5's short-lived attempt to latch onto the BB generation ran to just two series, but what televisual gold it delivered, despite universal critical derision. The show is best-known - with some justification - for the moment when Beckham-shagging slagbag Rebecca Loos wanked off a boar, but that was just one in a firmament of stellar TV moments. The cast-list ranged from old pros like Lionel Blair and Keith Harris & Orville (I hate that duck) through genuine Z-list celebs like Emma 'B', the lovely Debbie McGee, Vanilla Ice, porn star Ron Jeremy and legendary dogger Stanley Victor Collymore.
Personal highlights? I loved the fact that Flava Flav from Public Enemy kept his ridiculous giant clock round his neck for the whole of his time on the farm, even when mucking out the pigs, while Spoons went for the moment during a heated row when Lionel Blair called the 'Poison Dwarf', Dallas's Charlene Tilton, a "fucking cunt". Priceless.
Blair: clashed with Dwarf.
Sadly, The Farm is no more - a crying shame. They should definitely bring it back. If you had a choice between seeing the soul of humanity ripped open and laid bare on Big Brother, with bullying, racism, white trash and people being told to 'fuck off home', or watching Vanilla Ice riding a hog round a farmyard, I know which I'd plump for.
'Road to Wembley' update
Well we travelled the short distance to Barnet as Berman and Babbs's cup odyssey continued last saturday. Barnet is one of my favourite lower-league clubs, with a small but fervent support, but unfortunately we couldn't get tickets in the home end and had to support the villains of the piece in my last blog entry, Plymouth Argyle. Astonishingly, Barnet's midfield general is the truly ancient Andy Hessenthaler; the Daily Mirror rather cruelly said that it would be nice if Barnet could make it all the way to Wembley as he was there when it opened first time round. Poor old Hessenthaler did a lot of creative pointing but didn't actually make it out of the centre circle for 90 minutes. Not a classic cup tie, this; the result was never really in doubt, hard as Barnet tried, while Plymouth sealed a comfortable win with a truly stunning goal from one of their young players (on loan from Chelsea, who it seems do actually have a youth policy), who ran the length of the field, leaving defenders in his wake, before slotting home neatly. Plymouth are at home to Derby in the next round; twenty minutes round the North Circular is one thing, but a seven-hour trip to Plymouth is a different matter entirely. Frankly, sod that.
This week's celebrity spots
Three this week. The first two are a bit feeble, I will admit; the actor who played sinister Todd Unctious in Father Ted outside the Private Eye office, followed by boxing commentator and celebrity loudmouth Steve Bunce in Costa Coffee; unsurprisingly, Bunce was shouting into his mobile phone. But these were comfortably trumped by a corker this evening on the way home outside Waterstones - Animal Magic's Terry Nutkins. Nutkins - officially Britain's favourite nonidigit since Dave Allen's sad demise - still seems to be living the 70s dream, wearing as he was a quite splendid tartan kaftan.
Nutkins: kept sealion in bathtub.
Recommendations
Gambling's a mug's game. Or is it? Well, I've been on here for quite a while now, bashing out recommendations week in week out, and I decided it was time for a six-monthly performance review. If someone had put a tenner on each of my suggestions, they would now be £220 up, a total boosted by Serena Williams storming home in the tennis last week - this despite such gems as suggesting West Ham to win the Premiership at 500/1 (fighting a losing battle against relegation) and England to draw the First Test against Australia (lost by a mind-boggling 277 runs). I am fairly gobsmacked by this - even I'm not stupid enough to back up most of my recommendations with hard cash. This week I'm turning my attention to Rugby. I'll admit this is not my field of expertise, but I fancy the French to do well at 5/2 for the tournament and the Welsh to have a stinker and come bottom, at a tasty 25/1. This, however, will require them to lose at home to Italy. Hmmm.
Some class electronic pop here. I think its called VogueTunes, but your guess is as good as mine. Good stuff though.
1 comment:
Thanks for writing this.
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