Archives for the month of: January, 2007

First published 31st January 2007 on

Let’s briefly see where the housemates’s “journeys” have taken them thus far (I just can’t let it lie can I?):

Apparently Jo O’Meara has recieved death threats since her unrepentant exit from the house and the whole experience has “ruined her life”, and she’s already blown the fee on cooking sherry, ciggies and the slotties.

Jade Goody has checked into the Priory (presumably they have a 12 step anti-bigotry programme?) It’s not known whether she’s seen those kids of hers she remembered she was missing yet.

Danielle Lloyd has “yet to talk” with Teddy Sheringham and gatecrashed Shilpa’s moment at the post BB Press conference in order to get in a grovelling apology. Sadly no-one told her to fuck off home. (To be honest having a policy of repatriation isn’t the wisest idea for a scouser living in a posh part of Essex).

Shilpa Shetty has now seen most of the footage denied her on Sunday night and whilst not directly calling the axis of twee-ville a bunch of beeyatches, obviously thinks that. As I enviously added in my last blog it’s actually Jonny Depp she may be working with soon. I hate her.

Jermaine Jackson has been meditating since Sunday. His auro is now made of SOLID GOLD. Michael watched the “Jackson Five” tribute tape but thought he was having an hallucination of how the band would look now without the aid of reconstructive surgery.

Faceman – is travelling round the UK with his teenage son looking for smoking bars and fluffy things to kill. He feels a curious urge to visit North East Essex. There’s a voice keeps on calling him.

Acting as Face’s annoying man Friday is Leo Sayer (who still hasn’t fucked this country off and returned to Australia). Leo has remixed his classic 70’s hit “You make me feel like dancing” with the lyrics “I need some underpants” (“gimme my pants ooh pants ooh. pants or I’m away!”).

Ian_exTWFS is to appear as a gay Nazi in a West End Musical version of Schindler’s List opposite Matt from Busted as Schindler and Bonny Langford as “the girl in the red coat”.

Carole Malone – continues to write shit columns in the Sunday Mirror

Ken Russell – has joined John McCrirrick in stalking Russell Brand and begging for more wacky late night telly work. Expect to see them ‘gracing’ BBBM this summer.

Cleo Rocos has been given a part in the recently recomissioned TittyTittyBangBang and therefore will probably be on BBC3 for the next fucking ten years. By which time she’ll be 47 (according to her agent).

Jackiey Budden will be featured in a new Channel Four documentary “The lesbian whose arm fell off“, where she gibbers candidly about the effect about her mangled mandible has on her sex life.

Donny Tourette has enrolled in viola lessons in Chiswick and was turned down for the part of the poshboy DJ in Skins for not being “street” enough.

Jack Tweedy was bailed from a drink driving charge to take part in Big Brother despite his denials of having ever been arrested. Apparently his Jade impersonation in the final film task sent his “famous” “girlfriend” over the edge and into racism-related stress rehab. He hasn’t changed his underpants since Sunday. He is apparently becoming 10,000 times more obscure per second.

It’s like one of those medievel morality plays where the good eventually triumph over adversity (substitute bullying for failing crops and burning barns) and the bad are punished. “Big Brother” – it’s the new church (dwindling numbers and a dodgy attitude towards minorities).


Have you got any news about any of the contestants? Have you seen Jack Tweedy or has he wiped something on you? Add to the comments below with your “celeb” gossip.

First published 31st January 2007 on

This proved to be the most annoying film in a night’s viewing that included part of Van Helsing (which at least seems to know it’s shit). There will be spoilers.

Denzil Washington plays a quadraspazzed maverick cop, Lincoln (! Log?) , who’s pretty nifty in the old forensics department (or at least was until someone dropped a girder on him). Lincoln’s feeling suicidal down to the fact he could “become a vegetable” at any time due to weird jerky fits, and his Jewish doctor takes pity and promises to help him pop his clogs proper bo style when he gets back from a top secret doctors convention trip er somewhere. Angelina Jolie plays an uptight (closet lesbo) rookie with a partner whinier and clingier than Satan is to Saddam in the South Park movie. Ange endears herself to Washington by leaping in front of a train to protect vital evidence at a grisly murder scene. Knowing that big clodhopper police feet tend to churn up crimescenes (one wonders how the NYPD has managed to make any arrests in the 4 years since Denzil’s been out of action), Lincoln Log disregards boring things like employment law, police heirarchy, training and health and safety in order to get Angelina working for him so she can learn his mystical forensic ways and start to use the forceps. Cos Denzil’s busy lazing around in his techno-bed having spasms and getting bed baths from Queen Latifah, he hands Angelina the suitcase of power (even Quincy had one) and a wire down which he can bark instructions at her. This all starts fairly quickly as the killer is deliberately leaving clues for a top notch forensics expert to follow (just as well the police didn’t mess up that evidence or there’d have been no film). Victims are being dispatched in nasty ways at set deadlines, so if plod don’t solve the clues it’s ALL THEIR FAULT. It’s like saying that if I fail to complete a sudoko (surely a crossword for Rainman?) that someone will get their FACE STEAMED OFF or EATEN BY RATS due to my selfish ignorance. Lincoln Log starts making greater demands on the young rookie (is it just me or is demanding she cut the steamed woman’s hands off just to retrieve the handcuffs either over zealous or a little kinky?).

Due to the crap detective work allowing all these people to die, the clues have to get more and more remedial (a shaved rat and a cow bone for the rat victim in the old abbatoir) or bizarre (a book of matches for erm an attempted drowning, turn of the century newspapers, a picture that looks like it’s from a 19th century true crime book – which Lincoln IMMEDIATELY IDENTIFIES). We discover that Lincoln has a database of weird shit that he has collected, a fact that (could it be) the killer appears to be tapping into? Lincoln Log and Angelina develop a SPECIAL BOND OF MUTUAL RESPECT, which is challenged by Angelina’s real and official boss, a superbly twattish Michael Rooker. Ange nicks a load of files which prove that these gruesome murders with evidence scattered nearby have been going on for donkey’s years, and EVERY victim has had a bone removed with a trademark cut (don’t bother wondering about the psychopathology behind this – it won’t matter). As they’re flicking through the mutilated corpse photos, like most people do with holiday snaps, Lincoln spazzes out in pure pleasure, and Ange realises how vulnerable he really is and starts wondering if his knob still works.

Angelina checks out the nearest antiquarian bookshop where she is attended to by a creepy guy who looks a bit like Lembit Opik and despite his shifty mad eyes has NO RELEVANCE to the rest of the plot. The first book she instinctivly finds is a Victorian tome called “The Bone Collector” which details all the killings we have seen in the film thus far, and luckily enough there’s the actual description of the last killing (double drowning of old man who looks like Larry David and cutesy kid – GUESS who will live?). Ange, guided by Lincoln in her earpiece manages to find the hapless pair, and holds the little girl’s head above the water for about five minutes before belatedly remembering to do the same with her granddad. Larry David snuffs it, the kid starts coughing up half of the Hudson River (Ange: “It sounds like she’s gonna be OK”) and Ange starts snooping for more clues (although that was the last murder in the book). She finds a bit of antique tube map and part of a cop’s badge (“does that mean he’s going to kill a cop?”)  and on Lincoln’s advice goes to check out a disused tube station (DUR DU DURRR!), narrowly escaping the clutches of TwatCop who wants to arrest both her and Lincoln for being insufferably unprofessional arseholes. TwatCop therefore heads off to Lincoln’s pad, deciding that it’s easier to arrest someone who can’t actually move from the waist down (or easier to kill someone etc.? Hmmmm?).

Meanwhile in the tunnels of the abandoned tube station, Ange has annoyingly lost her signal, so is on her own. She sees a random number on a broken down tube train, that’s had all the dust removed, so must be a deliberate CLUE. She starts going through all the numbers in her head. One. Two. Three. OK a bit faster than that. Finally she realises it’s Lincoln’s badge number (justifying a sequence where she BRIEFLY GLANCED at his retirement award thingy with badge number). All Lincoln’s training has enabled her to recall silly long numbers and draw houses with lots of windows, and all of a sudden it’s OK to find interpersonal relationships “challenging”. This means the killer is going to kill Lincoln and wants Ange to know about it, which sets us up for a breathtaking finale doesn’t it?

Back at Lincoln’s apartment we see Twatcop approaching his door, and then Queen Latifah puts down her sponge and answers the door, a look of recognition on her face before she is stabbed all the way through with a mahoosive knife. Is Twatcop the killer? No, for as Queeny slides to the floor her body joins the erstwhile special cuntstable’s, his throat apparently sliced. Oh oh! As Lincoln calls for Queeny to come back and shine his balls, the killer lurks hackily in the shadows playing sinister musak on a casio keyboard, before revealing himself as……the Jewish doctor.

Let’s get to motive here. Yonks ago, it seems, Lincoln’s evidence OCD was set a tingling by a police doctor who had clearly been tampering with crime scene forensics. Without meeting said Doctor, Lincoln’s expert opinion was used to convict him to prison where he was the recipient of some particularly brutal bummings. Year’s later the doctor tracked Lincoln down, befriended him, offered to assist his euthenasia and then GAVE HIM A REASON to live by recreating gruesome murders (erm, for how long? What about those ones in the photographs earlier) – JUST SO he could then turn him into a “vegetable”, the thing he feared the most. Lincoln activates his techno-bed as the mentaldoctor tries to remove all his tubes and turn his central nervous system to cabbage puree, and the bed bites the mentaldoctor’s hand. Nice work techno-bed! Then, before mentaldoctor can get stabby with his “My first scalpel set”, Lincoln discovers that he can propel himself across the floor using BUTTOCK POWER alone, and bite half of mentaldoctor’s windpipe out. Of course mentaldoctor has to raise the knife in one last half-hearted murderous attempt so it looks good when Ange comes in and blows the crazy Dustin Hoffman lookie-likie away for good. So that’s all alright then, although Lincoln’s not looking too good following this somewhat holistic therapy session.

We fast forward a few months to a cop looking sadly at Lincoln’s empty techno-bed. Oh no! Phew he’s finally got up and is now in a natty wheelchair (the sort I’d imagine a paraplegic batman would have) – obviously in this film’s world being disabled isn’t too bad when you’re a fictional character with apparently limitless funds. All the Christmas deccies are up, Lincoln’s long lost rellies come to visit and Ange is wearing a nice frock and a fruity smile, as she fingers Lincoln’s ring finger hopefully. As if to stress that no matter how bleak life can get, if you work hard you can pull through, the strains of “Don’t Give Up” by Kate Bush and Peter Gabriel start playing. Now excuse me, what relevance does a 1980s track about unemployment and enforced economic migration have on this shitfest of a movie, or could it possibly have been BLUDGEONED in there to sound MEANINGFUL? It’s like they saved the loudest and most hateful “For Fuck sake” moment till last.


(*this is based on the actual number of “For Fuck sake”‘s I utter aloud throughout the film)


“Do you know what happens to a cop in prison? You are brutalised every single day over and over… you become a human toilet.” – Mentaldoctor’s motivation

“What sort of vegetable do you want to be…a courgette?” – Mentaldoctor threatens Lincoln with multi-spazzing (I particularly like the fact he says “courgette” rather than “zucchini” in a blatent attempt to appeal to the British market)

First published 29th January 2007 on

I’ve had to interrupt the Return of the Hamster on “Top Gear” to flick over to Elstree, where Davina, dressed as Lorraine Chase in a “bittersweet” adultery drama, introduces this the final installment of the most moral panic inducing series of UK Celebrity Big Brother. She flits past the conspicuously Jade and Jo free line-up of ex housemates (Jo’s “No regrets” Sunday Mirror interview having encased her career’s coffin in limescale), and announces that the two housemates with the least number of votes will leave together. By my reckoning that means that at least Danielle will have a hatstand to hold…:  

 Yesterday’s highlights start with yet another moment of contrived zanyness involving Jack, Danielle stuffing  Ian_TWFS into a duvet cover and pulling him round the garden (not the sort of drag he’s used to if my memories of Sunday afternoons in Molly Mogs serve me) , before leaving him trussed in a rubbish Houdini homage and beating him with pillows. Whilst Face is blasé about these Guantanamo style antics (“That’s mean”), a freaked Shilpa attempts to rescue Ian_TWFS to the disgust of a still furiously whacking Danielle. A frazzled Ian is eventually released and staggers towards the house. “Ian what time is it?” asks Jermaine. “Time for Danielle to die” Ian squeaks determinedly. A sweetly confused Jermaine leans towards Face; “What time did he say?”

Hatstand courts the pink pound in the diary room; “I never thought that  I could have a gay mate…you realise they’re normal as well.” (ARGGGGH!). He tips Jermaine to win because it seems not even a twat in a hat can hate that man. Mind you he also tips Danielle for being “funny” (have we so soon forgotten “I’m Aveline errrr… giggle”?).

 In Nowhere Ian talks to Danielle about her being influenced by Jade. Danielle states she loves “Jade to bits”, but sometimes felt a little timid in her presence. Ian tries to help her get her excuses in; “I think they lead to to do things that were beneath you” , to which Danielle replies  “Were they?” (apparently meaning were the things “beneath” her?). When he tries to expand on the bullying issue, the lying cow immediately says  “I wasn’t involved in that”. Gently Ian points out that she was “a little bit”. According to Danielle that was when she was drunk (apparently it doesn’t count if any of us gets smashed on WKD and bitchslaps Danielle in the bogs at Chinawhites) plus it was “half Shilpa’s fault”. For breathing or something. Rather than accepting that she’s fucked up big time, Ian gets all touchy feeling with the poisonous troll; “they’re gonna love you and I’m really proud to call you my friend.” Oh for fuck sake.

The final task involves the housemates making four different genre movies about their experiences in the house. As resident bloke thesps, Ian_TWFS and Face get into the spirit of things immediately, trying out various styles of screen fighting before opting for Face’s inspired high speed camp- slapping stand-off.

The film noir bears no resemblance to any I’ve seen, introduced in an almost Shakespearean style by Shilpa. I would have had Shilpa as a brilliant femme fatale, seeing off her enemies and captivating (and thus dooming) her rivals. Instead Jack, in a Jimmy Saville wig, draws on the Stephen Berkhoff school to play Donny, leaping over the wall with the aid of Ian_TWFS, played by Jermaine. Whilst “Donny” effs and blinds and dives out of shot, Jermaine hilariously forgets his lines, until prompted by Face; “Donny’s gone. Where did Donny go? Donny!!!”.

