First published 9th January 2007 on

I fear that the hitherto utterly detached and objective stance of this blog may well be compromised by the fact the author is falling in love with the Face (it had to happen). I realise, in the words of David Essex, that it’s a love that can never be: I’m short and dumpy – he might be a Republican. Nonetheless, and I feel unclean to confess this, I would still happily Lewinsky the cigar of 61 year old cancer survivor Dirk Benedict.

He may be playing games with the Shilpa “romance”, but who cares? When the housemates, led by head-snoop Carol, quiz him about his intentions he retains his sense of humour. “She can only marry an Indian” insists Carol cruelly, “although she doesn’t have an arranged marriage – her family are very liberal about these things”. “Yeah,” deadpans Dirk, “I think they can have unlimited parents”.

In the diary room Leo demands his contract, citing the “inhumane”, “noise terrorism” tactics used by Big Brother on eviction nights in the form of an “endless clapping sound” (to be fair, unfamiliar noises can be upsetting). “You don’t know me, “growls the diminutive mophead, in an eerie Smeagol:Gollum moment; “I don’t want to expose the person I’m becoming to the outside world”. Well they’ve already had the Sulk, please God not the Flash . After “reading” the contract for 9 minutes, and presumably not being able to decipher a word, Leo stalks out of the diary room. That told Big Brother. Moments later he is back in wacky voice mode – his Holy mission to function as a one-man-entertainment machine (i.e. act like Colin Hunt on angel dust) overpowering his need for aural comfort (and everybody else’s).

The series’ INSANIA moment may terrifyingly have arrived in the form of Leo’s new musical “project” which he unleashes on an innocent Jermaine Jackson. “Every hour is HAPPY hour”, Leo warbles. Perhaps it’s a one man show and he does a similar song for the other six dwarfs. The world needs a social realism musical.

In the diary room Face (swoon) proves he ain’t just that by stating that Leo and Jackiey are very similar. Face was talking about their constant inane chatter, but I reckon he’s hit the nail with regards neediness and psychosis too.

Face also manages to put himself down for not being able to understand Jade, Jo, Jackie or Danielle when they speak – funnily enough the people that even us Brits need subtitles for. Face feels lonely (and as I suspected his mini-flirts with Shilpa were keeping him going (it’s like the Tim and Dawn of Big Brother awwww)

“I can only listen to Leo for so long”, Face sighs. “Sometimes the loneliest place to be is in a crowd.”

If he’d gone on to quote Sartre’s “Hell is other people”, I may have soiled myself in ecstasy . Perhaps Jack will suddenly shout it out it in a dazzling moment of vocalised insight to rival Silent Bob.

Hurrah, the housemates are playing Master and Servant no more, and more misery is heaped upon Leo (he makes me feel like killing – wooo!) when it is revealed that he failed the bit that involved staying awake at night. The housemates win a choice of takeaway and Jackiey is asked to write all their choices down. “ASIAN, JAPANESE OR INDIAN” she growls like a cockney Steven Hawking turned up to eleven. Shilpa offers to help (How many times Shilpa? STAY. AWAY. FROM. THE. MENTAL) by heinously suggesting that the menus can be passed around the group. Predictably Jackiey goes ballistic, Jade tries and fails to calm her down and ends up crying in Nowhere with Jack. When she discusses always having had to have been “a mum” to her mum, you actually do feel for Jade. Where she is IS amazing given the obvious lack of chances she had in life. I suppose rather than despising her – I just hate what she stands for – that whole “let’s reward stupidity – cos [HURR HURR] it’s funny” attitude of reality television. I know people from similarly deprived backgrounds who have worked hard, learned amazing things – and are still paupers in comparison to Jade. There’s a Marxist rant a-coming about selling working class people brain-destroying television featuring brain-destroyed working class people – but that’s a whole different meeting, people.

Anyone else with any sense in the house tiptoes around Jackiey as though she’s a care-in-the-community firework seller. Not Leo – who on his release back into the Main House has discovered a new captive audience. The Goodys are enthralled by Leo’s hilarious and vast repertoire of voices, characters and sounds (creepy Leo, zany Leo, squeaky Leo etc.). Carol is more circumspect, “You’re laughing now, but you’ll be smacking him around the face tomorrow”. Leo glares at her – I think he’s feeling thunder in his face (sorry).

Flattered by the attention and H’s somewhat less than sincere compliments, Jackie proceeds to pass gifts of jewellery round to the housemates. “Oh thank you”” breathes Cleo, fingering her cheap tat (stop that!) breathlessly. Jackiey does puppet jerks of smugness as she reveals that her apparent generosity is really part of a masterplan of exclusion:

“Don’t think I’m giving INDIAN any present,” she says. Really. And not one person dares to pull her up on this. A few days ago Russell Brand defended Jackiey saying “she’s not racist; she just can’t pronounce unfamiliar names”. What’s the excuse this time Russell? “Awww leave her be – at least she knows her geography.” Could endemol pay this appalling woman’s fee to Searchlight please?

While we’re at “spot the wacky racist” – later on during the live show, Leo treats those lucky Goodys to a variety performance (it’s true, sometimes ignorance is bliss). From a “Big Brother” style voice that sounds like a camp dalek, he progresses to a new character, his whole body shaking with mirth at his genius, “Big MUTHA”. He then launches into a “Big Mutha” old-style stereotype of a black woman that makes Mammy Two-Shoes out of Tom and Jerry look like Thandie Newton. The camera switches to Jermaine’s slightly uncomfortable face.  The only “noise terrorism” is the sound of (hopefully) Sayers’ career imploding.

I lurch bedwards in disgust as Jackiey compares Dirk to Columbo and Leo, jealous of the momentary switch in attention, begins to do the shittest Columbo impression I have ever seen, reeling around on the spot like Leatherface without his chainsaw, bellowing “There’s just one more thing” again and again until even the Goodys tire of him and beat him to death with hair-straighteners, before throwing his still-twitching corpse over the wall as a feast for the dogs of Elstree. I may have dreamed that last bit.

Anyhow if you’re arsed to throw your cash at this shower of shite, I’d suggest voting to keep Silent Jack over Jackiey and Jermaine. But really can any of us be ars…