First published 2nd January 2007 on

Of course I refer to the character Templeton “Faceman” Peck as portrayed by Hollywood’s own Dirk Benedict, a star re-acquainted with the tender glow of publicity by unfunny, regional yeti Justin Lee Collins in a show that reunited the surviving cast of seminal gay* 80s action show “The A team” last year, unwittingly fuelling Dirk’s fame addiction to the extent that he chose to enter the British Big Brother House last night. (*of course it’s gay, 4 men living in a van shunning womenfolk, that’s why it was called the “A” team (working title was Coq au Vin)).

Doesn’t Dirk know the true horrific nature of shows like this? I’m only watching so others don’t have to suffer. Forget the gentle old days in which everyone cheered and clapped when Jack Dee flipped and did a runner. In recent years amusingly even Celeb Big Brother has turned into some sort of Baying Twat-athon presided over by the evil Davina McCall (with her scraped back hair and cape last night looking like some sort of podgy demonic Lorraine Chase). Of course the retards yelling for blood, their ringleader Davina and most of the saddoes who watch should be wheeled out and shot in an ideal society – but before that happens I’m turning Queen’s Evidence.

Anyhow on to the circus de horreurs that was the guests entrances, which I sat through having received information that loveable, cardigan-wearing, AIDS family tragedy bearing Starsky from Starsky and Hutch was to enter the house – which of course would have rendered publishing any other phone numbers meaningless.

First in was Jermaine Jackson who amusingly from his video clip seems to share a fear of any sort of dirt and contamination with his more famous fruitcake brother, and is apparently dependant on servants for everything (I still feel a little sorry for what must have been a shockingly mentalist childhood). Jermaine looks very similar to humourless ex world class US god bothering athlete Carl Lewis, which bodes not well. The crowd aren’t sure what to do as he arrives looking as though he’s fallen from out of space. He mutters about how Michael (who the whole family knew was innocent ha) will be watching – probably through some sort of global perving device based on that one a Baldwin had in the film Slither (note to schools – be careful to check the credentials of all visiting engineers) and goes into the Celeb BB prison to wait for madness to descend.

Second to go in  is *cough* disgraced beauty queen and woman who is fucking Teddy Sheringham for money Daniele Lloyd. Sorry but I already find her (as evil bastard Pete Burns would say) rePUGnant with her vacuous little angel face and her ability to only animatedly witter about shopping – with Teddy’s money. All this in a scouse accent – no wonder people think the inhabitants of my lovely home city are thieves. Oh well the football chants down Upton Park should liven up for the brief while she spends in the house. “Oh Teddy Teddy – your missus has fake knockers and she knows fuck all” sprang to my mind. Any others appreciated – p’raps we could send them to Russell Brand to liven up his Guardian footy column. Danielle attempts feebly to justify her Playboy nudie pics by claiming she didnt realise her breasts were being photoed. Well dur! I’d admire her more for brazenly saying “well they’re mine -apart from the placcie bits – I can do what I want with them”. The crowd howl in rage as Danielle approaches the house – which seems a bit sad and OTT until I start thinking that this pair of tits on a stick can probably buy and sell me many times over – and makes me wonder why I spent all those years in education and not on surgery (erm because I would spontaneously combust with self loathing). She goes in and she and Jermaine have no idea who each other is – and Jermaine (being famousish for a slightly better reason) is too polite to tell her.

Next in is Ken Russell. Let me repeat that Ken Russell. I’m a huge fan of Ken Russell’s films – a frankly insane psychedelic mixture of outlandish imagery and soft’ish porn. And he is a loveable English eccentric, but is it fair to put a man of his age and dottiness into a house full of mostly foetus-like wannabes? When Ken bounces through the drizzle and the crowds in his snazziest shirt waistcoat combo squealing “Singing in the Rain” – like some cowardly pig in Animal Farms’ last ditch attempt to save his bacon when the humans return – the crowd are completely and wonderfully nonplussed. It does look a bit like they’ve broken someone out of a mental home just to make Face from the A team feel at home. Davina goes into full on patronising bitch mode and manages to drag Ken precariously into the house as though he’s alzheimer-man – just cos he impersonates sweary Pete. Fuck you Davina – how many great films have you directed you freeloading ex-smackhead skank? Oh how I hate her. Once in the house Ken is perfectly amiable and manages to break the silence caused by the personality vacuum of Jermaine and Danielle. I love Ken!

Next up is Jo O’Meara – to which I think “What?Who? Eh?”. Cos she’s blonde and doing a silly mockney know-it-all voice I at first mishear it as Jo Whiley and my hatred glands start swelling – but no – it’s some woman from some camp kiddy band (S Club?) and I can’t completely despise her – although I suspect that under all that “know what I mean” there is a personality shaped hole and that she’ll turn into a right cow when she starts missing the gack. probably.

Yay! It’s Leo Sayer. Woooh! Dancing! Wooh! I calm down to realise that Leo is slightly up his own arse (he talks about having no negative qualities but then ruins it all by impersonating Anne from Little Britain) but still probably the most amiable and normal person in there so far (saying much?). He later delights me with his cute pyjamas and shock of hair – looking like a John Sessions sketch about scholarship schoolboys. Leo must make Jermaine’s night seem slightly less Dante’s infernoesque by actually recognising him. Jermaine has no idea who Leo is however. Ha! Leo could turn out to be a scary stalky freak who everyone runs away from with his strained “alroight mates!” falling on deliberately deaf ears.

