Celebrity Big Brother – the first eviction

Celebrity Big Brother

If you believe the result of The World’s Most Orange Face competition would be a draw between Peter Andre and Donald Trump, take a look at Paul Danan.  Located on the glow spectrum somewhere between an easyJet headrest and a pan of burnt carrots, the marmalade dementor sucks all the colour out of a room, it being unable to compete with his thermo nuclear, Ibiza travel rep hue.


I mention Paul only because this week he fell out with Sarah Harding and insults were exchanged.  The Sun gleefully reported the Wildean exchange: “The pair clashed on Monday night with Paul branding Sarah “insecure” and “moany” while she described him as “psycho, snide and a hypocrite”.  3-2 to Sarah.

Tonight is eviction night.  Who would go? More to the point, who cares? 1.1 million of you, apparently, according to the ratings.  Not as good as Usain Bolt failing to win the 100m final of the World Athletics Championships (8.9 million) but then not as bad as Football On Five (600,000).

Which meant your writer opened £5.99 Côtes de Provence Rosé from Aldi (not sponsoring me either, the swines), switched on the telly, and readied herself for an explosive night’s viewing.


I will make a brief confession here.  I haven’t watched a single minute of CBB since the launch night, so I remain blissfully ignorant of the identities of a fair number of the housemates.  But since the car crash that is Ms Harding is eclipsing everyone else anyway, why bother? Economy of effort, folks.

On came Emma Willis, looking unfeasibly beautiful as per.  She went through the people up for eviction. Nope, nope, and nope.  The Monobrow.  And poor old Sarah Harding. And someone else.  As the roll call of names was announced, half-hearted boos rang out from the gathered mob, all of whom had nothing else to do on a Tuesday night.  I don’t have much fellow feeling for any of the housemates, but really… who cares what this bunch of losers think?

Cut to footage of the housemates waking up.  Holy crap, Bazza from EastEnders, naked in bed.  Shouldn’t there be a three second warning before broadcasting this sort of thing?


Sarah came to the Diary Room.  “I miss my dogs.  If they’re not happy with you, they pee on the furniture.” Be careful what you wish for, Sarah.  Remember Paul Danan is in the house.

But why all the suspense? Surely, as a famous psychic, the all-seeing Derek Acorah could tell us who would be evicted. Perhaps he was too busy chatting to Sam (his spirit guide) to tell us.  A quick google revealed Derek is convinced he was a “little black Ethiopian boy” (nice turn of phrase, Derek) in his last life, which is how he met Sam, as they lived in the same village 2,000 years ago.  Okaaaaaaaaay.


Sarah and Paul held a duel in the kitchen, covering up last night’s spat by pretending to be concerned about each other.  Paul assumed the role of the wise old man of showbiz, prepared to share his hard-won knowledge with the ingénue that is the far more successful, and indeed famous, Sarah. “Ar remember vat Love Island shit.  Ar see masell in you,” he confided.  Sarah looked appalled at this revelation, and went in for a hug in order to shut him up.

God this was boring.  Where was everybody else? Some dude called Jordan who couldn’t string a sentence together discussed his week-long “relationship” with some woman – sorry, no idea – who felt things were going too fast.  Jordan took this revelation on the chin. “We’ll coolitdarn. Sortit.” Said woman looked bored. Who ARE these people?

Okay, eviction. Chad (boos). Marissa (boos). Karthik (boos). Sarah (massive cheers). Trisha (boos).  It was between Karthik and Marissa. The tricoteuses yelled “Get Marissa OUT!” Why though?  Marissa appeared on the stairs looking terrified.

Why anyone would subject themselves to this kind of public damnation is beyond me.  I make fun of the housemates, but it’s the public who need to have a word with themselves.









Celebrity Big Brother – launch night

Celebrity Big Brother

I gave up watching CBB a couple of years ago, the majority of contestants being drongos from other reality TV dross, but this year, it was rumoured that in amongst the nonentities would be some proper slebs.  Whoopee! Bring it on, Tom Hiddleston! Welcome, Kit Harington! Well hello there, LordeRuPaul, the pleasure is all mine! Sorry, what’s that? Barry from EastEnders 13 years ago?