Next comes a re-enactment of “Chicken Fight” and Oxogate, with Ian dragging up again as a bewinged Shilpa, complete with a none racist Indian accent; “Are you disrespecting me Mmmmm?”. Jack frocks up to play Jade exactly the same way he played Donny (but louder,with a different wig and sans fag), and most of his lines are censored out. The scene ends with him getting stuck into a fake cat fight with his new gay best friend. I sense latent wrongmo issues.

Both Shilpa and Jermaine are shown in the diary room giving Ghandi-esque like addresses in this edit. Jermaine is asked how he’s found his time in the house and unleashes a stream of punctuated adjectives; “Up. Down. Smooth. Loud. Quiet. Happy. It’s been everything.” He claims to have found solace in staring at the moving clouds from the kitchen window, so perhaps he’s merely reciting The Ballad of Elstree Gaol.  He’s asked how he’d like to be remembered; “A ray of sunshine. Quiet. Calm. Secure. Happy” etc.etc.. Shilpa has an even more poetic DR session; ” If I win it will be God’s grace, my destiny and the audiences love”, she says humbly. Later Jermaine and Face celebrate having come so far; “We did it. At least we didn’t hop over a wall. Inshallah”

 “Do you get nervous when you walk out there” Jack asks Jermaine prior to the eviction, receiving a curt “No” (Well duh!). Chants of “Shilpa!” can be heard as Davina addresses the house and reveals to a general lack of amazement that Jack is least popular and Danielle is in 5th place. Danielle has misguidedly chosen to match an outfit that combines Abi Titmus tits-out-for the lasds blousiness with cheap Northern slapper hoop earrings and frosted pink lipstick, representing her home city in the only way she knows how. Boos ring out at the announcement, which Face misinterprets as boos of outrage at the decision. “Oooh they booed” he shouts unnervingly. “They were NOT happy”. I somehow doubt this has a calming effect on Danielle. The exit noise dips, presumably to drown out Teddy shouting “You’re dumped you xenophobic slaaaaag” amongst any pre-watershed profanities.

 As they descend the steps Jack laughs; “We are ABSOLUTELY HATED”, he grins. Any fame is good fame to a man known for wanking ON a pig (Even Rebecca Loos had more class and ensured that the pig was happy).

 Ian_TWFS’s face has turned a brighter shade of grey back in the lounge “that has completely thrown me”. He claims that he expected himself and Face to go out first, although he could be rueing blowing his chances of winning by cosying up to Danielle.

It’s a Double interview given the lack of personality in the two evictees combined.  Davina warns them that “It’s not a normal interview” ,because that would be with somebody competent. . The same old clips of global controversy are shown, to the blank, smiling, unsurprised faces of Jack and Danielle. Incriminating footage, including Towelgate, is shown,  Danielle rolling her eyes and laughing when she realises the potential impact of some of her comments, although she doesn’t really seem that arsed. “I feel terrible” she says meekly afterwards. Like Jo she puts her laughter down  to nerves (“I hate confrontation”), and Davina fails to play the dishonest little chavette that clip of her exclaiming “that was FUCKING FANTASTIC” immediately after Oxogate. Danielle blames Jade for leading her astray whilst the Hatstand sits by silently. She claims to have not realised that Jo didn’t like Shilpa, and when Davina points out that we HAVE ALL SEEN her and Jo discussing how much they HATED Shilpa, her feeble excuse is “I just thought that was girls being girls…not racist”. She gives an unconvincing apology, claims she’s learned to be less of a bitch and is let off with a slap on the wrist.

Jack is given even less of a grilling, his statement with regards the bullying of Shilpa; “I’m allowed to not like someone. It’s nothing to do with colour”. Yet again Endemol prove they have no problem with people being downright gobshites to other people as long as it’s not racially motivated. Erm and that’s it, Jack’s interview is over and we’re flung into his brief “shitelights”, accompanied appropriately by The Who’s “Who Are You?” (although “Sound of Silence” or “Who’s the wanker in the black?” would have worked). And yes they show the bit that hurts my retina.

I never watched Davina’s BBC show, but this has to be one of the shittest interviews I’ve witnessed.  “How will you feel when we show Shilpa the footage?”, she asks Danielle.  “I think she’ll be very understanding” simpers the “disgraced Beauty Queen”. And that’s it. Off the fucking hook, as punchable pseudo cockney racist Maxwell (known popularly as Maxcunt) used to yell irritatingly in Big Brother 6. (The one were Endemol managed to cover up a variety of racist remarks against two black housemates including references to “Your sort of people” and insults such as “You smell of dogshit”. The only thing surprising with this series is anyone being surprised).

An apparently unrepentent Danielle giggles through her highlights which mostly comprise sycophantic nonsense, such as Ian_TWFS telling her “People are going to love you. You’re stupid and you’re beautiful” and Cleo describing her as “a young pony in the new forest”, earning yet another “for fuck sake”. She’s more like a domestic pony at a village fete, having been groomed and offering rides in exchange for cash.

 We’re galloping through the evictions now, it’s almost as though Endemol want this whole sorry mess of their own making to end as quickly as possible.

 Ian comes 4th  and exits the house to deservedly big cheers. He descends the steps like a bouncy springer spaniel, looking more relaxed and ten years younger than he did in the house. He talks about his disappointment with the behaviour of the Jade crew, and admits to loving Shilpa “to bits”. Not being a thicky, Ian seems pretty aware with regards the fuss caused by the bullying, although the international aspect to the story shocks him. “From my knowledge there was nothing fuelled from racism” he states carefully. Davina points out that he may not have been privy to the comments, and he concedes that if they were made then the whole fuss is justified. 

She then attacks him for failing to be all butch and step into the arguments. I have a vision of  Davina as a pramface in a denim mini-skirt standing outside a pub, egging on her boyfriend to twat anyone who accidentally looks at her.

 Ian honestly confesses that he felt out of his depth with the hostility;  “I’ve lived a sheltered life and I back away from conflict” (I’m not going there).Besides, with all the arguments, “Jermaine was there to save the day”.  “He did that a lot”, points out Davina. “Yeah” laughs Ian, “and he says about 2 words every day”.   “You went in as H and you came out as Ian,” Davina reassures him, which would have worked better if the dumb bint hadn’t referred to “H” during her later interview with Jermaine. Highlights of Ian’s mostly shirt free action are played to the strains of “chain reaction”. At the point where he’s crying in the loo, Ian’s face is a picture and you can tell he’s worrying that people may think he’s having some sort of bizarre crywank. As if!

3rd place is the Face. Bugger.  Oh well, loving him was a Dirky job, but somebody had to do it, even if it was just me (and all my female friends). He has some last minute banter with “Jackson” and stumbles on the step on the way out, whist giving a non-stop commentary in his whisky and cigar flavoured accent. His trademark grin emerges as soon as he hears some cheers and he does lots of hammy moves, gleefully playing to the audience. As the crowd sing the A team tune, he sings along and then mock conducts them with mental enthusiam. Davina mentions his skipping and he jokily wonders if he’s started a craze; “I had to find something, he wisecracks, ” I was in there with all those talented people”. After some Face style bullshitting, he admits that he ended up showing a bit of his “cynical side” in the house, possibly down to the fact that Shilpa “dumped” him “in the 2nd week”. “I made a good run at it” he smiles wistfully. He regrets being useless during the Jade:Shilpa arguments, “I didn’t move. I didn’t do a lot of separation…” “I’ve never been good helping women resolve their problems”. And why exactly should he be, pray?

Clips of his Shilpa flirtation are shown, and he does look genuinely fond of her; “Can you blame me?”, exclaims, assigning Shilpa epitaphs such as “innate elegance, sweet, adaptable, great sense of humour, wonderful laugh, spontaneous”.. “I don’t think she finds me funny anymore”, he jokes sadly, adding that he was afraid overspiced food would “overheat” his blood. I’m inviting the old raunchbucket round for a vindaloo.

Davina suggests he didn’t like Cleo, which he denies; “I didn’t have a problem with anyone, but Cleo had issues with me”.  When pressed by Davina he reluctantly admits that he thought Cleo may have fancied him “until I started talking”.

He still can’t get over the fact that he was with a bunch of Brits that were freaked out by him being a sarcastic bastard, rather than outdoing him. After all, this is the nation known for Blaine baiting. His highlights feature plenty of funky Face moves and whiskygate, but not enough footage of the man catching his fish. Asked who he would vote to win, he picks Shilpa, which elevates him above most of the men I know, who, if rejected by a woman, immediately start listing her “faults”. I guess most men of 62 are mature enough to not start calling someone a lesboslag if they won’t go to the pictures with them.  Curiously, none of the racism row is mentioned to Face, I wonder whether he was considered too outspoken to question on the issue.

 Davina  goes back to house (“please do not swear, ” Jermaine “don’t worry”), and announces Shilpa as the winner. The actress screeches in joy whilst I emit an anticlimactic groan.

Jermaine (2nd place)  as usual is way too cool for school (unlike his brother). Yoda-like, he leaves his final words of wisdom for Shilpa; “kindness is a strength”. I may have to give it a try, having previously believed that “anger is an energy”. As he exits, looking every inch the insane superstar, some arsehats boo, presumably not at Obi Wan Jackson, but because they think Endemol have fixed the result in some pathetic attempt at covering their back. At this rate Shilpa could be the most booed winner ever, through no fault of her own.

Like Faceman before him, Jermaine puts on a posing show for the crowd and sings along to their version of  “Blame it on the boogie”, until Davina stops him; ” If you sing any more we have to pay the PRS”. I found this vaguely funny, but given the losses Endemol have made on this show, she could have had a producer screaming it into her ear. Jermaine is typically understated and honourable with regards the Jade:Shilpa argument (and isn’t pressed on his comments in the house regarding colour). “I happen to like Jade” he says diplomatically, “she speaks her mind” (then why isn’t she a mute?). He blames the rift on the fact that Shilpa is from another culture and “they didn’t fit”.

Clips of Jermaine in his GURU mode are shown, accompanied by  new age musak. Most have him scoffing nuts whilst dispensing enigmatic aphorisms like “If you understand the root of things, you understand the blossom” (all you have to do to look a bit spiritual is quote Percy Thrower). He reveals that he’s in the process of producing a Jackson family musical in the UK  (making his stay in the house an extremely canny and well played move). I’m now waiting with baited breath for the musical though, it could be fantastic or scary and blaxploitative (or even worse both!). I’m picturing Affro wigs, fixed grins and songs such as “If you don’t hit that high note I’m cutting it off” and “Dammit Janet put your tit away”, although it will in reality feature superb Jacskon five back catalogue, and I’ll travel to see it in a transit full of lesbitarians. He worries whether Michael has watched his Jackson 5 bit, and Davina promises to send Jermaine the tape (which he appears to intend to destroy, even though his singing voice was gorgeous in that task). He discusses living in a household more flatulative than the Clumps in the Nutty professor;  “I couldn’t believe it… and the burping”.  He giggles adorably during most of his highlights,  especially at the peerless “Shake it……….Break it………Shake it”, and receives a heartwarming standing ovation from the studio audience.

 Shilpa won with 63% of final vote; suggesting a vote based on collective guilt or the rise of  the “brown pound”, either way you wish this enthusiasm could be transferred to UK elections in BNP strongholds. I’m loving Shilpa’s effortlessly gorgeous exit outfit, all skinny jeans and floaty red mini sari. The few dullards booing on her exit are drowned out by fireworks, but it’s worth a hint of a vote fix to imagine the looks on the faces of Jade, Danielle and Jo right now. Ha! As Davina whisks the winner towards the studio,  she tells her “Dirk was rooting for you” and Shilpa laughs dismissively, shouting “Chicken curry RULES” (sounds like a way to spice up football to me).  In the interview she talks about her “rollercoaster” experience in the house, with having to cook being her biggest shock (then why do it constantly?). She “kind of has an inkling” as to the story behind this year’s show, but is shown a heavily edited montage of borderline racist and just plain nasty comments from the hataz, her face freezing at “fuck off home” and “you don’t know where their fingers have been”. There’s so much that could be shown, such as Jo’s accented “I have a big hairy man’s face” and Danielle’s “She’s a dog”, but I suppose they don’t want to push Shilpa’s apparently limitless patience too far; plus making Jade the only culprit makes the situation easier to “whitewash”. Shilpa helpfully defends Jade, claiming that “She didn’t mean to be racist”, and in a tearjerky speech she says she didn’t want to come to this country to cause trouble and she thanks the Great British Public for her amazing opportunity to make her own country proud. I can’t really imagine any of the other people in the house, except possibly Jermaine, being capable of such a powerful mini-sermon, and I have to admit that in my opinion Shilpa outplayed everyone else, winning this on her own merit (although without the injection of the Goodys I doubt it would have been the same result). Apparently she’s in the running for a movie set in India with Tom Cruise, although given his current Hollywood stock that’s not much of a career resurrection (actually I’ve just found out from that trusty organ the Mirror that it’s Jonny Depp she;ll be working with – the jammy, sympathy vote winning jezebel!). Mind you, Chantelle Houghton can tell you all you need to know about the prestige of winning Celebrity Big Brother. You might have to google her.

Sweetly Shilpa claims she’s never won anything, was rejected as a model, and lost an Indian reality show even crapper than this one. Davina asks her to sum up the “experience”(man) in three words, to which Shilpa rather insipidly starts: “um Incredible, Overwhelming, errrrmmmmmmm” (How about BORING?). An audience knobber helpfully shouts “chicken”, and she is struck again with culinary inspiration; “CHICKEN CURRY RULES”.

 Having heard people accusing anyone making a potentially “off colour” racist comment as “doing a Jade”, I wonder if Shilpa’s name will also pass into popular parlance, perhaps to describe a person who rises above troubles with good grace. Nah – we’re British; it’s more likely to be used for someone who fucks up, especially in the kitchen (e.g. “Oh mum! You’ve Shilpa’d the chicken, you feckless bitch!”)

We rush through Shilpa’s highlights, and then the review of the show in clips, with none of the usual parading of the evicted housemates before the baying mob (always my favourite yet most cringy bit).

