Ballroom Blitz

You know winter's coming when the nights start before you finish work. What is the point of turning the clocks back. We all have to suffer just so some highland heffers can get to the milking shed in daylight. Wouldn't it just be less hassle to give them torches?

The other thing that tells us it's time to whack on the central heating is the Saturday evening battle of the egos. Strictly Come Dancing faces off to X Factor again in the frantic, annual ratings battle that makes sure all of us are completely confused about what time the shows start. This is why Sky+ was invented.

Simon's show hasn't gripped me yet. I love the auditions but I'm struggling to get excited about the live perfomance shows. Nothing seems to be working this year. The songs are badly chosen and none of the acts really seem up to the challenge. The only person who seems unphased by it all is that cocky Welsh git with vampire hair. Get 'rid o' him'! Sorry.

The only thing of note this year has been us getting a sneaky peep of the real Sharon Osbourne when she threw a wobbly because the public put a couple of her dodgy acts in the bottom 2. It was very unprofessional and to be honest would we really care if we never saw her and her black bridesmaids dresses ever again.

More of X Factor later. I'm flicking over to Strictly now.

Doesn't it just warm the heart when Brucey shuffles his feet and spins Tess across the floor before missing his cue and mugging at the cameras. Oh how we laugh. He could make a career out of this. He's finding it so hard to read autocue these days. I think they should revert to large print on big white cards for the old duffer. OK he's great for his age but should we really be subjected to progressive dementia in the guise of a light entertainment show?

This year the celebs are really going for it. Most of them seem too competitive for my liking and burst into tears if they're snubbed by the judges. I reckon Alesha & Gabby might resort to poison & knee capping to keep themselves ahead in the competition.

Poor Anton has had to contend with Kate Garraway's swollen tendons and her inablity to walk across the floor without tripping. No wonder they keep her sat down on GMTV.

Kenny Logan's samba was more like watching something off WWE Smackdown than a dancing competition. He's threatening to wear a kilt next week in a futile attempt to drum up some support. If he survives this week we may get an eyeful of his Paso Doblés!

Gethin Jones has a great game plan. He's spent the last two weeks thrusting his groin at Craig and Arlene. I bet they both need a quick wipe down with and extra strength Bounty after he's performed.

The wardrobe girls have a great sense of fun this year. They keep putting poor old Chubby Barnes in tight lemon satin and pink lycra. Makes him look like Letitia Dean if she lost a few pounds. I feel sorry for the lovely Darren Bennet. He must feel like he's dancing with a wheelie bin that's been on Pimp My Ride.

Deano off Enders is quite good but I'm so fascinated by the way his hairy chest joins up with his beard that I can't concentrate on his dancing.

Dominic Littlelegs is just a munchkin on a spring with about as much rhythmn as Captain Scarlet.

Penny Longlegs Stewart is sweet but as tall as a house. I'm not sure tall people make good dancers. Her jive last week looked like an ostrich having a seizure.

Kelly is my favourite. Pure Hollywood glamour. Shame she's lumbered with the ugly Kiwi lothario. I'd love to see Billy Zane deck the greasy twat.

I reckon Kate will go tonight but part of me hopes the public will keep her in just to annoy the judges and give us another glimpse of Anton's chest.

Pole to Pole a.k.a Bugger off Michael Palin

Another trip to Liverpool. I wonder what new treats lay in store on my Virgin voyage to the City of Yob Culture. I should have seen the warning signs when I got a Polish cab driver who didn't know where East Croydon station was. He'd only been in the country for 3 days. The gangly Pole had bloodshot eyes and smelled of paint. He had a strange hairline on his neck. It looked like he'd had a haircut at sea during a typhoon. Can you get a boat from Poland to Dover?

He probably got here a lot faster than it took me to get up to Liverpool on that Sunday. Six and a half bloody hours it took. I think we went via Dundee! I wouldn't have minded really. I had a load of magazines and 12 hours of Iain Lee Podcasts to catch up on. Everything was quite peaceful as we eased gently through The Chilterns. However just as I was getting the hang of my new Bluetooth headphones the tranquility was shattered. We were invaded by a group of Eastern European fruit pickers who piled on at Milton Keynes Central. I've never seen such bright and colourful chunky knits since Wincey Willis left GMTV.

