Celebrity Big Boring......

Without even time for the turkey and mince pies to settle, 2010’s television offerings begin with the usual freak fest commonly known as celebrity big brother. The only mercy that we are given this year is that this will be its final outing. Seemingly, the programme schedulers at C4 have realised that watching 10 people trapped in a house for 6 weeks doing nothing more than arguing over who is the most famous has become as popular as a Muslim memorial march through Wootton Bassett. In fact, I think the British public would much rather see Amjum Chaudry and his brainwashed moronic cronies pelted with cabbages and bricks than watch Dane Bowers and Alex Reid sniff each others fingers whilst discussing which position in the chart they were in the thousand or so shags Katie Price has racked up (Although I’ve heard Bowers stands at 391, whereas Reid is 890, but Reid’s higher in the bum chart).

I must say at this point that I’ve never been a fan of the normal BB. I always found that the first series with Craig and Nasty Nick was great TV, but everything that followed meant the normal contestants all knew how the show worked and went in with an agenda. I think around the third series, I took the decision that I would rather do a handstand in a brown paper bag full of horse piss than watch another minute of desperate wannabees trying to grasp their fifteen minutes by getting fingered under a sheet or sitting on a beer bottle or whatever it is they were reduced to this week. However, these mindless cretins never swayed me from my love of watching the celebrity version. All those big ego’s in such a small space had made for some classic TV. The Vanessa Felt breakdown, George Galloways “cat” moment and Michael Barrymore’s desperate and unsuccessful attempt to win back our hearts all immediately spring to mind.

So after bemoaning channel 4 for dragging it out for another series, I grudgingly tuned in for the first and last ten minutes of this car crash TV extravaganza. Stephen Baldwin was first up, a born again Christian who came across creepier than Edwina Curry performing in a peep show. I was already circling my TV remote when they dragged out number two contenstant. Ex footballers wife and general unknown talentless slag, Nicola T. Davina asked her in front of the crowd what she was least looking forward to? “Urgh, other people’s skid marks in the toilet.” It was at this point I realised I would rather watch "Worlds wildest suicides" than endure another minute, although her outburst did prompt me to think of a rather fitting metaphor.

Picture if you will the stairs leading down the corridor to celebrity big brother as a giant toilet of a house in a prosperous area. Once gleaming white and pristine, the giant celebrity turds that once graced this humongus shitbox have left their marks over the years, smearing their ungracious scrapings down the stairwell as they go. But as time has passed, the area has declined and now the smackheads have moved in. Instead of delicate caviar coated shit pellets marking the porcelain walls, it’s now mars bars and netto baked bean filled dark brown monster logs cramming their way down the piss stained corridors. It’s a year too far for CBB I’m afraid. The area has gone downhill, the toilet is ruined. Time to knock down the house channel 4.