On BBBM most of the previous housemates are gathered with the exceptionn of Jade, Jackiey, Jo and Danielle (who’s probably off flogging her story about Teddy’s cock). Russell Brand sums things up with his “Shilpa has won it and a nation begins to ease it’s conscience”, before moving on to talk to the housemates. Lovely Ken Russell believes that “Face should have won – he was the most truthful person in the whole house”, and the consistently ace Paul Morley (except when he’s writing a book about popular culture, or when he starts morphing into a Tony Wilson lite), surmises that ” Shilpa has won because of the Goodys”, which should piss Jackiey and Jade off no end. Jack remains incapable of coherent speech, and Cleo creepily hints that she’s been perving Face’s teenage son all day, presumably in what Brand amusingly terms a “character based sex attack”. Russell Brand then plays a series of highlights of HIM, ensuring that anyone who’s found him funny recently is reassured that he still has the capacity to be a hideous cock.



           “It takes guts to be gentle and kind” (Russell quotes The Smiths in response to Jermaine’s “kindness is a strength”)

Russell Brand: “Shilpa you must feel elated and excited, do you?”. Shilpa: “What????”

“Fuck Bollywood and have it in Hollywood” (Donny’s advice to Shilpa)

“You certainly are American your bombing is not that accurate” ( Russell Brand after Face throws a plastic glass at him and unfortunately misses.)

  QUOTE OF THE SERIES: “Expectation is the root cause of all sorrow” Shilpa Shetty. Thankfully I didn’t have too many expectations of this series.

 Thanks to everyone who’s dredged through this poorly written and heavily opinionated series of rants. I’m off for a rest for a few days, but recommendations for any future blogging will be gratefully recieved, perhaps something I can derive more humour from (is anyone doing the Israeli:Palestinian conflict or the collapse of the NHS?). All of your comments and suggestions have been greatly appreciated. See you all very soon. xx

Hazel Humphreys, January 29th 2007

First published 27th January 2007 on

Day 24, and thwarted by hormones in her attempts to “break” the Faceman, Cleo tackles a less likely target head on. “What makes you angry?” she asks a serene Jermaine. Without moving a muscle or removing his shades he calmly replies “When people are not nice and they deliberately try to make you upset”, in the manner of a shaolin monk. Somehow sensing that this is NOT a man to fuck with, Cleo backs out of the room.

Shilpa is obsessively cooking for the other housemates again, to Jermaine’s disbelief. “You gotta stop cooking for them and just cook for yourself” he advises, “Do you ever get a thank you?”. “I don’t ask for a thank you!” snaps back the sainted Shilpa. Cooking is obviously Shilpa’s counterpart to Jermaine’s cleaning OCD, and whilst governing what a bunch of lazy bastards eat could be viewed as more controlling, given Danielle’s threat to put scabs in Shilpa’s curry and Jack wanting to piss in Face’s soy sauce, it’s a relief that she’s taking charge.

Whilst Faceman struggles to retrieve a packet of cereal from the top shelf, the housemates encourage him by singing the theme tune to the A team. “I play that when I have sex, ” he deadpans to Danielle’s disgust. “Oh Dirkkk, not when I’m having breakfast” she cries, Ian_TWFS cheekily asking whether Face still has sex, “not by yourself, I mean”. Face starts happily frying his leftover salmon skin; the fishy fumes causing Danielle to fly into a hacky choking fit; Teddy obviously hasn’t told her that the skin is the best bit. She and Jo are driven out to Nowhere with Cleo where they discuss Face’s unconventional and pungent culinary habits. “I’m not in the mood for smelling fish when I’ve just woke up,” sneers Jo (you could have fooled us love). The topic switches to Face daring to mention the word “sex”, which according to Danielle makes him a “dirty bastard”. Cleo suggests that even Face should be allowed to have sex, to which Danielle screams “No! I don’t even wanna know if anybody else is having sex or not. God that is revolting!” For a woman who reveals her breasts for wank mags, she’s remarkably prudish.

Face’s anti-big brother diatribe begins with Ian_TWFS in the kitchen. “This has nothing to do with reality or real people or anything,” he complains, condemning the show as cheap television where the producers “don’t need to get someone with genius or imagination to write something” (No shit!). He describes the housemates as “Monkeys on a typewriter”, metaphorically speaking, unless Jack’s got a “Lady Brother” stashed under his bed. Face believes there’s a formula to winning the show; “Jermaine’s got it nailed. Just stay quiet…which I have tried, but it’s not my personality”. Quiet men don’t come first though Faceman (and if they do, how could you tell?).

Shilpa reveals that Arnold Scwarzenegger chatted her up whilst he attended a Bollywood birthday party. Given her calm reaction to aggression in the house, he probably loomed in for a sneaky fingers and tops. Apropos of nothing Ian_TWFS starts talking about how difficult it is to come out as a gaymo in the public eye (so to speak). “What? Is Arnie gay?” asks a thrown Shilpa. Ian_TWFS has apparently been propositioned by HUGE stars, but never strayed from his partner, and is too much of a gentleman to name names. It’s a shame Peter Tatchell isn’t in the house.

Shilpa holds another press conference in the diary room about her feelings on being an Indian in the house. “I thought it would be difficult to bond”, but “we all have the same colour blood running through our veins”, “I have a dream” etc. If only Big Brother had thought to pipe in “Ebony and Ivory” as a wakeup call the morning after Oxogate, it would have been beautiful.

Doing her nails Danielle’s hands are shaking ” Im scared” she moans. Without looking up from the eggs on toast she is troughing down, Jo growls, “don’t be scared”, whilst Cleo goes into her MILM* mode, offering to make Danielle a “real magicky” cup of tea to assuage her fears. And these fruitcakes took the piss out of Shilpa’s fairy wings!

(*Mummy I Like to Mock)

Face and Ian_TWFS discuss who they think will win. Bizarrely, Face tips Danielle for being a “natural”, but Ian_TWFS more astutely suggests that she’s probably blown it by following her bessie mate Jade. “I’d like to see Shilpa win” says Face, ” A non Brit”. When Ian_TWFS points out that he’s a non Brit, he chuckles at the very idea of winning and returning victorious to the US , imagining the reaction; “‘How’d you do that? You always irritate people'”.

Cleo’s feeling the pressure and Jo tries to chivvy her up; “Let’s just get through it how we usually do, with a bad joke and a laugh”. Or perhaps by talking bullshit, dissing your fellow housemates and inventing psychotic alter-egos. “I’ll probably get stoned” says Cleo, referring presumably to her exit reception rather than her mental state. It’s hard to tell. They argue over who’s going; “I’m crap,” “No you’re not. I’m the crap one” etc. Sisters! Let’s just agree that you’re both crap.

Later when the housemates gather on the sofa prior to eviction, Cleo says to Face “You’re one of my biggest revelations, when I get out I’m going to champion you so hard” (I didn’t notice that in her exit interview). She explains that she misunderstood his gentle and very obviously signposted leg-pulling, and that it hurt. Face is bemused, most of the British people he’s met have been happy to take the piss back (yes but you’ve surrounded yourself with normalish people not feeble minded psycho hose beast). Cleo and Jo state that they thought Face hated them to his genuine bewilderment; “Why did you think that?”. “Cos you’re horrible!” shouts Jo. “Face insists that he “made more fun of Leo”. “Yeah but he jumped over the wall,” retorts Cleo. “That wasn’t down to me it was down to underpants,” Face explains, in a sentence I wager him unlikely to ever repeat.

Face is disappointed with the double eviction; “Just two?” . Devastated that the men weren’t evicted, Danielle’s face melts and Jack rushes to hug her (a noticeably darn sight quicker than when Jade was crying). Shilpa cuddles and comforts the gormless shagsack, and they girly-bond over being the last two women in there. They’ll be plaiting each others hair like eleven year old girls soon. Shilpa apologises for being “boring” (I hate to say it, but she has a point at times), however Danielle insists that she’s funny, when she doesn’t mean to be (as opposed to Cleo who means to be funny, but isn’t). Shilpa laughs at the backhanded compliment, responding with a jovial, “I hate you”. That’s more like it.

Jermaine yet again proves himself the most aware person in there by suggesting to Face that Cleo and Jo’s cards were totally marked because of their involvment when Jade was “pushing” Shipa. They’ve totally sussed how blown out of proportion events in the house have been and how it’s affected people voting. Face finds it hilarious that no men have been evicted, instead choosing to scarper when the going got tough. “Next time I see Leo, ” he chuckles, “I’ll say if you’re in the trenches in the war you don’t run out on your comrades”. I’m sure Face’s Leo love is based on a rose tinted nostalgia of having someone else to talk with in the house, as the majority of his conversations with the bubble haired Napoleon complex annoyed the fuck out of the amiable Montana man. The chat moves on to Cleo, whose number Face has well and truly got (not in a telephonic sense, that would be mental). “Cleo kept consoling everyone…cos SHE was frazzled, ” he notes.”She’s projecting so much..creating people upset because SHE’S upset”. It may be GCSE level psychology but dammit it works.

Danielle bewails her deep and tragic loss, yet again. “It feels like me two best mates have been evicted. I feel like I’ve known them forever” she howls (that’s because you’re an emotionally incontinent goldfish brained child woman, who wouldn’t recognise a real friend if they slapped her round her peachy chops and told her to grow the fuck up). She worries, a little tardily, that people might think she’s a bitch by association. “If they think that about JO do they think that about me?”. “That’s what I thought an’all, Hatstand mumbles, “Hang on what’s that noise. Was that a penny dropping?”. Danielle casually brushes off her concerns and looks on the bright side; “I’m made up I’m still here till the end. That’s warri wanted”. Later in the diary room, she mentions the boos she heard for Jo. “I wouldn’t wanna walk out to that”, she sudders. “That’s just wrong. Really really horrible….I’m shitting myself”. Yes Danielle, being isolated and belittled isn’t very nice when it’s not you dishing it out. “I hope I havent done anything horrible in the house,” she half frets, stunningly oblivious, “I don’t think I have. I hope people like me.” Who knows? I doubt you’ll be Amnesty’s new poster girl any time soon though.

Seeing as it’s final’s night, here’s the rundown of the remaining housemates, in hopeful order of emergence.

Jack_Hatstand. Who is he? I mean who IS he? A creepy somnambulistic presence in the house, draping his angular form in the corner, like something out of “The Cabinet of Dr Caligari”. Pathetically he could prove to be Davina’s toughest interview to date, although at least there’s not too many highlights to trawl through, apart from.. Oh my EYES My EYES!!!!

Danielle (Teddy Sheringham’s titrack) entered the house with me thinking she was an ignorant, selfish, little freeloader and has done nothing to alter my opinion, asides from revealing a nasty streak longer and dirtier than the River Mersey.

Ian_TWFS is very close to losing his dismissive affix. On the whole he’s emerged from this whole extremely well, presenting himself as a thoughtful and kind prematurely haggard man, with unerring patience during the tasks. Like most normal decent people he doesn’t cope well with conflict, but he correctly assessed and denounced the entire bullying situation, managing to not pick sides and ensuring that Shilpa wasn’t completely excluded and for that I doff my cap to the Welshman. I foresee a makeover and a string of “sensitive” Channel Four drama roles.

Shilpa has conducted herself throughout her “ordeal” with infinite class, grace and dignity, providing a masterclass in star quality to us all. My only gripes are that her constant cooking eventually did grate on me, and she appeared to use the generosity of housemates who supported her during the Goody bad old days, dropping them as soon as she was welcomed back into the girly pack. Having said that, she wasn’t fully aware of the involvement of Jo and Danielle in the group bitch sessions, and probably has a huge capacity to forgive that sets her apart from most of us mortals. Perhaps she’s really too nice for her own good, although I can’t see that sustaining a 14 year film career.

Jermaine Man has been a shining beacon of sanity and patience in the house, totally shattering all our preconceptions of a Jackson. He’s mucked into tasks and cleaning with equal enthusiasm, and sadly has too much pride and good taste to release his genius maraca fest “Shake it” as a single. Would be genuinely be pleased if he won, despite my love for

Faceman. Intelligent. Witty. Awkward. Spiky. Flirtatious and Loquacious. An expert angler. Where it not for the fact that he’s pretty buff for his sixties, he’d remind me of my dad (who also raised his kids by himself, which could explain my huge bias). Scarily the father figure stuff makes my love a wrong and dirty one. My liking for the man has persisted despite his anti-liberal stance, and an unfortunate comment about immigration that could be misintepreted by BNP arseholes (when he said that there would be more immigrants than “natives” in the UK I took it he meant it as a positive thing, although given the current climate in the UK it’s not exactly the wisest soundbite). He had the bestest ever entrance into Big Brother, and if he won, I’d be disappointed if Howling Mad Murdoch didn’t pick him up in a helicopter.

First published 26th January 2007 on

It’s 8.30pm on Friday night and I’m back in front of the telly where I belong whilst my burns night supper for one simmers  woefully on the hob. Shaking maracas in homage to Jermaine, Davina has plumped for the Russian spy on polonium look. She introduces the show with a po-faced “we genuinely regret any offence caused”, which I assume refers to the racism, bullying or dullness aspects of the show, until we see Face talking about ripping the heads off “little animals”. “People said I needed help, ” he cackles gleefully, “but those little animals DESERVED IT!”

 In the bedroom, Cleo grimaces at the sound of Face’s merriment, before delivering her spectacularly clueless theory that Face wants to pretend to get evicted on purpose. “Thass disgusting!” exclaims Danielle, still worrying about the imaginary little animals.

Ian_TWFS in the Diary Room expects Face to get evicted due to his constant pisstaking, but has a sneaky feeling that the public may have Cleo pegged as a flaky fruitcake. “At least all the votes are spread, so there’s no clear person in the house that people hate, ” he opines innocently.

 Later in the DR, Jo seems reasonably down to earth and unsurprised to be nominated. Then I remember that she’s a vicious chav-pitbull cross who must be destroyed for all our sakes.

 Face talks to Ian_TWFS about his pomp, during his 40s (he probably thinks Ian doesn’t have that far to go). “You had a lot of women?” probes Ian_TWFS, “You can see how good I am with them, ” Face laughs, “Can you imagine?” . ” I should have kept my mouth shut. Been funny, not so serious,” he adds,  with a dry self deprecation that inexplicably moistens gussets throughout the UK. “Big Brother taught me I can’t dance, I can’t cook and I can’t be funny!” He jokes that Shilpa’s had her chance with him and now it’s “too late”, eliciting an elated “Yippee!” from well over half of the population.