The Iain Lee podcast almost blotted out the noise of the chattering Poles and I was just getting into the chill zone again when this woman with a glass eye and wearing what looked like a tambourine on her head started singing.

All this and the bloody shop was shut for stocktaking so I couldn't even have a stiff drink to calm my increasingly taught nerves.

I don't know what happened next but as we approached Crewe the whole lot of them went quiet and fell asleep. I've heard that Crewe is a really dull place but never seen it have such a dramatic affect on humans before. Crewe did the business and we had peace and blissful quiet for the rest of the trek North.

Arrived at my hotel feeling slightly weary with my jeans slipping down my arse. I'd forgotten to bring a belt. Thank God I had my nice Abercrombie & Fitch pants on!

I struggled up to my room with my trolley case, man bag, steam iron and ironing board. Every bloody door had a security lock on it and I had to drop the ironing board and iron to stick the stupid card in the slot. I thought I'd be clever and put the key card in my mouth as I made my way to my room. I was breathing hard now and had a bead of sweat tickling my left cheek as I clattered along the corridor.

At last I reached my room and bent down to stick the card in the door. The red light came on. Pulled it out with my teeth and tried again. Red. I was now pushing it in and out with my head bobbing up and down at the lock. Red, Red, Red. I was getting pissed off now and dropped the iron. I tried to catch it but lost my grip on the ironing board. I went with the momentum as it fell and stumbled back on top of my trolley case. Two old American women who were passing helped me up and it was then I realised that my jeans were now round my knees! I think I made their evening as I couldn't get rid of them as they tried to help me, my luggage and my A&F undies into the room.

I was too knackered to go out for dinner so I ordered room service. A spotty Pole delivered a pizza that looked like it had been zapped by a death ray from the planet Mongo. To accompany this cheesy cow pat I had a dirty glass of Shiraz that tasted like boiled iron filings.

I crashed out on my bed to watch Michael Palin going round Europe. I'm sure I recognised a couple of people from the journey to Liverpool. I must have drifted off to sleep but was woken up by mobile ringing. I got up with a start and slammed my foot into the leg of the bed. As I hopped around the room swearing into my phone I realised I'd ripped part of my nail off and there was blood pouring from my little toe. I went to bed with my foot wrapped in an M&S napkin and a blood stained sock.

The journey home was pretty boring by my standards and my toe had recovered by the following weekend. The bruising had gone down just in time for me to squeeze into my new Paul Smith shoes for my mates 40th birthday party.

There was six of us getting ready for the party at my place. It smelled like the House of Fraser perfumery department and there was lots of whooping and dancing around to 12" Hits of the 80s. We all agreed that A Flock of Seagulls were shit. As usual, the cab was late but we finally piled out and into a grey people carrier that stank of kebabs and ashtrays.

I told the driver where we were going. He looked at me blankly. Tapped his Tom Tom and this robot voice started giving him directions in Polish. Half an hour later we were on the M25. We shouldn't have been.............

Wimoweh a Wimoweh.....

A bloke starts a new job at the zoo and is given 3 tasks on his first day.

The first one is to clean the weeds from the exotic fish pool. While he's doing this a huge fish jumps out and bites him. To show the others who's boss he beats the fish to death with a spade.

Realising his new employer won't be best pleased he disposes of the fish by feeding it to the lions, as he knows lions will eat anything.

Moving on to his second job he starts cleaning out the chimp house and is attacked by them as they pelt him with coconuts. He swipes at two chimps with his spade, killing them both. Thinking quickly he decides to feed them to the lions as he knows lions will eat anything. He hurls the corpses into the lion enclosure before his boss finds out.

He moves onto his final task which is to get honey from the South American bees. As soon as he starts he's attacked and stung by the bees. He grabs his spade and smashes the bees to a pulp.

By now he knows what to do so he throws the bees into the lion enclosure. He knows that lions will eat anything.

Later that day a new lion arrives at the zoo and it wanders up to another lion and says 'What's the food like here?'. The other lion says 'Absolutely brilliant. Today we had fish and chimps with mushy bees'

If You Can't Stand the Heat.......

