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!)