The best part of the build up to the show has been the supposedly inside story of ex-Girls Aloud chanteuse, Sarah Harding.  The allegedly hard-partying Sarah, who is only 35 but now resembles a 48 year old woman who has undergone surgery in order to look like a 45 year old woman, apparently has mixed feelings about going into the house.

Sarah Harding

An insider told The Sun Online: “Sarah is fully onboard. But she is not sure if she feels ready.

“She has been enjoying a career out of the spotlight recently and is not sure she wants to give up her low-key presence just yet.”

The term “insider” is journalistic shorthand for “we made this up”, and given that Sarah’s career in recent years has comprised appearing on Tumble, Celebrity Masterchef, Dating in the Dark (yes, really) The Jump and a universally panned guest spot on Corrie, once might want to question the veracity of this statement, but props to her for giving it a go.

Anyway, tonight is launch night and as is customary, your writer laid in supplies of prosecco and Lidl Bitterol (only £7.99 and better than Aperol, you’re welcome) and stared keenly at the screen, ready to be awestruck, or at least only mildly bored.

Lidl Bitterol

(I’m not sponsored by Lidl. More’s the pity.)

First out the gate was, yes, Barry from EastEnders, dressed as a Poundland Simon Cowell.  “Hello, I’m Shaun Williamson. I can sing.” Eh? Bazza gave us a couple of notes to better illustrate this unexpected statement. “Singing. I like to think that’s the thing I can do best.” How wrong can a man be?

Shaun was given a secret task of such stupifying idiocy – “be nervous!” – that I refuse to say anymore on the subject.

Ooh, Sarah Harding, dressed as a supervisor in the Doncaster branch of Next, three hours and 15 rum and cokes into a hen night.  Sarah gave us the inside track regarding her misunderstood personality. “Arm just one of the lads,” she confided.

Someone from Made In Chelsea.  Sorry folks, I’ve never watched it.  A swift Google revealed him to be a chap called Sam Thompson. Not a very upper crust name, but perhaps he would be teaching the housemates how to play polo later.

Oh Christ, the ocean-going, gold-plated twat that is Derek Acorah. “If there’s activity, or a presence in the house, I will expose it.”  Emma eyed him warily. “Do you think the house will be haunted?” she queried. “Yes,” replied Derek.  He went on to give us his philosophy on life. “Inside us all…. if we think fun…. er…. fun and….er…. think… of fun….” Emma kindly helped him out. “We’ll have fun?” “Yes.”

Marissa Jade. Not a clue.  Neither had the housemates.  “How ARE you?” they chorused, too polite to ask, “WHO are you?”

Sandi Bogle, of Gogglebox fame! Sandi is ace. She looked fantastic, as well she might given that she is Naomi Campbell’s cousin (appaz).

Another bloke. “Most people know me from The Bachelorette.” Not me, mate.  Chad Johnson.  The Sun reports that he once shat himself on TV.  Chad is the living embodiment of Andy Warhol’s much quoted prediction.

Helen Lederer. Cracking. Funny, clever, terrific on Ab Fab, and unusually truthful. “I wouldn’t describe myself as a celebrity.  I would describe myself as someone who likes a drink.” She’s far too classy to be on this shite.  Perhaps she’s a large mortgage to pay off.

The Apprentice

Prize berk Karthik Nagesan of Apprentice (fired) fame appeared.  His monobrow spoke to the nation. “I’m going to be the centre of attention. I can sleep when I’m dead.”  Except you can’t.

Some foul-mouthed bint known as Brandi Glanville, which sounds like the kind of puzzling condition doctors in an Edwardian sanatorium would discuss, turned up.   “What is it, Professor?” “I believe it to be…..Brandi Glanville.” “NO!” “Yes.  Ask the nurse to bring the ice, and a gallon of laudanum.”

Another bloke. “I’m not going in this house to play safe. I’m gonna do what I wanna do.” Genuinely, no idea. Clueless.  Jordan Davis.  “Hopefully the house will be 15 girls, and just ME!” he yelled in Emma’s face. “I’M GONNA WIN IT!”  Emma wiped his spittle from her elegant cheek, and looked doubtful.  The voiceover informed us Jordan had slept with 1,500 women.  His OBE is in the bag.