Well the withdrawal from Big Brother 8 has been painful this year. I decided to keep busy by removing a skin tag from my neck with this herbal concoction that I found online. I should have resisted. The web site looked like it had been created by some kid doing a GCSE project. The warning signs were there but I still found myself giving away my credit card details to some unknown potion peddlar from Cheadle.

I guess you get what you pays for. After a week of this miracle treatment I have an unsightly burn under my ear that looks like I've been given a love bite by Esther Rantzen. The painful throbbing and peeling flesh feels like isolated sunburn. Like I've been poked with a Star Wars light sabre. The skin tag has turned black so I think it's working but next time I'm just gonna bite on a face cloth and snip it off with the nail clippers.

The nights are drawing in and I'm struggling to find something to replace Big Brother. I can't stick these cooking shows. Chefs seem to me like spoilt kids who really ought to have had their legs slapped by their Mums when they were kids. Mothers have a lot to answer for I think. I'm convinced that adoring Mothers are the main reason why the male of our species can't function selflessly in the real world.

Any road up. Back to the 'reality' world and Hell's Kitchen. I've never seen this show before due to my chef allergy but found myself being sucked in by Angus Deaton's dry and hilarious commentary. The man is a comedy genius and he's got great legs too.

The celebrity cooks are the usual bunch of n'er do wells. Someone called Rosie, who looked like a potato and should have know better, was the first person kicked out of the kitchen. However she was beaten to the door by the blonde one from Blue. You know. The one who did the high bits. He had an altercation with Jim 'what's his name' and then after a moody stare-out with Marco he was stripping down to his white vest and returning to obscurity before the 2nd ad break.

Abi Clancy seems to be doing well in the dessert department. I'm sure there's a few blokes out there who only watch the show to see her puddings.

Nice to see my favourite Big Brother winner back on prime time telly. Brian Dowling's mincing skills might be an assett in there but I hope he manages to resist licking too many bowls.

The patrons of the Hell's Kitchen restaurant are also a mix of the rich and semi-famous. Ziggy was there the other night. He was Chanelle-less and having dinner with that Aussie bloke with a red Mohawk who specialises in managing tomorrow's chip papers.

And finally I have to get back to The Chef himself. There's footage every night of various female diners with excessive cleavages getting themselves hot and damp over the grumpy bloke with a napkin on his head. I just can't see it.

I get Gordon Ramsay. I can also see that Jamie has a certain Cockney cheeky charm. This Marco bloke has the personality of a wasp and looks like a John McEnroe auditioning for The Hair Bear Bunch.

Give me a Gino D'Acampo any day of the week. In fact I'd rather have Fanny!

Thanks for the Mammaries

I can’t believe it’s all over. What the hell am I supposed to do in the evenings now that my summer family are gone from our screens? I’ve spent the last few days flicking onto E4 and pressing Red Buttons on the off chance that there might have been a big mistake and they didn’t all leave on Friday. I do know that I need to get out more but let’s face it, the summer was a complete wash out so Big Brother kept me laughing and crying through the wet and windy evenings. This year’s Big Brother was unique in that the housemates were more tanned before they went in!

I think my friends and family must have forgotten who I am during my estrangement from the real world. I really must start returning calls and texts before I’m completely ostracised. If I’ve blown it already I’ll just have to console myself by watching the 60 hours of highlights I’ve got stored on my V+ box.

Brainiac Brian started the last week off in typical style. When asked how to spell booze he confidently replied BO OOZ. Despite earlier misgivings, I’m now totally convinced that Brian really doesn’t know who Bill Shakespeare is. Only a complete yoghurt top would be trying to decide if My Way was sung by Cliff Richard or John Craven!

The housemates had a good giggle at Big Jonty when Big Brother took a break. All except Kara Louise who had the misfortune to see first hand evidence that Big Jonty didn’t really live up to his name. Despite many viewings, for research purposes, I’m still not sure why he was stood naked in the bathroom discussing the finer points of swallowing prawn cocktail.