 Ian_TWFS joins Jo and Cleo in a cluster-bitch about the Faceman. “I hate him. He repulses me”, spits Jo. “He’s like the reject bin,” Cleo states with absolutely no sense of irony whatsoever, before calling him a turd. For some reason, Face’s admission that he teases people has been interpreted as a confession to being an evil liar who’s “not being himself”, which is the wrongest thing ever. At least Hitler and Pol Pot gave it to people straight.

 In a neat edit we cut to Jack in the kitchen telling Cleo “If you put potato skins in your socks, it will give you really soft feet. My nan told me.”. “I must try that!” exclaims Cleo, redefining the word “gullible”. When it’s pointed out she’s been had, she merely laughs ruefully, rather than pointing an accusatory finger and hissing “betrayer!”

 In the bedroom Ian_TWFS and Shilpa bond in a touching cloud of psychobabble and faghaggery, holding hands across the continental quilts. “I’m gonna come out to India” promises Ian_TWFS, blissfully unaware of the FACT that Shilpa will probably only talk to any of these people again  to honour contractual obligation.  “I love you” they whisper sweetly to each other. A nation goes “awwww” (or retches if they don’t buy into the tenderness of the moment – I hope for Ian_TWFS’s sake it’s all meant).

 It’s an A Team task and Face is given the instructions to read out “In 2007 a crack celebrity unit…” (“Wha?” Danielle). He mocks the backwards scouser (“Ingenuity – for those of you from Liverpool that’s cleverness” Ouch!), before completing the instructions (“Maybe you can hire the BB Team”). It’s great to see Face getting some positive attention, especially as Cleo wears a murderous expression, whereas Shilpa happily stuffs her face and ignores the whole preamble. The housemates have to retrieve rewards from a shoddily built “stockade” without touching the bars,, which means constructing tools using broom handles, wire and sticky tape. Rewards include Jermaine’s suitcase, whisky miniatures, the Big Brother “family photo”, cakes, one play of the song “Me and Mrs Jones”, waxing strips and A BIG FISH. Face spots this immediately, displaying more energy than in the last 2 weeks combined. “Oooh,” he almost squeals in delight. “There’s a whole salmon there, we could barbecue that!”

 Whilst Face gets busy with sticky tape constructing himself a salmon rod, he dimly notices the chaotic efforts of the housemates. “Remember the secret of the A Team. They worked together, ” he rallies to unanimous indifference. Ignored, he sighs and carries on building his weapon of fish retrieval. Curiously Jermaine and Shilpa go for the portrait, featuring pictures of Jade and Jackiey. Less surprisingly they drop and break it. Ian_TWFS gets a big box of vegetables, but Jo’s not impressed, “Get the beers and champagne” she urges fiercely through her DTs.

 Face is still fishing. He  manages to loop the wire around the salmon, but the stick collapses. Undeterred he keeps trying obsessively  for over eight minutes, the closest Big Brother will ever get to Hemingway. I start cheering him on, and am embarrassed to say I leapt up and did an air punch when he finally “caught” the fish. Face is ecstatic, “Take a picture! Honey I’m home”, he yells. Jo quickly takes advantage of his good mood to scrounge some whisky that he’s also retrieved. When he agrees, she sarcastically says “Thank you very much, ” and I feel a boiling wave of detestation for the graceless crone. It’s curious that Jo’s every negative word and gesture has such a sobering effect on the rest of the house

 The women start to put the waxing strips to their intended use as an instrument of torture, waxing Jack’s leg. They then move their attention to Face. “Come on, be a man” wheedles Cleo (because removing hair is such a male trait). “Yeah go on Dirk” says Jo malevolently. Egged on by the challenge to his masculinity, Face gamely submits to their attentions; “Gimme something to bite on”, he requests. “What? A pillow” quips Cleo sourly. Disappointingly for some, Face shows no signs of pain as his shin is defoliated ,and he claims to quite like the results; “I look younger” he muses. “You look like a woman” Danielle squeals. Cleo proves what a shallow bitch she is by being so hugely impressed that she instantly changes her entire opinion of Face. “I like you now. I’ve hated you for the last three days, ” she announces. “I’m more comfortable with hate” rejoins a nonplussed Faceman.

 Later Jack, Jo and Cleo discuss Cleo’s platonic relationship with the zany self-loathing gay funny man (fact fans – my nan lived on the same street as Kenny’s mum, and claimed she was a mental, but to be fair my nan was a spangle or two short of a selection box). “How long ago did he pass away, ” asks Jack,  surprisingly sensitively, before, sensing Cleo’s unresolved grief, he transforms into a seedy tabloid hack with more balls than Carole Malone. “Is that why you didn’t get into another relationship?” he interrogates, sounding creepily astute and setting Cleo off on a traumatised weeping jag.

 In the diary room, Shilpa conducts a cringe worthy media offensive, full of humble gratitude for her time in the house. “I have never let my hair down like this, ” she gushes before listing “cooking” as one of the most rock and roll activities she has discovered. She expresses hope that her “parents are proud”, adding cannily that she is representing most of the Indian subcontinent.

 Jo and Danielle mock Cleo about her new found Face-love. Jo can’t understand it, “I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire” she growls, unaware that most men would rather burn than face a golden shower from a woman with slightly less charm than a concentration camp guard. Cleo backtracks furiously, “I wouldn’t wipe my shoes on him, ” she states, her face telling another story.

 Face in the diary room expresses his appreciation of the task, although he is rueful about the lack of teamwork. “Everyone immediately wanted their own things,” he sighs. Not like you eh Fish Face?  He emerges to perform some worryingly arousing dad dance moves to “Me and Mrs Jones”, to Jermaine’s amusement and Shilpa’s disdain.  As he struts funkily, his phallic cigar leading the way, Cleo stares mistily, and ,catching herself, performs a desperately forced laugh with a turn reminiscent of Fran in “Black Books” (“Keep the turn, lose the laugh”).”I believe the REAL Dirk has arrived,” she flutters menopausally.

 Now that Cleo’s crush on Face has become obvious, Shilpa steps up her mild playful cocktailing, which he goes along with in good spirits. “Go to sleep Dirk,” laughs Shilpa. “That’s what they all say,” he replies mock-mournfully.

 The chants of “GET JO OUT” are cruelly audible in the lounge along with Davina’s voice, and the crowd noise is hastily dipped for the eviction announcement. The forth person to be evicted is JO, and Face in the background mutters “I was right so far”. Then the fifth person is announce as Cleo, and my air of cynical disdain towards the Great British Public is momentarily replaced by a flash of true love. Presumably as a gesture towards protecting Jo from facing a hostile reception alone, they both have to leave almost immediately, but Face manages to get in a final sardonic “Byeee” to Jo, the end word on their ongoing feud.

 The evictees hover by the front door, haunted by the inescapable sound of boos. Fortunately Cleo is shielded by virtue of living life encased in a private deluded never world. “Your fans are there”, she blithely reassures a panic-stricken Jo as they face the music of hateful jeers.  At least Cleo does her best to work the crowd, all rictus grin and regal wave. “I love you too!” she calls back to the baying mob of Elstree shitclowns.

  Danielle crumples into a thousand little pieces held together with tears and snot. Ian_TWFS chooses the Cleo Cloud Cuckoo Land comforting technique; “they’ve gone out to CHEERS”, he insists, claiming to have not heard “GET JO OUT” being piped into the house by the bastardly producers. “Don’t expect everyone to like you, ” adds Shilpa sensibly, sending Danielle into further spasms of despair.

 In the studio, Jo is greeted by cheers from the endemol goons, before being informed of the moral hysteria that’s unfolded in the outside followed by clips of her involvement in the pack-bullying. These include the many impersonations of Shilpa (“I’ve got a big hairy face”) and her conversation with Danielle stating that Indians finger their food and “you don’t know where their fingers have been”. Davina sternly points out that the edit isn’t responsible for Jo appearing to be a cuntish battle-axe of the highest order.

 Despite having clearly been BRIEFED AS FUCK during “Ugly Betty”, Jo is bizarrely unapologetic about her deeply unpleasant behaviour. Perhaps she’s accepted that her career is fucked, so is aiming for panto witch gigs, or a role as  replacement to leather faced, frying pan battered harridan Pauline Fowler from Eastenders. “It didn’t feel that bad in there,” she offers lamely, adding that she’s not a racist because her cousin is married to an Indian. Dressing up in a peaked cap ensemble like something out of “The Night Porter” isn’t helping her Nazi denial. She claims that Shilpa had found Jo’s sub Welsh Indian impression funny, curious that as I don’t recall Shilpa ever being present for them. I’m sure she’d have found the “hairy face” one a hoot!

 Davina quizzes her about her comment that Indian people are thin because they don’t cook their food correctly, which Jo conveniently doesn’t recall saying; “and if I did say it, I didn’t mean it in that way”.  The clip of Jo laughing whilst Jade lays into Shilpa is played, and she puts this down to nervous giggling  (Sadly we don’t get to see her “that made my day” comment from the end of the argument). Davina does a reasonable job of stressing Jo’s complicity in the hounding of Shilpa. “I’m not gonna deny that Shilpa did aggravate me,” confesses a deflated Jo, “I’m not racist. I think Shilpa’s a very beautiful and elegant woman”. Her sole justification appears to be that Shilpa had stated she found it difficult to “be herself” in the house, which enables Davina to deliver a blinding killer blow.  “Did you show people who YOU really are?” she asks leadingly, and Jo nails her coffin firmly shut by declaring “Yes I did”. CASE FUCKING CLOSED.

 Cleo’s interview is conducted in a slightly milder, but equally pressing manner, causing my Davina-loathing to subside a little, despite the fact she’s only obeying Endemol orders. Cleo “reveals” herself to be a cowardly kookmeistress, explaining her policy of non-intervention was down to the fact she didn’t think she could improve methods and preferred to go and fetch one of the “boys” when trouble reared it’s three ugly heads. “But you’re an adult,” chides Davina, mistaking bra size for intellect, before introducing the “highlights” to a stony-faced, defeated Cleo.

 Back in the house, Danielle is still emitting huge wet seal sobs of despair. “She won’t cry like that when I go, I promise,” Face predicts waggishly.

Davina ends the show with a firm reminder that the votes are now for who people want to win, because it would be embarrassing for anyone to cock up the voting instructions, wouldn’t it?

 Later that night on the live feed, Danielle, Ian and Jack gather for an urgent strategy review in the bedroom, discussing how they are meant to feel about the Faceman now the British Public have spoken. “Well, I like him, ” realises Ian_TWFS. “He’s SOOO funny!” breathes Danielle, buying eagerly into the Plastic Face-love.

 Danielle attempts some face bonding in a discussion of the fauna of Montana, although her breathtakingly obtuse line of questioning (“What’s a mountain lion? Is it like a tiger?”) seems peculiarly stage-managed, as though she’s decided that emulating Jade is clearly the key to success. She then lures him into discussing hunting, which in contrast looks like a cunning attempt to engender public disapproval for his rugged, red in tooth and claw ways.

 On Saturday morning’s LIVE FEED: Danielle and Jack choreographing their wacky bit of stage time by ambushing Ian_TWFS with spray-mousse and shaving cream as he leaves the toilet, then fleeing, screeching into the bedroom. This from Danielle who described Ian_TWFS as too loud and excitable. An “impromptu” foam fight ensues. Ian_TWFS, picking up on the mood of forced fun, gets his squirty revenge, awarding Danielle with a “money shot”. I see a career for her in the soft porn industry, if she could give up a limb perhaps she could be the new Heather Mills McCartney. Later Ian_TWFS cleans up dejectedly, with no help from Jack and Danielle, their sticky antics having gained them a massive bollocking from Shilpa, whose entire wardrobe couldn’t be any more drenched in white goo if she’d asked Bill Clinton to do her dry cleaning.


Today’s task saw the housemates answering questions from “real people”, delivered by a teaboy through a slit in the wall representing a fax machine. Sadly no hatemail gets through, the arsehats at Endemol having instead apparently hastily scribbled boringly banal queries about how housemates feel about the Big Brother Experience.

 Just two more night’s to go and I can enter rehab. With my Face Hat now firmly thrown into the ring of dreams,  I’m going to have to spend an entire month reading Das Kapital and watching Ken Loach films in order to wean myself off my new-found anti-liberal lust.

EXCHANGE OF THE DAY: “Do you think I’ve grown up?” (Danielle to Face, prompting the knowing come-back “I think this show might help”).

Funny BBBM moment of Saturday night involved lovely Peter Duncan* conning Russell Brand into believing he’d killed a fish live on air. “Some of us remember that porn film you done Peter,” warned an embarrassed Brand.


(*I have to admit to the Peter Duncan love too, I met him in a theatre bar two years ago and he bought drinks for my friend and I, and I accused him of faking his Duncan Dares. Sadly the situation was rendered desperately uncool by my friend style-crampingly bursting into tears and thanking him for being kind enough to consort with us mere mortals. I’ve just about forgiven her. I’m such a starfucker. I once met Bob Carolgees too!)

First published 25th January 2007 on

I have a confession to make. Last night I ran a successful comedy club, cleared up after over 80 people, fed and housed one of the acts and got to sleep about 4am. That’s not the embarrassing bit, which involves me sleeping on my sofa bed in the lounge with my phone alarm set to catch the 7.30am non-sweary repeat. However my phone battery tried to save me by sacrificing it’s life, and I woke up ten minutes too late at 8 fucking 40 am. Clearly distraught I switched to E4 and More 4, but obviously there’s some sort of saturation tax on reality TV and they were only showing the live feed. Given recent days, apart from a slightly different task, a repeat show would be difficult to distinguish from unseen footage.

The live feed in the morning isn’t scintillating stuff, although a lone Jermain pressed up against the locked doors to the garden has an almost Christlike aesthetic, a tiny hint of frustration playing around his noble Easter Island statue face. If it was R Kelly he’d be composing a hip hopera about the feeling of being trapped in a youth hostel full of unsanitary insaniacs. Come on Big Brother let Jermaine man outside.

Amusingly I’ve discovered that I was scribbling notes on the back of a Guardian Wallchart of “salad greens”, at least both wall chart and greens have their uses.