Trisha Paytas landed, dressed as Miss Piggy  during an explosion in the local Kleenex factory.  “Trisha once ate 10,000 calories in one sitting!” declared the voiceover.  Same.

Another one. Jemma Lucy. “Arve got tits, teef and tantrums,” she announced, her grammar limp with excitement.   Would this damned programme never end? A glance at the TV schedule revealed there was another 30 minutes to go, and I had already endured an hour and a half.  Beyonce and The-Dream wrote Single Ladies in 20 minutes, for crying out loud.  PEOPLE ARE GETTING CLOSE TO RUNNING A MARATHON IN LESS TIME.

Professional Northerner  Amelia Lily used to be a figure skater, we were told.  She has owned 28 guinea pigs and once wet herself on the London Eye.  Her parents must be so proud.

Paul Danan! “Ma nickname is Dangerous Danan, because arm dangerous,” he explained helpfully.  I remember Paul from Celebrity Love Island, where he behaved like a complete prick.  One must hope he has changed.  “Arl juss be me,” he leered. So no, then.

So that’s it. All the housemates were in the house.  What next? Channel 5 cut to shots of them chatting awkwardly, looking like the delegates at the annual luncheon of the Didcot Chamber of Commerce.

Send help.












Celebrity Big Brother – the final


After what seems like a thousand years, Celebrity Big Brother finally came to a close. Against the odds, Katie Price won.  Katie Hopkins pretended not to mind, and mentally re-wrote the headline of her Sun column, as “How I came second” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as “I won but I still hate all of you.”

First to be evicted was Michelle Visage, and my guess is she came fifth because she was friends with Hopkins.  In her post-eviction interview, Michelle spoke like an advertising executive pitching at 4.30pm on a Friday to a disinterested client.  “I was up against four big brands and I am honoured to be considered in their company.”  Hey, Cheggers is a brand, people!  I liked Michelle and hope British TV offers her some suitable opportunities for work.  She’d certainly shake up Downton Abbey, not to mention Emmerdale.

Next to get the boot was Keith Chegwin.  The only one in the final able to boast a passing acquaintance with normality, Cheggers was nonetheless quite the troubled individual.  Obsessed in equal measure with cleaning the house and telling jokes so limp an Asda Christmas cracker would be ashamed of them, he was unable to take even the mildest slight to his character without retiring to the Diary Room to blub.  Indeed he almost did a Les Dennis but at the last minute managed to hold it together. The crowds gave him a huge ovation.  Why didn’t you vote for him then, eh?

Professional moose knuckle and serial under-achiever Calum Best was third.  He looked furious, as well he might, given that last year Jim Davidson won the whole thing, and Calum is at least a nicer person than the so-called comedian.  Calum declared he hoped that by going into the Celebrity Big Brother house, he had changed people’s perceptions of him.  Yes Cal.  What we thought of you when you were on reality TV show Love Island is completely different from what we thought of you when you were on reality TV show Celebrity Big Brother.   In fairness, Calum seemed like an okay guy, which is more than can be said for Perez Hilton who, for a mercy, was unable to hog the cameras, sat as he was in the we’ve-forgotten-you-already seats.

Katie Hopkins was runner-up. A pantomime horse cleverly disguised to look like a human being, she emerged from the house not quite as triumphantly as she’d clearly imagined she would. Still, runner up isn’t bad going for a universally loathed individual.  How did she do it? Everyone you know can’t stand her, yet somehow gazillions of people voted for her. This is why Britain should never have a referendum on anything.  Emma Willis, looking absolutely glorious in a lavish cream confection of a dress, took her on telling her she was “ballsy, opinionated and sometimes rude.” “Yes,” smirked Hopkins. “I was.”

Katie Price emerged victorious, her huge hair-do paying twin homage to the power of Elnett and Joan Collins (Dynasty era) as she pretended that she never expected to to be the winner. Something of a sea change from her second time on I’m A Celebrity, when the public voted for her to do every trial until she finally gave up and quit.  “Never underestimate The Pricey” is her motto. The bookies did, the fools.