When the final night arrived there was buzz of excitement around the SB House as my mates gathered with various Australian reds and tubes of Pringles. There were a few sharp intakes of breath when Dermot appeared in a black dress and sling backs looking like Davina if she’d been styled by Peacocks. Davina herself drew some gasps of amazement as she swept onto the runway in scarlet satin like Elstree’s answer to Carmen Jones.

Carole and Jonty were obviously out first. She dragged Jonty and Monkety Tunkety up the stairs and along the gangway like a Mother picking her kid up from school and in a rush to get home to watch Countdown.

A very self conscious Ziggy crept out next and almost appeared to be apologising for being in the house as he got a bit of a rough time from the crowd. He looked like Gollum modelling for the Next catalogue. However after a squeeze from Davina and a wave from Chanelle he relaxed a bit but still cringed and cried his way through his best bits.

Liam looked much more at ease. I suppose you would look happy when you get a rapturous reception from the crowd and you have £100k burning a hole in your Diesel boot cuts. Not sure Amy was overwhelmed when he described her as very nice. It wasn’t Liam’s most sincere moment on the show.

Next up was Samanda. The Twins were even more excitable than normal as they whooped and squealed their way up the stairs and out to meet Davina. The last time I heard screaming like that I was on The Big One at Blackpool Pleasure Beach. Can you imagine what they would be like after a couple of Red Bulls! Love it!

Oh my days. Brian won. The guy was a fantastic housemate. Big Brother’s number one fan is now the King of BB8. Failed romance and bed wetting behind him he’s now a pucker winner and can afford enough cans of cider to rot his liver before Xmas.

The journey’s over. It’s been a roller coaster. What did I learn about myself? I learned that staying up until 2am watching E4 is very bad for eye bags.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my ramblings as much as I’ve enjoyed rambling. Now when did Davina say the next auditions are starting………………………..

War and Peas

I’d like to start this week with quite possibly the best quote of the series so far. It came from Brian during the final nominations.

“Jonty is an OK guy. But I’ll be having a good conversation with someone and he’ll come over and ruin it by talking about Bruce Forsyth. It’s just really annoying when random Bruce Forsyths are brought into the conversation…”

I know what he means. I’d get hacked off at random Bruce Forsyths too.

It was a hoot was watching Chloe Madeley clattering around the Big Mouth set in 5 inch heels, like an unsteady baby deer with pert boobs. Bless her. I thought her and Jack did a great job. Watch out Mum and Dad. The kids could be planning a coup!

The concept of not dropping one’s H’s drove Tracey to tears in the Posh Task. She should’ve taken some of her own advice and just dealt with it!

There was almost a serious debate on the class system. Gerry would have been well impressed. However the brow was lowered when Amanda decided to use Jack from Titanic to demonstrate her point. Actually it was a bloody good point and made more sense than Brian and Tracey just whinging about posh folk.

Kara Louise sealed her fate by plucking her armpits and teasing Ziggy just before the nominations. I don’t know why he got so upset at being called Goldilocks. I can think of much worse names to call him ;-)

I've never seen such bad dancers in all my life. It's really not that difficult to waltz but during the BB Ball, Brian looked like he was edging along a cliff face as he clung on to a tipsy Tracey. Jonty's interpretation of the foxtrot was even worse. He was pushing Carole around the floor like she was an industrial floorboard sander. Isn't it weird how drunk people always land up doing something that resembles jiving no matter what music they're dancing to.

As expected, the shopping list power struggle continued despite Carole’s promises to relinquish control. What on earth does she do with all those carrots? The mind boggles! Despite an apparent calm over the cuisine compromises there was a few tense moments that didn’t go unnoticed. The stew boiled over when the housemates decided to trade a few of veggie treats for a couple of beers and a bop. Cries of ‘Not the Piccalilli’ could be heard as far away as the Scratchwood Services.

Tracey and Kara Louise left the house on Friday looking like Worzel and Aunt Sally going on a first date. Poor Kara never stood a chance in there. She landed up like the Housemate equivalent of a book token.

Ziggy’s cool seemed to desert him during the BB Quiz. The ‘It’s me, not you’ line came back to haunt him as he squirmed by his buzzer. Worse was to come when he bumped into a very sexy looking Chanelle in the lobby. Stinking of Smokey Bacon crisps and with hair that’s getting bigger than Andrew Castle’s, he was speechless at the brief return of his former bed mate.