I’m pretty sure that in last nights highlights the nomination results would have been announced, which Big Brother typically prolonged; “Cleo….Dirk….” ,at which point Cleo smugly piped up “I’m fine with that.” Cleo really has her fingers on the pulse of popular culture in the UK. She thinks Face is being awkward, cantankerous and sarcastic because he “knows he is unpopular” and wants to pretend he’s forcing people to vote him out. ????? Run that one by me again? And here’s me thinking it’s because he finds the majority of the housemates to be twattish and dull. I’m starting to wonder whether “Tiara” actually has a firmer grip on reality than Cleo. If only she could have been with me last Friday watching a bar full of teenage students vociferously singing along to the “A Team” theme tune. Combine this with the dewy-eyed alco-powered thirty somethings with more memories and money than sense (explain Bez winning some other way – that doesn’t involve introducing LSD into a reservoir) and I’d say that Face has a pretty imposing fan base, despite Cleo’s and Endemol’s attempts to sabotage this. All we need to do is to mobilise this in some way. I don’t do subliminal messages but !TUO OELC DNA OJ ETOV.

I’m presuming that it still is a vote to evict given Wednesday’s fiasco where the end of the highlights showed the words “TO EVICT” next to the pictures of Cleo, Face, Ian_TWFS and Jo, but “TO SAVE” besides Shilpa’s. As a result the clueless mofos at Endemol had to cancel all of Wednesday’s votes, refunding when asked and donating any profits to charity. I’m curious as to the nature of this “charity” that’s benefiting out of the multifarious cock-ups of this series. Presumably it provides aid for unemployed reality TV producers. If enough people are insisting on getting their money back, Endemol must be haemorrhaging money, and no it’s not at all funny and is extremely bad form to laugh.

Christ it’s not even 9am and Jermaine’s already doing all the dishes and scrubbing down the work surfaces with some sort of industrial acid and plunging his bare hands into the sinister suds in the sink. For a person I immediately had tagged as a workshy OCD man, Jermaine’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, which makes him an extremely useful OCD man with hidden (and soapy) depths. Every home should have one.

Anyhow, in recent days the show appears to have plunged into a formulaic rut, so in order to satisfy any inexplicable demand for a Big Brother low-down, here’s how I imagine events on last night’s highlights show. Let me know if I’ve missed anything via the miracle of comments.

Jack sits in the corner wearing his extra special needs Jude Law face, incapable of being incapable of believing his luck. Earlier Face made the frightening prediction that Jack could actually win this whole shebang by virtue of being inoffensive. Inoffensive? Have you looked at his face, Face? “Shit,” says Face, “I come all the way from America to be beaten by Jack Tweedy. You know the famous football agent? ‘ I haven’t heard of him’, ‘well you have now!'”

Danielle accidentally eats her pillow whilst dreaming of Teddy’s face and wakes up resembling a puffer fish in a wig. With a squint. The scouse spasbot does little of discernable use besides sniggering at Jo and Cleo’s hilarious jokes about Face’s cancer struggle and near castration. “Yerriknow! Dirkkkkkkkkhhh neeerly lost his dikkkkkhhhh” she splutters clumsily, to general incomprehension.

Cleo, who appears to be morphing into Elsie Tanner, answers the door to Tiara who is armed with cable, duct tape and a set of kitchen knives. Jermaine manages to apprehend her before she can abduct and mutilate a housemate at which point in time-honoured serial killer fashion, Cleo comes to, claiming to have no knowledge of Tiara’s actions. “Oh dear, was Tiara a naughty girl again?” she simpers.

Shilpa continues to buy her way into “girls town” by helping a giggling Jo, Danielle and Cleo spike Face’s cigars with chilli flavoured rohypnol and write lipstick slogans on his supine form including “Knocking on heavens door”, “BA’s bitch”, “I wanked off a grizzly bear” , “Old twat” and “Die!”

Ian_TWFS feels a little glum so borrows Shilpa’s wings and vogues into the Diary room to demand glitter. “I don’t know why people nominated me… I’m fun fun fun!” he shrieks, performing a jig. Afterwards he has a little refreshing cry about all the bullying he’s been forced to stand by and meekly witness in the house. The public will love it Ian_TWFS. Tears of a clown.

The hapless housemates take part in a “She who smelt it dwelt it” task where they have to identify the individual components of Danielle’s diet by inhaling her toxic arse gusts.

Face and Jermaine huddle together for warmth in the garden. “What do you think of it so far?” asks Jermaine, prompting Face and four million viewers to scream a collective “RUBBISH” that causes an avalanche in the rocky mountains.

Was I close?

Yesterday morning it snowed to the delight of most housemates, including Shilpa who claimed to have never seen snow actually fall before and had hitherto assumed it . Jo isn’t caught up in this collective joy fest and mumbles that it’s probably “fake” snow. Yeah and “controlling” too. Something tells me that it’s the wrong kind of snow for Jo to get excited about.

Back on the live feed this morning a rough as fuck Cleo emerges to congratulate Jermaine on his cleaning skills, which he reveals he picked up in childhood early on to stop his dad beating him with coat hangers. He bemoans the fact that some people just don’t seem to care about cleanliness. There just ain’t no discipline nowadays.

This morning’s alarm is a grimly tolling bell, for whom we wonder? Face rolls out of bed all mussed up bedhead and crumpled Rich Hall features. “Time to pray” he deadpans to an unamused Jo, who as yet has failed to dye her hair and transform herself into a cheerful pleasantly visaged young woman. Shilpa applies her make-up around her massive shades every inch the diva (with a hint of battered wife).

I am rewarded for my diligence by a bathroom shot of the Face sans shirt, although the closest he gets to a Spartan physique sadly is the Grecian 3000 he’s squirting on his hair.

In the kitchen he relates his dream about “Scorpion people” taking over Big Brother, possibly inspiring yet another god awful M Night Shiteaman plot. Later ian_TWFS asks Face whether he has learned to respect reality show contestants more”. Face gives his chainsaw chuckle; “No! Even less he cries”. In a devastatingly articulate and libertarian speech he states that the rise of reality TV marks the end of everything that he holds dear. I’m going to put my cards on the table and admit to liking Face. With an attitude like his how can he not win Big Brother? It’s the right result and, more importantly, it’s the ironic one.

Tonight’s double eviction looms, and to cope with the anticipation I’ve devised a catchy little tune. You can all sing along to the tune of sinister Simpsons recruitment song YVAN EHT NIOJ – all together now TUO OELC DNA OJ ETOV. I’m counting on you!

QUOTE OF THE DAY: “I hate reality shows. They represent the victory of corporate mentality over creativity.” (Face tells it like it is)

First published 24th  January 2007 on

Day 21 finds Ian_TWFS befriending the cameras by giving them names and little disguises and chatting them up. “Frisky today aren’t you?” he giggles at a particularly befeathered slutcam. Since Ian_TWFS surprised us all by coming out, he’s slowly been releasing hitherto unimagined levels of trapped “gayness” (or how he thinks gay men are meant to act) – endearingly testing the waters daily with references to skin care products and musicals. Recently the pressure seems to have built up though and if he’s not careful I think he’s gonna blow.

 Face enthrals everyone with manly tales of his “A Team” days, griping about the rubbish woman character in the show, who had the nerve to demand her own fair share of kickass action, even though all women do is fall over, cry and break their nails (probably). “The A Team was the last of its kind… the last male driven show, “he murmurs wistfully. He pronounces “Big Brother “a “girl’s show” with “girls’ tasks”, rather than the rugged “guys shows” that they have in America, where red-blooded men gather together and fish or hunt or rub each other down with marmite under the glare of the cameras, and presumably the viewers vote as to who will go Brokeback Montana first. These shows sound great; either soft porn for the thinking perv woman or potentially hilariously pompous.  Bless the Face and his unreconstructed ways. All over the UK, women bored of miserabilist metrosexual blokes will be learning how to quietly gut a salmon or skin a badger in order to win themselves some Facial approval.

Whilst housemates mull over the intricacies of the shopping list (Danielle asking “Is a potato a vegetable?”), Face diaryroom discusses the vile vocabulary of filth displayed by the dolescum WAG, putting on an endearingly crap scouse accent to demonstrate how she “talks like a truck driver”. In “Mo-ontanah”, women don’t cuss and shit, but he’s intrigued by such language from the “country that gave us Shakespeare”. Face dismisses most of the housemates as “kids”, apart from Jermaine, who’s been in the fame “bubble” since he was 12, and Face believes entered the house “to see how the poor people are doing”. “It’s like a zoo,” he despairs. “It’s a kind of entertainment, but…it’s agony.” Don’t be silly Face, Channel 4 wouldn’t get away with treating animals like this!

 The nominations take place in the lounge, Face playfully endearing himself to team harridan by archly teasing about his imaginary lack of hygiene.

First in is Cleo, who nominates Face for being “selfish with his humour” (at least he’s funny with it), for “flying into a foul rage” (transl. “Goes out to the garden for a cigar”) where “you just know by the way he’s looking he’d rip someone’s head off” (transl. “He looks like he wants to be left alone).  She also nominates Ian_TWFS for freaking her out by talking to the cameras, as she has the monopoly on the thin line between eccentricity and psychosis and Ian_TWFS doing it makes her feel paranoid and “on the brink”.

 Back in the lounge Ian_TWFS blithely undoes his gayvalve, excitedly describing the music from the previous night as “gaytastic” and “camp as tits”. Any second now he’s going to start skipping.

 Danielle nominates Face for being pissed off when they were being late night drunken arsetwats and for missing the comedy genius of Cleo’s Tiara character. She also nominates Ian_TWFS for being “too overexcited..and loud” (this from the woman whose screeching has caused sensitive pets to physically explode). “I feel like a right bitch” she sighs. Nice to see she’s feeling herself then.

Face tiresomely attempts to nominate himself for the umpteenth time with an amusing imaginary tirade against all his faults (“He’s a health guy yet smokes those dirty cigars” – mmmmm!). He then plumps for Jo, ironically for smoking in the house, and for being illiterate whilst liking to talk; “that creates problems”. Unsurprisingly he hasn’t forgiven Cleo for her wiggy sexpestery – “at 9am, my idea of Hell”, and selects her too.

On his return from the Diary Room Danielle wonders why he’s taken so long, “Did they think you were funny? Did you make dem laugh?” she asks, still rubbing in his failure in the comedy task. I almost feel sorry for her, cruelly reminded as she will soon be of her failings in life, but then I remember that Danielle has to suffer a little bit for the world to be a brighter place.

Ian_TWFS nominates Cleo for shattering the house calm with her crap character and overstepping the mark with Face just to wind him up. Secondly he chooses Jo for her role in the argument between Jade and Shilpa where she and Danielle laughed. “In my eyes that was supporting Jade.. They may as well have said those things themselves” he says, bang on the money as usual. Ian_TWFS has a promising future as a Camp Activity Leader (no pun actually attended) with the teaching skills and emotional intelligence he’s demonstrated thus far, and I actually like the prematurely wizened yet wise Welshman.

Jack Shit unremarkably picks Face, again for the entirely reasonable response to “Tiara”, after which apparently “he didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the day” (which is patently untrue and, coming from Jack-a-Bory it’s a severe case of pot:Kettle racism). He ums and arrs during the second nomination, complaining it’s “like being arrested” (something tells me he should know. At the very least jaywalking), before plumping for Shilpa for leading Faceman on. Big Brother asks him to clarify over his “arrested” comment to which he fumblingly backtracks; “I’ve never been arrested, so I don’t know.” He looks a little shaken up on his return to the lounge, muttering “they wouldn’t let me go” and “no bastard coppa’s gonna take me alive!”

Jermaine nominates Danielle for being a lazy slattern in the kitchen and a flatulating whore in the bedroom, and Jo for being an inconsiderate chain-smoking witch who enjoys watching dogs fuck.

Jo‘s first nomination is Face because “he looks at me like he wants to kill me”, and makes her want to push him into sulking, so she can moan about what a miserable old git he is. Squirming, she also chooses Shilpa for being a “controlling” “school teacher” type, although she stresses that she doesn’t feel “spoken down upon” (that’s because it’s “spoken down TO” you ignorant joy vacuum).

 Finally Shilpa minxily BETRAYS the Faceman for “not fitting in”, and a collective mid-30s feminine gasp is clearly audible. Oh dear. Apparently Face’s demand for respect leads to tension in the house. Sounds vaguely familiar, Ms Shetty.  Jack is her second choice for being too eloquent and engaging a conversationalist for Shilpa to deal with, or maybe the exact opposite.

 Jermaine, who I’ve noticed cannily deals with conflict by getting Shilpa to ask the group any questions on his behalf and place his shopping orders, is the only person not nominated. He and Face resume their double act in the garden whilst Ian_TWFS dares to ask Danielle for some help drying the dishes. The slob with the gob looks as though she’s been asked to suck off all the nonces in Broadmoor, and clings to her beanbag for dear life.  “I’ve got to rest so I can fit into my bikini,” she whines pathetically, presumably having mistakenly packed the pre-liposuction swimwear. “It’s hard work you know being beautiful” she sighs, making me wish for some sort of futuristic slap-o-vision.  She and Jo laze around, melting into the beanbag, and list the countless times they’ve washed up, such as…er… that time two and a half weeks ago during the servants task, which Danielle still recalls as “very stressful”. Bless, you pair of torpid slothmuffs.

 Ahead of the Mastermind task (which sadly doesn’t involve a beardy bloke and mysterious Chinese henchwoman), housemates pick which treats they would most like to win, to the value of £10. Ian_TWFS leans forward all excited and conspiratorial, “How about we get some face packs and mud packs and we could..” he trails off to unanimous apathy, Face commenting wryly, “You ARE gay aren’t you?”

 Jermaine requests “shoes”, Face requests “single malt” (for a tenner Big Brother had better get their Matalan card out and locate the nearest Lidl). Danielle claims she doesn’t want to get “hammered” in a transparent attempt to prove that she’s clean-living and responsible – and to nick someone else’s booze. Jo has a big song and dance about requesting hair-dye, as she’s going to create a new identity for herself (a brunette mirth-bypass-unit. Wow!). Face can’t resist another wind-up; “I inspired the colour,” he says proudly, playing them all expertly.