Shilpa Shetty wafts into the house next like something lovely from a Turkish Delight advert. She’s a Bollywood star and is absolutely gorgeous and seems graceful, measured and calm. What the fuck is she doing here? It’s a brave attempt to break her name in the UK – perhaps she should have watched the show before agreeing to do it – and appreciated the true evil nature of the British public. Did David Blaine die in vain? She shows an alarming interest in horoscopes, obviously knows she is gorgeous, swaps curry recipes (actually keep her in – I love new recipes) and is otherwise normal-ish as they come.

Aging hack Carol Malone enters next like a wrinky greying Louis Lane ever sniffing out that fresh story. For once the crowds vocal venom is gratifying. I know some charming intelligent journalists – but imagine if all that stuff was going to waste writing lies and abuse about celebrities. Doesn’t  Malone slag off female celebs for being fat or aging. Well with those wrinkles her mates should have a field day. Sadly when she enters the house the inmates don’t all recognise her at once and beat her to death. Maybe it will take a couple of days.

Next in is wuvvly lickle Donny Tourette that tough talking swaggering lovely little boy from some punk rock band (awww it’s so retro and cute now) the Towers of London. Donny swears, flips the bird and is generally dangerous and rawk and rawl (tough when his mum probably still does his washing) – so Davina (spotting that he is a pussy) sends him up the stairs to bedfordshire. Half way up the stairs he shows the crowd his botty and the cries of wanker intensify. I hope he doesn’t cry himself to sleep about it. In the house he alienates everyone except Leo Sayer who turns out to be an old mate. How rock and roll is that? Unlike the crowd I love Donny (like a baby faced Rhys Ifans with a mullet) and would happily take his virginity.

Next up is H that wanker from Steps who would like to not be known as that wanker from Steps but rather Ian. That wanker from steps reveals that since leaving wanking around in Steps he has been an out of work actor. haha. He has silly Geoffrey from Rainbow hair. He has however just come out – officially anyway- (in “The Sun” brave boy) so I am pleased that the crowd are quite nice to TWFS.

Then it’s Cleo Rocos!!! Yay!! I was always wondering what happened to her. I’m not officially a lezza but Cleo Rocos always made me feel a little funny in her tight lab coat and heels get-up on the Kenny Everett show – so lord knows what the memory is doing to the nuts of any male viewers (even the gay ones) tonight. Cleo looks gorgeous although I miss the mane of black hair, and despite hints of wackiness seems an absolutely lovely person. Would be a shoo-in to win were it  not for that black van coming round the corner, who could be in it, why it’s none other than.

Dirk Benedict – the FACEMAN. After a hacky attempt to “banter” with “BA” in the back of the van (you’d have had to drug more than Mr T’s milk to get him to Elstree) he emerges with cigar hand extension in tow – and thousands of women like me shudder as they realise they still would. He fails to identify the right camera to talk into and Davina mocks him despite the fact she’s been misdirecting people all night. He enters the house with the crowd singing the A team tune and screaming “we love you Face!”. Unless he bum rapes Cleo with his cigar we have a winner. Most of the housemates recognise him vaguely and a murmer of “A team” goes around the room. I watch Face some more and fall in love with his expression of bewilderment upon using doors – as though he has indeed just escaped from a Maximum security unit.

Anyhow on to the dynamics. Jermaine drifts around praying that this is just an awful dream. The OCD is kicking in nicely and when H knocks food on the floor it becomes apparent that Jermaine wants cleanliness at all costs apart from him actually helping clean. “This place needs cleaning so er who’s gonna do it?” he flaps round at people like some sort of spasticulated Felix Unger from the Odd Couple, waiting for a Dettox-wielding Maid to take him away from all this staining.

Danielle accidentally sees Ken Russell’s “meat and two veg” and mocks them. You’d think that with her 20 year age-gap relationship it would be a good idea to get her used to the idea of old man’s cocks by now. Shilpa worries about Ken’s age and keeps on forgetting his obviously difficult to pronounce name – asking if she can call him Uncle. She’s missing a trick there – how good would it be if she sat on his knee saying “tell me again Uncle Ken the stories of Oliver Reed’s pissed up hi-jinx during the filming of “The Devils”. Well I’d watch it!

Jo and H become the bitch team and try to lead everyone to ostracise Donny – but Leo keeps on reminding them all what a nice boy Donny was when he and his chums visited Leo’s house. Hahaha! Poor Donny – love in the house will only lead to derision outside. I’ll be there for you Donny. (I get the feeling I will be put onto some sort of register if I persist like this).

Ken Russell looks so sweet trying to sleep in his jim-jams and blindfold. I really want to protect him from the pack of self-obsessed whores he’s mainly stuck with. Find him a wicker chair to live in and feed him wine.

Cleo helps everyone bring their cases in from the garden whilst wearing kitten heeled slippers and pjs. She carries far far more than her share and  rejects any offers of help. For this I love her – as it’s the sort of daft thing I’d do.

Anyhow my favourites at this early stage in play. Faceman obviously. Cleo. Lovely Ken. And poor little lost boy Donny.

Of course knowing the GBP anything could happen. Bastards.

And where the fuck was Starsky? Too much class. I knew it.