Will they or won’t they get back together? Will Carole survive the last week without her carrots? Can Brian and Jonty keep the contents of their pants under wraps until the Final? If Liam tires before the winning post will he talk even more slowly? Will I ever be able to understand a word the Twins say?

There’s only a few days left to find out!

These boots were made for walking

Freddie & Monkety Tunkety were granted some respite from the madness this week when Big Brother sent them on a world tour. Everyone cheered and clapped except for a very grumpy Tracy. She’d managed to struggle out of bed to see them off but just sat there stony faced, glaring at the monitor. Instead of wishing them well she just shook her head and asked ‘are we in an asylum’. I’m surprised it took her 11 weeks to work that one out! From Blackpool to Beijing the cheeky chimps sent postcards and food parcels for the increasingly hungry housemates. Food is once again on everyone’s lips. Or not as the case may be.

Carole’s moaning went into overdrive after she was punished for stashing chocolate biscuits and interfering with an egg. She deflected her guilt by attacking Gerry at every opportunity. He couldn’t even say he was hungry or move a jug of water in the kitchen without getting a stream of profanities from the Kitchen Commandant. The scene was set for a Greek tragedy.

Tracy’s been like Dr Jekyll & Sister Hyde all week. One minute she’s everyone’s best mate and then the next she’s snarling at people from her duvet for faking their feelings and their real age. Has she never used online dating websites? It’s not uncommon for people on Gaydar to actually get younger every year ;-)

This was the best eviction of the series, so far. Gerry became the Guru’s chosen one after his gushing plea to save Carole. Beaming from ear to ear, he lapped up the crowd who gave him a surprisingly good reception. Davina seemed to have the hots for him when they met in the flesh. I think it was the jack boots that had her twiddling with her hair as she gave his best bits a once over.

Gerry wasn’t the only person in kinky boots on Friday. I flicked over to E4 to be confronted by Pete Burns looking like a 6 foot sex toy in black rubber up to his earrings.

Carole’s food obsession seems to be rubbing off on the rest of the gang as they squabbled over who had the best pizza after the Beat Big Brother task. Kara Louise made a sprint for the table and claimed the Chicken Supreme whilst the lads moped about with hackles raised like a pack of hyenas arriving late at a carcass.

The lack of sustenance doesn't appear to have affected Liam's waistline but obviously shut down supplies to his grey matter. During one of his laconic conversations with Brian, the jovial Geordie was heard to remark 'You cuddle Amanda different to Sam, but not in a physical way'. Is there another way to cuddle, like?

I learnt a couple of life lessons this week too. First off, Amanda & Liam taught us that you can pinch the skin on your elbow, dead hard like, and it won’t be painful. The other remarkable revelation came from Carole who informed us very wisely that the cure for cramp is to squeeze your bottom lip for 30 seconds. Thanks for the advice Carole. Now tell me what’s the best remedy for a bust lip!

Love don't live here anymore

Just as it looked like Love Don’t Live Here Anymore, a tipsy Brian and Manda slurped each other noisily under the duvet after a glass of wine. Their kissing sounded like someone trying to drink a McDonald’s milk shake with a bent straw. Would this be the next big romance in the house? Shut up! After a few nervous grins the next morning it looks like Brian is going solo again with only hairy shoulders and man boobs sharing his bed.

Carole was obsessing about the food again. It was bad enough that people actually ate the Crunchy Nut Cornflakes but I thought she might walk when Kara stuffed the chicken with her nut roast. After some cake baking therapy, Carole composed herself and decided to take her revenge in the Diary Room during nominations.

No surprise that the newbies were all up this week but boy did the slop hit the fan when Amy, Kara and Jonty were shown all the nominations. Jonty sniggered at the complaints about his farting and Kara just cried again. Amy was affronted at being labelled a gold digging slag and seethed in the bathroom whilst Brian nodded sympathetically at her cleavage.

The dreams task was a bit bizarre even by Big Brother standards but I bet it’s not the first time some of the housemates have had a cheesy helmet.