Celebrity Big Cry-Baby


Image courtesy of Channel 5


This year’s houseful of washed-up celebrities is starting to look a bit thin, Katie Price’s £500,000 surprise* appearance notwithstanding, as yet another one departed, admittedly this time of his own volition.

Alexander O’Neal walked three hours after being admonished by Big Brother for using a derogatory term to describe Perez Hilton.  Some might suggest there are thousands more appropriate derogatory terms available to describe Perez Hilton, but that kind of talk is for another columnist.  Katie Hopkins, for example.

Yet Ms Hopkins has been out-nastied at every turn; the best she can come up with is being mean to Alicia Duvall on the basis that she reckons the plastic surgery fan is stupid.  Even Keith Chegwin climbed onto the Alicia-Is-A-Thicko bandwagon, saying that when he tells a joke he has to count to 20 as it takes that long for Alicia to get the punch line.  Given that Cheggers jokes are (1) not funny, (2) still not funny and (3) nope, not even a hefty dose of laughing gas is going to work, Alicia’s behaviour is not that of the slow-witted.  Rather, she is not in the business of pretending she gets the joke when no joke has been made.  No matter how many times you shriek “Wha-HAY!”

Alicia also hid two bananas under her bed, a crime apparently punishable by death if some of the louder voices in the household had their way. Only Kavana appears to be even vaguely connected with the normal, and that’s probably down to the fact that he’s not a celebrity.

This is a household where everybody shouts at and over everybody else, and when that isn’t happening there is nothing other than an endless stream of bitching, arguing, back-biting and sly, cruel remarks.  The Daily Mail has taken to referring to Perez Hilton as “The Most Hated Man In Britain”, a patently ludicrous moniker and one that nobody is using other than the Daily Mail itself. Hilton is finding little support this side of the Atlantic though:




With the exception of the increasingly deranged Hilton, most of the people in the house are pretty normal, and I never thought I’d say that about Calum Best.  But if the programme can’t keep hold of its guests long enough to evict them, then the public doesn’t get its say and that’s not the premise of Big Brother.

As for the Channel 5 execs, before they congratulate themselves on all the publicity they’ve garnered, they should remember this: they could have saved themselves close on a million quid by not bothering with either Katie Price or Hopkins.

*Absolutely nobody was surprised


Celebrity Big Brother – say what, Ken?


Copyright Daily Mail

Photograph courtesy of Channel 5

Although Celebrity Big Brother is supposed to be all about the combative gob that is Katie Hopkins, it turns out she is but a mewling infant next to the giants of misogynistic and/or racist behaviour as displayed in various guises by two of her housemates. Jeremy Jackson was unceremoniously booted out of the house for groping Chloe Goodman. Now one-time Corrie regular Ken Morley has been ejected for his “unacceptable and offensive language”. Goodbye, Ken. It is doubtful that anyone other than your agent will mourn your departure.

Channel 5 kept its announcement short and for Ken at least, not particularly sweet.

Under normal circumstances I would see no reason to give ocean-going twerps like Ken any airtime, but his remarks to Alexander O’Neal deserve to be more widely known, if only to demonstrate how casual racism is alive and kicking, albeit hiding under the invisibility cloak of “political correctness gone mad.”

Ken thought it would be hilarious to share with Alexander a “joke”, which he told in a feeble attempt at a Southern US accent, using the words “a nice big fat Negro.” Alexander patiently explained to him that “When you get in the company of another black man, don’t say Negro.’

But such niceties are of no interest to Ken, who retorted that he found the description “black” to be just as offensive and patronisingly went on to say that “negro is Spanish for black.” Quick as a flash Alexander shot back: ‘But you’re not Spanish.’

Unabashed, Ken went on to use up the old but nonetheless offensive term “pickaninny”, (seriously, when was Ken Morley born? 1805?) to which Alexander, who is to be applauded for not rapping Ken smartly on the nose, instead contented himself with replying: ‘That’ll get your a** kicked.’