Most of the housemates get into the spirit of going through questions for the task except Danielle who flounces off to the bedroom, dimly aware that demonstrations of knowledge don’t allow her to show off her finest features. “Who washes the dishes the most?” jokes Ian_TWFS as she leaves. If anyone’s taking the piss in the house, Jo has to do it hardcore; “Who gets the most excitable and jumps around,” she says shrilly. Face joins in “Who has the loudest laugh?” “Well it wouldn’t be you would it?” Jo snaps, adding “Who talks the most boring shit?” “Who’s going to win?” comes back the classic Faceman slam.

Thinking that this would never have happened if people had gone for the face packs, Ian_TWFS tries to re instill harmony by getting housemates to reveal their favourite colour. That’s right Ian_TWFS, steer them away from controversy!  Jo immediately suggests Face is a “brown lover”, (presumably to do with his “man of beige” wardrobe rather than being a vile racist slur or a reference to bum fun). “Well it ain’t blonde” rallies the Face. “Thank fuck for that” retorts a surly Jo, surely a UK seed in Taunt Tennis.

In the bedroom Shilpa appears to be slowly reading Danielle’s palm (or the contents of her mind) when the latter unleashes an ungodly guff to a mixture of forced hilarity and unforced disgust. “It’s all that ice-cream and junk food” counsels Jermaine sagely. “It’s Shilpa’s curry!” shouts Danielle, “I’ve got the Shetty shits” (of course after gorging yourself on booze and cake all day it would be something Indian cooked by Shilpa that pushed your fragile xenophobic gut over the edge.) Jermaine boasts that he and Face have fresh smelling arse air, “like flowers”. “Not Dirk” says Jo her face screwed into a mask of undisguised hatred to which Faceman merely grins. Winding up Danielle is the new flirting with Shilpa, and probably more likely to have an end result too.

Face is in the Mastermind chair trying to work out what Jo thinks is her most unappealing habit. “She has so MANY” he muses. “What’s unimpealing?” asks Rainman Jack.  Cleo prompts wildly from the sidelines, exasperating Face; “Do YOU wanna sit in the chair?” he yelps and she promptly clams up, like Maureen O’Hara in a John Wayne film. I bet she’s secretly loving it.

The other housemates have varying levels of success, with Danielle apparently getting questions on Jack right proving that they are on the same wavelength or she answered “dunno” every time (or both!).

Shilpa takes the chair and is asked her speciality subject. “Cooking”, she announces confidently. No it was a little joke! It’s “Jermaine”, who urges her to focus on the thought of his ten pound shoes.  “No pressure” growls Jo helpfully, “Just don’t fuck it up”. For the final question she is asked which Michael Jackson song Jermaine listed as his favourite on his application. She correctly states “Earth Song” and the shoes are Jermaine’s. “I thought you told us ‘Smooth Criminal'” accuses Ian_TWFS, the latter being the obviously funnier choice for so many reasons.

Danielle unleashes vapid platitudes in the diary room, wiffling on about all the jolly new friends she made, blah blah blah, amazing experience blah blah.. She likes helping old people. And fucking them. When asked if she’s changed her opinion of anyone she claims that Shilpa used to be an evil controlling tyrant, (dig that hole bitch) but now seems quite nice in comparison (now she’s joining the people isolating Face, which is actually reducing Shilpa ever so slightly in most viewers’ eyes).

Apparently Friday will be a double eviction presumably to a live audience, let’s hope there’s a shit load of S Club Fans there, as we could see ourselves a rumble when Jo’s evicted.

 Amusing BBBM moment of the day. A piece on how the housemates have changed compares their pre-entry videos to their actions in the house. Jack’s video shows him silent and blank, and so do the clips from the house. He’s keeping it real.

 Fact of the day: Jermaine, father to Jermaine2, Jermajesty and JermWarfare also has a child called Dave. She’s eight.

Biased Bit of the day. How I’d like it to finish. Obviously I want Face to win for so many reasons, but mainly because for all the wittering about “fakeness” and “being themselves” – Face actually does seem to have the confidence to remain true to himself, whether he’s being an awkward bastard or not. So here’s the result from winner down that I’d like to see:


1. Face

2. Shilpa

3. Jermaine

4. Ian_TWFS

5. Cleo

6. Jo

7. Jack

8. Danielle


(although a cruel part of me would find Jack finishing above Cleo (in the running order not some sort of nocturnal emission sense) quite satisfying too).


First published 23rd January 2007 on

Day 20 in the rest home for the terminally “in between” and already Jack is coming on in leaps and bounds, forming rudimentary sentences in order to whinge about the mess in the kitchen. To be fair he’s probably only recently made the connection between eating food and messy pants, that causal leap to plates requiring cleaning is still a couple of evolutionary steps away.

Jo, Danielle and Cleo discuss their sense of unease with potential events in the outside world. Danielle sees the bright side; “I’ve never classed myself as a celebrity. Now people are going to know who I am, “. (“Isn’t that Teddy Sheringham’s unfunny racist ex-titrack?”) . It really validates the entire concept of “Celebrity Big Brother” doesn’t it?

Whilst Cleo has a conversation with a helpless carpet cleaner in the bedroom, Face lolls in the garden in his rugged overcoat, every inch the hunkiest hobo.

In the diary room, a panicky Jo develops Stockholm Syndrome, clearly terrified of leaving the house. She talks of her special bond with Cleo, with whom she’s apparently always “on the same page”. Why bother learning how to read more quickly eh?  She then talks about how much Shilpa has surprised her by coming out of herself over the last few days (since the werepig-led triumverate of hectoring shetards was dissolved, curiously enough Jo). However Faceman just drives Jo “insane”, a gripe I’m sure we will hear more of.

Meanwhile Shilpa confides her concerns about Jo’s growing anxiety. In a curious combination of empathy and extreme tactlessness, Ian suggests that Jo is “lost” having ended her career as she knew it. Shilpa suggests that Jo lacks ambition and Ian agrees, “she doesn’t care about being famous”. This explains why she subjected herself to exposure as a hammer-faced binge drinker under the unforgiving nightly scrutiny of Channel 4’s audience.

It transpires that Jermaine was the dirty dawg of the Jackson 5, as ironically Michael would have been underage when they were first confronted by armies of jailbait groupies (it all starts making sense now). He gives us yet another insight into his domestic life, revealing that all his five ex wives attend the same parent evenings at the same school with him, and that they all had his children delivered by the same doctor. Aside from the fact they’re divorced it’s almost like a great big horny mormon happy family!

Cleo, Danielle and Jo huddle together in the bedroom when Face wanders in hunched up and grumpy at the world in general, and probably Cleo in particular. In response to Jo’s “How are you?”, he grunts about it being cold and carries on with his business. This isn’t good enough to Jo, who starts an alcohol-paranoia induced whispered rant in the corner about Face being “fucking rude”, before he leaves the room, whereupon her tirade of hate continues. “He’s got an attitude problem” she spits to the others, furiously trowelling on make-up. “He ain’t fucking deaf, it’s selective hearing” (it probably is, but can anyone blame him?). “He’s a miserable twisted bitter old man who still thinks he’s 25, but he ain’t, he’s 60.” She snarls poisonously, the very portrait of a lady herself, missing the irony that at 28 she looks and acts closer to 70. Oh Jo, you foolish, graceless bitter little woman. You’ve just flushed away your final bobbing chance of garnering any form of public sympathy with a convenient panic attack.

The housemates are set a “Showgirls” style task, which from the sequence shown on the plasma screen, apparently involves gyrating around like a drag queen on poppers whilst wearing a porno bra and minge-garrotting thong ensemble straight off 1970s prime-time entertainment shows. A dribbling Jack sucks his thumb, transfixed by the video. You’d have thought this would be right up Cleo’s street, considering her portfolio of work, but she, Jo and Shilpa object immediately to the skimpy costumes, and start planning their £1 a day diet, as though there was somehow something wrong with objectifying and demeaning women on national television. The spoilsports! Danielle, desperate to be seen as the only geezer bird in the house, pretends to be up for it, and accompanies Shilpa to the diary room to complain on behalf of the others; “I think some of the girls have a problem with the outfit”.  Not her, like, cos she’s madferrit and has no qualms about flashing her bubblies to gain approval. An “appropriate” outfit is promised (Prince Harry probably has a few spare), and Face points out that the men probably should also be concerned. Danielle causes many a traumatic flashback by squealing “Put Jack in a thong and he’d be made up.” Thanks for that from my ears and my eyes.

Jermaine confides to Big Brother that he feels strange performing, not with his brothers, but with a bunch of vacuous nimboids. He imagines his siblings mocking him for “dancing by numbers” and feeling that he always could have done better, giving another scary taste of deeply imprinted Jackson family values.

A series of excruciating sub-generation game rehearsals ensue, with poor Face under constant scrutiny from the brand new harpies, who pounce every time he fucks up. Ian_TWFS bravely strives for some semblance of common focus and co-ordination whilst the women shout out conflicting instructions simultaneously. Jermaine and Face observe the chaos like a resigned and broken Waldorf and Statler. “There’s too many chiefs,” sighs Jermaine, whilst Face more succinctly sums up the mess with a heartfelt “Jesus Christ!”

The move doesn’t improve when Ian and Shilpa try to take charge. Jo wears the smacked arse face of an Asbo teenager who’s been caught shoplifting in WH Smiths. Danielle sulks; “I hate being controlled”, (“control” being the last possible applicable word for this situation). “I get fucking frustrated, ” she continues petulantly, “I don’t get told what to do at home.” This explains why you’re coming across as Viz’s Spoilt Bastard with a wig, gland problem and speech impediment.

Face and Jermaine shiver manfully in Nowhere discussing how they’re surviving their private hell by rotating underwear, admiring Ian’s leadership skills and complaining about the cold. Please Big Brother install a brazier and soup kitchen just for them. “You could put your socks on your hands” suggests Face helpfully. Jermaine is more creative; “Or boil some potatoes and put them in my pockets”.  “Would you do it again?” asks Jermaine, adding “for all the tea in China?” as a sweetener.

Face seems unenthusiastic, “Maybe all the tea in China or,” he pauses, “A million bucks”. They laugh warmly and genuinely until Jermaine is driven in by the cold Elstree wind, to Face’s amusement. The latter remains stoically huddled outside; an old fashioned hero facing a bleak post-apocalyptic world.

Rehearsals continue later with Face spiritedly trying his best (and doing his own groovy thang when that fails). Danielle asks if he’s struggling to which he ruefully wisecracks “Nobody’s noticed”. Jo butts in unnecessarily harshly;  “Don’t you go fucking this up for everyone”, prompting  Ian_TWFS to give Face extra tuition in some private dirty dancing sessions. In Nowhere Danielle announces “Dirk’s so funny”. A bitter, jilted Cleo hisses “Is he?”

Ian_TWFS’s suffering with the weight of responsibility “If I fuck up everyone fucks up”. Endearingly the Welshman like Jermaine worries about his brothers thinking he’s a knob (you’re not in STEPS now Ian). He appeals to the “Little Britain” demographically by wistfully relating how his very Welsh nan keeps on asking if he has a “special friend” (“What that boy needs is some greasy fist action).  Jo can’ t resist an opportunity for a bitch about the Face. “You try having a giggle with him and he gets the hump”, she moans. Some recipients of pack sexual bulling truly have no sense of fun.

The “Showgirls” task eventually kicks off with the housemates dressed in a bizarre fusion of flamenco and circus.  Ian_TWFS actually does a great job of shouting out instructions to the mob. Shilpa looks amazing, and manages to make everyone else look out of time. Jack is a plank (he’s really going for it!) , Jermaine works hard and Face is a complete joy to behold, ever the showman. Don’t take my word for it – watch it on Youtube.

The results are announced and, despite Face and Jack receiving two fails each, they pass, which sends Ian_TWFS into a paroxysm of OTT delight, reminding us all unfortunately of That Wanker From Steps.


“We can eat we can eat” he bellows as he bounces around spazmodically – like Tigger on Sunny Delight.

“Didn’t you eat TODAY” deadpans Jermaine wearily (unaware that Ian_TWFS has ordered “cock” on his luxury budget).

Danielle adds perspective; “I can get me nail varnish!” she screams happily.

Whilst magic superhero cleaners Mountain man and OCD boy blitz the kitchen clean, the remaining housemates blissfully gorge themselves on their treat of chocolate cake, ice cream and lashings and lashings of lovely booze, which seems to perk Jo out of her existential angst no end.

The mad chimps party reigns supreme in the lounge, and Face and Jermaine huddle in the bedroom, their work done. “It’s a frickin nightmare” sighs Face.

Danielle heads to the diary room to demand more twatjuice. “we’ve only got one beer left’ she pleads (and Jo’s mainlining with that).  She suggests that Face is sulking in the bedroom because he “wasn’t very happy at having two fails. He failed yesterday at making you laugh, and now he can’t dance”. How about he’s tired and irritated and has just cleaned up unthanked for a screeching flange of ingrates, you blinking idiotgirl.  “Jo was ratty today, ” adds Danielle, ever on the ball, guessing that it was probably because Vinegar tits was tired and “hadn’t had her nap”. (Or nip – of meths). Shilpa’s back under fire for being “controlling” by “trying to teach everyone the dance routine”.  Move over the mind police!!! No-one can control Danielle, she’s just a crazy free force of nature. So’s diarrhea.

Jack pipes up in his typical  unsavoury way; “I wanna see Shilpa drunk”. They all repeatedly and insistently cajole her to have one (not at all controlling behaviour) before asking why she doesn’t drink. Shilpa claims she doesn’t like the taste and doesn’t want to make a complete and utter twat of herself. Jo’s confused – surely twattery is part of the fun?  Nice to see that recent events have instilled a respect for other people and their culture into housemates.

Danielle returns from the diary room to hysterically overreact at the hilarious jokey mention of the word “spider”, screaming blue murder around the house at the thought of one lurking ready to pounce upon her gusset. Let’s hope this doesn’t inspire nutters everywhere to send her arachnid  based hatemail .

The elderly statesmen of the house pull their duvets closer.

 “We should come in and scream and make noise when they’re asleep”, Face grumbles.

“Yeah” says Jermaine stoically “but we’re not like that”. Word.

Will Face and Jermaine keep their cool whilst digging a Shawshank style tunnel and crawl through 500 yards of shit (better than the Davina interview) to freedom? We can only hope.