Next up was catwalk modelling and we had Liam and Jonty swishing around the house like Boy George and Philip Salon arriving at the Blitz Club. It was nice to see the lads getting close to their feminine side but I’m not sure Ziggy’s ‘Joyce Grenfell @ Claire’s Accessories’ look was a winner to be honest.

Gerry seemed less than impressed with Jonty and Monkety Tunkety fraternising with Freddy in the bedroom on Friday. He nipped things in the bud by accidentally (on purpose) sucking up his small woolly chimp with the hoover. A look of Hannibal Lecter flashed across Jonty’s face. If I was Gerry I’d sleep with one eye open from now on.

I don’t think the housemates missed Amy after she left. Amanda was deffo confused too. Apparently she thought that Amy thought that she thought that Amy thought that she thought she didn’t like her. Or something like that.

Something’s happened to Tracey this week. She’s rampant. The way she was preying on Liam and Ziggy at the weekend was like an alpha she-wolf who’d just come into season. All it took was the lads in wet shorts and 2 glasses of wine and she was terrifying the bewildered boys with her sexual advances. I think she really wanted to ‘ave it!

I’m getting so tired of the Food Monitor. Carole’s narking is getting beyond a joke now. Another cereal battle broke out as Gerry was targeted again for eating without permission. Even Liam & Ziggy are feeling uncomfortable with their Mama’s dining room dominance. In the middle of the raging battle Brian contemplated a solution to the food shortage when he found a bogey up his nose. Now that’s a real Guru!

The highlight of the week actually occurred outside the house when Dermot appeared on BBLB in head to toe pink lycra and treated Davina and the viewers to something interesting going on between his legs. Dermot complained about the state of his feet. Trust me mate. No one was looking at your feet!

Everybody needs good neighbours

Oh my days. What a week! I don’t know where to start. Who said things would be quiet once Charley & Chanelle left? It’s all been in and out and back and forward in time. I got less confused watching Lost.

Like most of the Housemates, I’ve been wary of the newcomers. Kara Louise is sweet but I’m getting tired of her hysterical sobbing every time Big Brother introduces a new twist. She was so traumatised by someone talking about her behind her back it makes you wonder if she ever watched the show before she applied. By the look of her wardrobe I suspect she thought she was entering Strictly Come Dancing.

My trip to the Big Brother House was amazing. Thanks to Caroline and Adele for their hospitality and making me feel so welcome. Walking through the camera runs was surreal. I know it’s a cliché, but the place really is so much smaller than it looks on TV. No wonder they go doolally after a few weeks cooped up in there.

As we toured the darkness each mirrored window revealed a new treat like Ziggy stripping off on cue to catch some rays and more camera time. The place was so normal. Tracey was having a fag. Carole patrolled the kitchen with a tea towel, looking for intruders and the kids were jumping in the garden for no apparent reason.

Strange sights and sounds were everywhere. I was freaked out by Jonty at the common room window. As I pulled back the drape he was staring straight at me whilst knocking back a glass of orange squash at the sink. I got such a fright that I swallowed my chewing gum and stabbed my leg with a biro.

Just as we were leaving we heard some familiar sounds coming from the toilet. I can’t say for sure but I think we may have been witness to a Ziggy poo in the halfway house!

Shanessa and David lost their housemate status and then 24 hours later were heading out to meet a sparkly Davina. Hand in hand they skulked down the stairs looking like Bjork’s Mum & Dad arriving at a film premiere.

Ma Baker and her two sons continued their ever increasing domination of the house. I think the three of them are getting a bit smug and cocky. Well except for Ziggy who was stuffing socks down his pants during the exercise task. Apparently he was worried about his Mum being embarrassed by the sight of his manhood. I think she’s gonna be more upset about his behaviour towards a certain ex-housemate rather than the size of his winkle.

A missing blue sponge was all it took for Carole to go off on another moaning mission. However the real reason for her surly attitude was down to one of her lads playing away with the eye candy. Amy seems hell bent on getting the most nominations this week and it didn’t take long for Carole’s plan to take affect as Liam dumped her before the Lamy romance got past first base.