How can Ken Morley not know this? My guess is he does, and doesn’t care. Now he’s gone, and whatever career aspirations he may have had they have turned to ashes in his “what’s wrong with that?” mouth.

Channel 5 must be thrilled – and about to ask Katie Hopkins to return her fee.

Celebrity Big Brother – launch night


There was a vague attempt at a fairy tale theme to this year’s Celebrity Big Brother, with the role of the wicked witch being played by (who else?) Katie Hopkins.  She generously shared with us her view on the world. “I don’t like fat people. I don’t like ginger people.”  Ginger people?  What, like gingerbread people? Or people with ginger hair? Alas, Katie was too busy spouting her particular brand of minor public school, fourth form-ish bile, to elaborate further.

Hopkins was given a secret task, blah blah, something about choosing two celebrities she found least entertaining and they would be up for eviction first, something something, talking mirror.  Anyway, next up was Patsy Kensit, whose face is so shiny and tight should she go out in the sun she’ll have to prick it with a fork.  “I fart a lot,” she revealed.  Pats might win though, wind problems notwithstanding.  She’s nice.

Next up, Perez Hilton, who was keen to let us know that he’s had a lot of feuds with celebrities.  “I’m fun, fabulous and fearless!” he yelled. Yeah, we’ll be the judge of that, thanks.  He was followed by Ken Morley (Reg Holdsworth from Corrie) who was boring.  Soz Ken.  Ken was followed by a woman who said her name was Cami Li and that she was “kinda a big deal”.  Not with me love. Never heard of you.

Calum Best, now running out of reality TV shows on which to, er, “star”, told us that he had never been in love, and has always lived alone.  I remember you on Celebrity Love Island, Calum.  And that when you were on it, they dropped the word Celebrity. Alicia Douvall told us she had undergone over 300 cosmetic procedures, information which was entirely unnecessary, the visual evidence being overwhelming.  Alicia seemed quite sweet and anyone who loves playing Scrabble is okay by me.

What Alexander O’Neal is doing in the CBB house is beyond me. Maybe he has a huge tax bill to pay.  Alexander confessed: “Aah doan like people wit GAZ.”  One hoped he wouldn’t choose a bed next to Patsy’s.   Perhaps he could kip next to Nadia Sawalha, who confided that the only reason she was doing Celebrity Big Brother was that she wanted an extension built onto her kitchen. Props to Nadia.

Jeremy Jackson introduced himself. Nope, me neither. Kavana introduced himself. A pop sensation in the 90s, apparently. Nope again. Then it was Michelle Visage, who looked as though she might be fun as long as you stayed on her right side.  A woman called Chloe Goodman appeared.  Nope once more.  Finally, Keith Chegwin, fully clothed, for a mercy. He said “Wha-HAYYYY!” twice in his first sentence. I hope he pals up with Michelle and Patz.  They’d make a fun gang.

The final twist, if twist it is, was that Hopkins had to be nice to everyone or risk suffering her worst nightmare. We weren’t told what that was, but I should imagine it’s being ignored. Oh, the two slebs up for eviction are Chloe and Alexander.

With one or two notable exceptions, reality television competitions are always won by the decent person. Decent is an under-used adjective these days, but it is appropriate here I think. Taken to mean of a good standard or quality, honest and fair, this is the kind of person that usually wins. But for someone like rent-an-opinion Hopkins, winning isn’t the point. She’ll get her fee and the oxygen of publicity, something to which she is clearly addicted. For people like Patsy Kensit it’s a chance to breathe life into a career now in the doldrums. For a nobody like Kavana, it’s a few quid and an alternative to sitting on his sofa in his pants eating cereal out of the packet whilst waiting for the next episode of Diagnosis Murder.

The crux of shows like this is that you can’t hide your true personality. Hopkins’ secret task was to sit behind a two-way mirror and bitch about the other contestants. Obviously live shows can’t be rehearsed, but she was shown to be nervous, flustered, hesitant and supremely unfunny. Her much-vaunted razor-sharp opinions were as blunt as a piece of week-old cheese.

I hope Alexander gets to sing before he’s booted out.