In the live feed that I see, housemates are sat in a Mastermind chair and quizzed about a fellow housemate in order to earn them a treat. There seems to have been some jiggery pokery as to who’s teamed with who as Jack is teamed with Shilpa and Face has to answer questions on the specialist subject of Jo in an attempt to earn her special treat “hair dye” (If I was Shilpa I’d start taking the piss). Most of the questions involve conversations that took place when Face wasn’t present, or even tougher, S Club Lyrics. Asked who Jo’s role model is (to my dismay I remembered that it’s “Karen Carpenter”, he ums and arrs for ages before hilariously guessing “Linda Blair”! I’m not sure how he can connect a woman famed for playing a satanic, growly voiced, twisted, crucifix bothering Devil Child with Jo, but it’s still funny.

The bitches harp on about Face failing tasks recently (because they’ve all given 500% – unfortunately in maths tests).  An unnaturally gallant Jack points out that he’s lost more tasks than Faceman, and earns a look from Cleo that seems to scream “Watch it bigmouth or no more titty for you”. Or maybe I’m reading far too much into her mothering thing.


 “On the application form, Big Brother asked which living person Dirk admired the most. The answer was: Dirk Benedict” (Big Brother explains why Ian_TWFS got a Mastermind question wrong)

“Oh Jack that’s an easy one!” (Face encourages Jack  at Mastermind when he’s asked the name of an Indian film award Shilpa received)

“Jermaine Man!” – Danielle says something nearly funny – and potentially names Jermaine’s next son.

First published 22nd January 2007 on

Day 19 starts with Cleo tut-tutting about the noise that Jack and Danielle made the night before, neglecting to mention her role in encouraging it as an overture of twisted mentalist love to a sleeping Faceman. As “Wake me up before you go go” reverberates insiduously through the house, she watches her object of desire from the kitchen. “He looks like he’s in such a bad mood,” she observes, a wistful smile playing across her lips. To be honest, being serenaded with lukewarm Wham! after an evening trying to escape the gropes of a schizo probably wouldn’t have most people bouncing around full of thanks for another wonderful god-given day.

Danielle and Jo also keep their malevolent beady eyes closely fixed on Face from the bed opposite. Pressed together wearing identical black caps, like the scary murdered twins from “The Shining”, they chime a disingenuous “Good morning” to an unimpressed Face, who ignores them, instead greeting Shilpa purposefully and striding off. Danielle’s immediately on the defensive (coming from the city of defendants, after all they were only a lirrel bi druhhnnk and aving some fun. “God these PEOPLE!” she exclaims.

 In the diary room Face  reiterates his annoyance with Cleo’s crossing of “the line” and invasion of his space the previous night. He agrees to be cordial to Cleo for the sake of group tasks, but stresses “Do not touch”. I feel your sense of violation Faceman, and dread the introduction of Cleo’s gimp “friend”/character Alan Intruder.

The preview before the adverts appear to show the bottom half of Jack. The bonus means no nasty oily Jude Law face, but he makes up for this by wriggling his nasty, playdough cock around, and I feel as though I’ve been touched wrongly.

 The task has to be one of the finest ever on this show; each housemate is given five minutes in the diary room with a choice of props in which to make Big Brother laugh. Immediately Cleo starts beasting the Face in her effortlessly excruciating faux-mummy way, “You could do your act where you’re singing and then telling a story.. that’s REALLY FUNNY.” She neglects to add “Dahhling! Mwah!”, but somehow it’s audible anyway.

 Whilst Cleo nips off to transform herself into another scary fun-free character for the next three hours, Jo’s bemoaning her lack of inspiration. “I’ve only got one idea. I’m not funny,” she shockingly informs us all. For some reason most housemates choose to wear a non-comedy wig to express their wacky ways; have none of these people even watched “Extras”?

 The mortified look of depression and terror on the faces of some of the housemates as they assemble around the dining table awaiting their call is truly wonderful to behold. Ian_TWFS in particular is fixed with the pallid expression of a boy who’s soiled his pants in the queue for the school medical. Welcome to the world of comedy.

“I aven’t gorranything to say, ” whines Danielle, wearing the accursed Cleo red wig of unfunniness. The housemates politely refrain from suggesting that no-one will notice. Called into the diary room she does a flaky “Aveline” impression rendered more upsetting by the fact that even in character she still chooses to define herself by an urge to fuck Teddy Sheringham (“Oooh Teddy ooh!”), no doubt propelling her boyfriend ever closer to solace in the arms of Ashley Cole. Despite playing her ace and jiggling her breasts (and presumably offering whoever’s judging this a soapy scousy titwank), she fails and exits the diary room looking like an abused puppy. “Never mind, you’re too pretty to be funny, “Face consoles knowingly. Her features brighten; “I know!”

Jo slumps in next and actually does well with a nice rubbish camel joke told in cockney (“What you got the ump for?”) earning a tinny laugh track and a pass. Her victorious exit drives the stake of failure deeper into Danielle’s shallow little heart, and I thank Big Brother yet again for such a simple yet fiendish task.

Ian_TWFS’s called before he starts puking and crying , and for a character act put together so quickly does brilliantly and bravely, even if it is an “impersonation” of a geeky virgin called Cecil singing “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley . Personally, I think Ian_TWFS’s is dealing with some issues from those bully-filled schooldays. However,  I’m hooting by the time Big Brother presses the laugh button and he skips out a free man.

 Next up is Face, who rather self deprecatingly drawls through the old horse at the bar chestnut (“why the long face?”), recieving a confusing mechanised kertish response from Big Brother. Rather lost – he invents what I ever objective believe is a genius limerick (so genius it has one extra line! Come on!) which fails to get a laugh from the miserable cunts.  He re-enters the lounge branded unfunny, to Danielle’s unfettered delight.

All this time Cleo has been perfecting her lines and teasing her wig and make-up, ready to show us the funny. She looks like the geriatric bastard child of Joan Rivers and David Bowie (In “Labyrinth”).

 Jermaine’s next and I’m willing him to be funny. After a sweetly childish sketch involving him removing his earwax with a big stick (no-one asked you to re-enact your childhood Jermaine!). He goes on to introduce a song, “one of my biggest hits. It took me many years to write. It’s called ‘Shake it'”. He produces a pair of maracas and shakes them. And shakes them. And looks defeated. Yet still shakes them. And his face starts to break into the giggles, but still he keeps shaking. Like me Big Brother is obviously so incapacitated by the pure brilliance of this, that it takes them a few minutes to come to and press the LAUGH button. Jermaine’s pass really piles the pressure onto Cleo, who frantically starts consulting her inner copy of “The Method” and channeling the spirits of the comic heroes of the 1970s.

With some trepidation I note that Jack is wearing a dressing gown to accompany his crap Abba wig and shades into the diary room. As feared, his party piece involves stripping down to a bikini top and an ill-fitting thong and willy wobbling away to his monotone rendition of “I believe in Miracles”. I’m tempted to start another complain to Ofcom campaign; this is so upetting. Especially as the more he gyrates the more of the sluglike top of his one-eyed pig-botherer is revealed to me. Big Brother amusingly finds a tasteful “VOMIT INTO SHRUBBERY” noise to which Jack complains that the thong string has “been cutting my balls off for the last two hours” (now THAT act might have raised a chuckle eventually). “That’s all I’ve got”, he claims fairly accurately. Thank goodness he didn’t remember that he can make it sick too.

 Reminding us all of what a serious business comedy can be, Cleo enters the diary room and proceeds to deliver a horrifically laughless sub-Grenfell Cupid Stunt tribute act. I find it difficult to even type about her simpering “Dorothy Montgomery”, wife to loaded, yet incontinent biscuit heir “Wilbur”. On top of the emotional scars inflicted by Jack’s little turn it’s all just too raw and too soon.

News of Cleo’s failure reaches Ian and Face in the garden, Face incapable of resisting being an ever so slightly smirky Dirk. “I didn’t work hard enough and she worked too hard, ” he correctly surmises. Ian tries to be nice “Maybe she needs an audience”. “Maybe she’s not funny,” comes Face’s reposte and he launches into a diatribe against comedians who always blame their audience that makes me love him even more.

Finally it’s Shilpa’s go, and she introduces her banana obsessed aunty, before a superheroically speedy change into a crazed gurning version of the granny from the Kumars. Complete with headscarf and goofy teeth, she pleads “HAVE A BANANA!” in increasingly desperate tones. It’s hysterical and has me repeating the phrase to my friend for the rest of the night (Does that make me a racist? Sadly I’m now wishing her character had shouted “HAVE A POPPADUM” as I would have soiled myself with joy). Successful, she dances out into the kitchen, much to the chagrin of a stony-faced Cleo. Never mind Cleo, have a banana. I’m still laughing.

Dirk, Jermaine and Ian_TWFS discuss Cleo’s vainglorious failure in the garden, Ian expressed sympathy for the wit-vacuum as she worked so hard at the task. “She works hard at EVERYTHING,” suggests Face pointedly, as he and Jermaine collapse yet again into the snickers of the poetically judicious. “I think she’s funny, “argues Ian_TWFS lamely. “She doesn’t have a funny bone in her body,” comes Face’s brutal review. Critics can be so cruel. Like those ones in the 80s who told Cleo she could make people laugh. She must keep all her funny in her tits.

 The reward is almost as beautifully borderline wrongmo as the task, with the housemates being given alcohol and the chance to watch the video of each of their comedy efforts in front of everybody else. Cleo stiffens visibly as her time approaches.  Firstly we have to suffer the mental trauma of Jack’s sack, at which Shilpa wisely protects her retinas from scarring by hiding her face in her hands, whilst Ian_TWFS destroys this weeks sales of Heat magazine by suggesting that “Jack’s trunk” may be featured within. As Cleo’s clip plays the camera pans round to the collected “audience”, capturing the very essence of comedy death. As somewhere a bell tolls mournfully, Danielle’s mouth forms a silent O of disbelief on her malnourished Cabbagepatch kid face, Jo’s eyes flicker embarrassed from the screen, Ian_TWFS resembles a car crash survivor recovering from shock and Face quietly DirkSmirks. Even the tumbleweeds look a little bit confused.

 Later Face is called to the Diary room and asked whether he wants Big Brother to warn Cleo for her rapey ways, but he takes the classy option and decides to “let it go”, as long as she desists from fisting him in his sleep.

 In the bedroom Jo is again freaking out and wants to go home (presumably she’s concerned that she might have been involved in something that makes her look bad. Oh what can it be?). Shilpa comforts her by stating “You haven’t done anything spiteful” (oh Shilpa if only you knew!). The scene where Jo and Danielle hold Shilpa’s hands in a ludicrously fake bonding session is nearly as sickening as Jack’s dancing jizzgun.

 In the diary room’ s “big chair” Cleo discusses the bad feeling with Face, incapable of understanding why he gets upsets with her when she calls her “friends”, such as sexual predator “Tiara” into the house.  “Tiara”, she claims, “elaborated on the house mood in a funny, fun way”, but Face “really reacted against her“. Some people really have no sense of humour when introduced to psychotic constructs invented purely to prevent someone having to take responsibility for their own sociopathic actions. Tsk!  It makes the fact that Cleo accused Face of having a split personality even more stunning. I guess it takes six to know one.

 Today’s blog has been brought to you by Mr Binky. Blame him, he’s a naughty octopus.

 QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:  “I made MILLIONS being funny, but not in THAT room, ” (Face deadpans about the cutthroat world of comedy)

First published 19th January 2007 on

Welcome back to the regular mixture of flaky reportage, flawed opinion and crap jokes, slightly bloated cos it’s catching up on a whole weekend’s worth of numbskullduggery.

Friday night, and the wind blowing tumbleweeds around a deserted Elstree studio lot is a bizarre post-apocalyptic sight and I half expect to hear the final bars of “99 red balloons” by fuzzy pitted krautrockbitch Nena. Appropriately enough Davina appears to have dressed like a member of the Baader-Meinhoff gang to  underline the gravitas of the situation. She briskly informs us that we have the choice between voting by phone to evict either rubber-faced alleged cypto-facist Jade or delicate Eastern flower Shilpa because “that’s what democracy is all about”. Christ! The truly horrifying thought is that she might be right.

 We join the highlights with Shilpa informing a clearly shocked Jermaine of the coven’s late night farting competition . “You mean I was inhaling somebodies ass?” gasps Jermaine, making a mental note to ask his little brother the name of a good nose replacement surgeon when he gets out.

Big Brother calls Shilpa into the diary room and finally starts living up to it’s Orwellian promise by coercing her into a full apparently scripted  retraction of any sort of racist shenanigans in the house, an arse-covering soundbite rendered meaningless by the fact that Shilpa did not hear any of the comments that kicked off the public hysteria.  Shilpa muses that Jade is probably a nice person “deep down in her heart” (pretty fucking deep).

Jack the Hatstand demonstrates his versatility and originality by emulating his girlfriend’s celebrated and “hilarious” geographical retardery with yet another slight to East Angular. After claiming that his parents went shooting in  Norfolk, he’s asked where Norfolk is and clearly has no idea. “I dunno, is it in Suffolk?”

Ian_TWFS tries to teach Shilpa a traditional Welsh song called “Pure Heart” about burning down English bastards’ holiday homes. She gets the words slightly muddled and giggles to which he cheekily asks “Are you taking the piss out of my culture…my roots and my language?”

Jade gets called to the headmaster’s office, I mean Diary room, where Big Brother continues her briefing of the situation “Listen very very carefully… Big Brother will not tolerate you using this language again.” (the warning appears to be based upon use of the word “poppadom”, so presumably using “fuckawalla” and being a bullying beastoid is fair enough. Now, I’m not 100% sure, but there’s a fair chance that if I ask at my local Bangledeshi restaurant for a plate of “vile racist taunts” with mango chutney and lime pickle, they won’t make the connection).  Jade denies being “racial” in any way, having only pulled a name out of the air based on “Indian food”.  Of course reducing a complex and varied culture to a foodstuff isn’t racist, as one could so easily refer to Jade and her mother as “bargain buckets” or “battered old fish flaps”.

Less than a minute later, Jade calls Shilpa into the garden for a meaningful and entirely unstaged “reconciliation”. As soon as Shilpa removes her pink fluffy anti-Nazi earmuffs, Jade admits her crispy bread based insult and apologises with the time-honoured justification,  “I can’t be racial, my mum has Indian friends all over the place”.

Whilst indoors Jo and Danielle ask Jack to go out to the garden and spy on proceedings, Jade again denies being racist, saying she was shocked with what she had said “when Big Brother read it” to her (well duh!). Shilpa manages to sweetly twist the salty knife by suggesting that “A lot of Indians have heard it. It’s not going to go down  well… sometimes you say things that you can’t take back.” They force a hug (with Jade beaming out a soap opera “off the hook” smile over Shilpa’s shoulder) and stroll back in together, a study in plastic harmony.

Back in the lounge Hatstand launches himself like a vile ratboy from the sinking Goody ship, announcing that he is “disappointed” in his celebrity meal ticket and wanksock.

Meanwhile, in Elstree, Davina stands in front of a row of obviously symbolic portaloos whilst announcing the nominees phone numbers again (is it my imagination or is there a sound dip during Shilpa’s number?)

A painful and unnaturally articulate (on Jade’s side) “kiss and make-up” is performed in the diary room, with each claiming to have learned things from the other. It has all the authenticity of snuff movie star Saddam Hussein’s photo-opportunity with that clearly terrified English child hostage during the first gulf war.

Later Jade returns to the DR for a redemptive blub saying she wants to leave, doesn’t want to be hated for the wrong reasons, and, like Vic and Bobs Man with the Stick, really misses her kids. That’ll be the kids she’s been mentioning every day in the house…oh.  In a genius display of point-missing she angsts about whether her “effing and blinding” has been blown out of proportion in the outside world. In contrast, Shilpa sweetly frets about any repercussions Jade may have to face, and refuses to discuss the reasons for this maelstrom of mentalism with any fellow housemate.

Nominations are finally announced as Shilpa and Jade, and a startled bunny-faced Danielle and hatchet-faced, vinegar-titted Jo look fearfully around, trying to assess who’s betrayed their queen bee. Jermaine and Shilpa seem somewhat less surprised. Later the stooges cuddle up in bed. “If you get out and see Teddy tell him I love him, ” pleads Danielle, earning her man a lifetimes worth of homophobic abuse in the changing room. Jade asks Shilpa if she can borrow her “cheering up” wings and the backing witches snigger (perhaps more acquainted with “brown” wings), Danielle in ambassadorial mode, adding that when they all come out they can visit Shilpa in Indian and “buy some saris”.

Suddenly a helicopter looms outside and the blinds are lowered. I half expect Dirk to go all “Apocalypse Now” and start wittering about Charlie being out there getting stronger and throw himself at the nearest mirror. No-one seems surprised about this intrusion, Cleo saying “you know why [it’s here]… certain things… that were said…accidentally”. I know how it feels, I meant to say “80 pence please” to a bus driver yesterday, and “accidentally” said “I hope you get raped by an angry AIDS baboon”. Happens to the best of us.

Face is drily amused by the obvious media interest, “At least we know the world doesn’t have any serious problems!” He finally lives up to his fugititive past and suggests breaking the window, claiming “NIce guys finish last.” Go Face! (But don’t give yourself a hernia). He and Ian_TWFS discuss making an action film based on his past glories, where a team of “macho guys” come out of the closet. There could even be a Liza Minelli soundtrack. Yes it’s the “GAY team”. It’s not just me that can do rubbish puns folks.

Friday’s task involves the housemates making musical style noises to accompany Rossini’s William Tell Overture, although it bears more than a passing resemblance to the Elvis graveside acapella scene in Spinal Tap. Afterwards Jo curls up on the sofa, a drip forcing pressurised Tesco sherry into her hungry veins. “Just a little top up, it makes me happy,” she growls contentedly.

The other housemates suspecting that something may be up from the subtle but ominous clues (such as the fuck-off Sky Helicopter hovering overhead and a visitation by the ghost of Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal) sit in the lounge with Jade; Ian_TWFS amusingly cheating at 20 questions in order to ascertain the nature of the problem “Let me guess, does the word begin with “R”?” Jade fears booing and rejection from the crowd as well as crucifixion by the press and the loss of her career. Well at least there isn’t a crowd, which Jade already seems to have miraculously sussed. “I know why there’s no noise, but I can’t tell you”.

Jade is evicted to silence and not exactly universal disbelief. Some reports say that Davina’s interview was deliberately soft due to her sharing Jade’s agent, although it came across as probably the best one I’ve seen her do (not saying much), perhaps because she lets the news reports and footage speak for themselves, and doesn’t attempt to help Jade justify her actions. A gobsmacked despite being obviously forewarned Jade struggles to salvage what credibility she ever had, like a wildebeest swimming through crocodile-invested treacle, claiming that she wasn’t being racial or saying anything in a cruel way. “But Jade, it was in a cruel way. You didn’t like Shilpa,” points out Davina gently but firmly, before wisely moving on to condemn the pack mentality of the muggerbabes.  Stunningly, given the situation, Jade attempts to highlight the things that Shilpa said to her, which Davina reminds her was her first reaction to the group after several days of being treated like shit. Finally a contrite (i.e. beaten) Jade states that she’s “disgusted” in her behaviour and she can’t blame the edit; Davina says she’s been a “controversial” housemate (rather than “amayzing!”) and introduces “the story of [Jade’s] time in the house”  (rather than “highlights”) to a chorus of boos from the gaggle of technicians in the studio. Boy, Endemol know how to punish a bully. We can all sleep sound now.

Jade is perhaps as confused as the rest of us as to what it means to be branded a racist. For example, is it better to say “racist comedian Jim Davidson”, or cut through the crap with “that unfunny cunt, Jim Davidson”? Surely a proper racial hater wouldn’t be concerned about being identified as such? Arguably her main mistake has been to continue the feud her mother started with Shilpa. However for reflecting the fact that we still live in a society where small-minded people can use ethnic or cultural differences and misapprehensions as part of a bullying campaign that might not be initially solely motivated by racist bigotry, someone has to pay, and it’s clear from the frankly terrifying “Ding dong The Nazi Werepig is dead” style headlines from the weekend’s tabloids (and that was just her nan) that Jade was always going to be Endemol’s and our scapegoat. Perhaps in years to come we’ll be comparing her to Jesus and wearing little piggy pendants (wobbly heads and one trotter pointing aggressively) from Argos.

Back in the house Jack shoots Shilpa an evil look, but from his dead-eyed, slack jawed face it has all the impact of a baby chimp impersonating Leo Sayer flipping the finger.

Cleo (who continues to metamorphose into Fanny Craddock, baking cookies and generally mothering the housemates with a fixed rictus grin) exclaims that they all “must look after Jack”, who poses expressionless in the kitchen. By next week expect her to start breastfeeding him whilst he dribbles through every orifice (in fact later this weekend she actually BURPS a drunken Danielle. So it starts). As the girls crowd round Jack offering sympathy there is a faint and eminently punchable Jude Law smugness playing about his lips.

In the bedroom, Danielle sensing it’s time for some positive PR manages to covincingly behave like a two-faced ubercunt by explaining to Shilpa how “it was silly of Jade to say them things” and presenting her role as being that of a naïve young good-hearted girl led astray by the evil svengali-like powers of Jade. “You can even cook me a curry. And you can pick the onions out with your fingers, “she continues digging, ever the diplomat.

Moments later back in the lounge with Jo, Danielle’s blank little John Boy Walton face is blurred with tears and terror. She confides in Cleo that the situation has scared her “not just for Jade.” “Is it something you said?” asks Cleo warily. “No, er well not things I might’ve said… well yeah I suppose so” says Danielle, like a hoodie warrior getting an asbo at Liverpool>. “I was there when Jade said those things…does that make me look bad?” (not at all, although I can’t comment on what being a casually racist vacuous, hard-faced, tenuous-fame-whore does for you).

The next morning “Man in the Mirror” is piped into the house as a wake-up call (in both an alarm clock and a spiritual sence presumably, although it could just be to remind them all that spotty, greasy haired camera-geeks are observing them whilst they floss) . Faceman shows some pretty nifty dance moves with Cleo, whilst Shilpa reprises her wacko tribute act by staggering around wearing huge shades, hair straggling over her face.

Saturday morning and the opening yells of the late great wifebeating nutter James Brown’s Sex Machine puncture the household peace, amusingly scaring the living crap out of Ian_TWFS.

Face bullshits happily that he hasn’t had a shower for 4 days, earning the epithat “Dirty Dirk”. Whilst Jo and Danielle express disgust, he goes on to explain how his sweaty masculine musk could mesmerise even (or especially) a lesbiotic nun at fifty paces. Jo retorts that “A man that didn’t have a wash in 3 or 4 days wouldn’t excite me” (It would if it was Fatima Whitbread Jo). Asked whether he misses anything from the outside, Face deadpans “I miss my porn mags”, but admits he’s only playing when Jo and Danielle ask for the lurid details.

Jack_twat_hat_ratboy’s pants stick limply to the bathroom floor to the consternation of Shilpa, who ultimately excuses him as “He’s a very lost boy” (no he’s a sickening, viral incubus).

A misjudged campaign against the Faceman starts to brew amongst the remaining bitchtards and Cleo, who sneer patronisingly as they watch him skip and claim to be sending signals to the outside world. When he emerges to sarcastic applause fresh from the shower, he responds to Shilpa’s request for a (hopefully not rohypnol strength) sniff-test by looming over her for an innocent back-feel and prat-fall. “I will have my way with you” he teases archly. Slowly the slapperettes ensure that the banter becomes more sexual, and secretly plot to set up Face with Cleo.

Danielle and Cleo mock his muskiness and ask for his best chat-up line. Rather reluctantly Face claims he ignores the laydeez and they come a running, a tactic Jack attests to, as apparently “it works in clubs” (you’ve got to hang your coat somewhere eh girls?).

Cleo decides that the best way to teach Faceman a lesson for not fancying her is to dress up like a scary zebra-frocked, scarlet bewigged slagnasty and clumsily come onto him using a bizarrely shit cockney accent, like the world’s crappest Kat Slater tribute prostitute displaying all the respect for personal space of a coked up Emu. Whilst Face slumbers merrily on the couch, like my dad but without the unconscious flatulence, Cleo pounces upon him, all “Ello dahling, suck you off for a tenner, I fackin love you I do! The more you ignore me the more you love me” etc. etc.  Meekly he pleads for her to “Stop”, yet still this sinister charade of sexual mindgamery persists. “Go on, give us a smacker” she cries to which Face responds “I’ll give you a smacker all right. Get your fat ass off the couch”,sparking an international incident about wifebeatery and misogyny. Not really, because that would be a silly over-reaction and could never happen. With a swaggering display of wounded-dignity, Face exits, with Cleo’s mocking taunts and promises that she loves lentils ringing in his weary ears. She pursues him through the house and garden, oblivious to his requests that she leave him be, until Shilpa uses a rubbish subterfuge (“erm I want to ask you how you did that makeup… in the toilet”) to drag Cleo to her lavatory haven and beg her to desist in harrassing the Face. Immediately Cleo excuses her creepy sexpestery by claiming that Faceman has dished it out but can’t take it. Erm. Words fail me, as even the men I know who fantasised in their youth about Cleo’s knockers would have been terrified limp by this overtly aggressive show.

“It wasn’t being ‘playful'” Face correctly surmises to Ian_TWFS later (ironically echoing the thoughts of groped women everywhere.) He adds glumly that it’s “Only a week. I could live with Hitler for a week” (if she hadn’t already been evicted).

Meanwhile Danielle chortles as she “playfully” suggests putting chilli powder into Face’s shorts and underpants; “He’s opened himself up for torture now”, Jo gleefully adds.

Cleo (showing all the sanity of an aging doll collector) in the diary room states that Faceman’s response to ‘Tiara’ (Cleo’s non-comedy character, that disturbingly she refers to as a real person) proves he has “zero” sense of humour.

In Nowhere-land Shilpa attempts to comfort the mortified Face – who wears the demeanor of a slapped…er.. face. – by claiming that the girls are just bored. To the molested Faceman that’s no excuse, “I told her to STOP”, he validly bleats. “If I was teasing you and you said stop, you stop. Right?” The Face says “No means No”. It’s gone from “potential racists” to “potential rapists” in the house in the matter of days. I predict an outbreak of rabies next.

In the bedroom Jermaine and Shilpa despair of this fresh reign of wankerdom. “Why can’t they be fair and balanced, “complains Jermaine. “Like CNN News, ” he guffaws. As the self-appointed piper of peace he approaches Cleo and pleads for sanity vis-à-vis the threat of spicypantsgate.  She immediately justifies herself with mock disgust at “an old man talking about porn to young girls”. IS it just me or a world crying “oh for fucksake!”?

Cleo now seems to have assumed control of the coven and discusses how close to “cracking” Faceman is with Jo. Cleo knows the look of a man on the edge of insanity and loves it; “It’s so close…best to take the route that we’re not to blame”. “Crack – Motherfucker!” cackles Jo.

In the diary room Faceman admits the whole not showering/porno thing was just taking the piss, and plans to stay out of everyone’s way (especially Cleo, who he amusingly describes as “a desperate woman acting out her frustation and despair and loneliness”) for evah.

Jermaine and Face continue their garden bonding, the latter predicting public opinion of them; “those guys who sit under the heaters every night. Get rid of them. They’re duds.” They laugh. Someone should buy them matching rocking chairs and blankets really.

At the same time Cleo and Jo dissect the Face and his supposed “attitude” towards women. Hell hath no fury like a Cleo scorned; “He’s an old man under the illusion that he’s still attractive to women”, she spits (as opposed to a woman of ambiguous age under the illusion that she’s a hilarious minx – I’d go for the granddad). Jo claims that Face’s “problem is that he doesn’t have any manners”, rich coming from a woman who’s finishing school was Dog Borstal. Shilpa (who sadly remains present whilst the bitchpack hone in, lets loose that Face was “impotent at 29” – (ouch – he’ll thank you for sharing that one). Full of good intentions she then mentions his cancer and his wife leaving him. “I’d have left him an’all,” spits Jo.

Whilst Face curls up in bed, the girls get pissed and play table footy, Danielle’s screeches of joy reverberating round the house like the amplified death throes of a scouse pterodactyl. Their giggling twattery continues in the bedroom, with them taking turns to push each other onto Face’s bed. All a bit of a laff innit?


“I’m a prick. I dunno why I put myself back in ere.” (Jade sees the light)

 “I’m not spiteful and not on purposeful nasty…but I can be because I’m stubborn.” (Jade explains herself to Shilpa).