Good old Brian’s just been quietly doing his own thing and avoiding the macho posturing this week. He’s been getting a bit glum though. I think the lad probably needs a bit of what Liam didn’t want. Maybe Amy could help him out. I mean what’s she got to lose? It’s not like she’s going to be around for much longer so she needs to keep her profile and her ample assets to the fore if she’s going to exploit her brief visit to the house.

The award for best strop of the week goes to Gerry for losing his cool when Ziggy kicked the globe ball over the wall. Apparently he was planning on using it to teach the twins Geography. I'm sure they were thrilled at the prospect. Sorry Gerry but I think the twins have a much greater mission in mind as they’re planning on moving to an alien planet with Jonty and Monkety Tunkety. Now that’s a close encounter with the potential to start the War of the Worlds!

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead

So would the house become Chez Cheerful now that Nicky has gone? Like hell it would. As relationships and relations went into meltdown, the moments of light relief seemed even more bizarre.

When Liam asked the twins to name 4 types of tree, the best they could come up with was – a tree with pink leaves, a tree with red leaves and an elf tree. Keen to join in the game, Chanelle proved that a high IQ doesn’t mean you’re all that bright as she opted for a Christmas tree.

Worse was to come when he asked them to name 2 types of bike. After some consideration Amanda suggested a fast bike and a slow bike. Where do they find these people?

Is Rihanna 17 or 19? Harmless enough question you’d think. Not for this lot. I’m sure nobody was really bothered but that was the spark that lit the touch paper for another slanging match between Charley and Chanelle. Most of the mud was incomprehensible but kudos to Chanelle for – ‘I wanted to be a WAG until I came in here and saw the state of one’.

Ziggy said that Molly was the first dog to ever enter the BB house but I’d dispute that claim ;-) The poor little mutt (Molly not Ziggy) was a bit bewildered when her master appeared in the garden all decked out in tweed and wellies. After an embarrassing pause the Bonio finally dropped and Molly leapt into Ziggy’s arms. He seems to have that affect on short haired females. It was a great task and another BB tear jerker as Ziggy struggled to hold back the flow when the task was over and he was separated again from Molls. I have to admit to needing a couple of Kleenex myself during the ad break. I’m a sucker for a hairy friend with a curly tail.

Carole singing Stairway to Heaven reminded me that actually Britain hasn’t got that much talent. This was more like XXL Factor. It must have taken all of judge Tracey’s willpower not to describe Carole’s act as phat.

After the finest strop of the year, Chanelle surprised everyone with a passable Vivaldi on a dodgy violin to win the BBTV Talent Show crown. She may have an ear for music but how the hell did she manage to confuse Ziggy’s fart with a caravan door shutting in the rain? She must be used to hearing Wakefield wind with all those faggots and peas being consumed up there.

Despite Chanelle’s gaff, they passed the sound task. Their prize was personalised bog roll and Gerry got quite flushed at the thought of borrowing a couple of sheets from Liam’s roll.

Charley’s luck finally ran out and she left the house for good, dressed as Wilma Flintstone. The crowd were ruthless this time but her delusions carried her through what she believed was as a wonderful reception. And no……she wasn’t being funny!

Davina looked gorgeous as usual. Like a trolley dolly for Mistress Airways, she welcomed the new half housemates to their accommodation for the weekend.

Amy and Shanessa’s clothes seemed to fall off as they approached the house. Someone should have loaned Shanessa a jacket to cover her fleshy bumps. Whatever happened to chivalry? Thank the Lord for tit tape!

I’m pleased that Chanelle finally saw through Ziggy but gutted that she left the house to ease his depression. She should have stayed and made life hell for him. Everyone was grief stricken at Chanelle’s departure apart from Carole who just smirked in the kitchen. Perhaps she was thinking of moving into Ziggy’s bed! Sorry Carole but your Toy Boy’s been moved next door with the Halfways to await his fate.

In the meantime we get David & Kara. A witch in a black skirt and a snooty student with a cleaning obsession. It’s like Charley and Nicky never left!

Oh Mr Grimsdale.........Shut Up!!!!!!

Big Brother’s birthday was the catalyst to get things back on track, with Basildon’s answer to Norman Wisdom taking his rightful place in the hearts of the nation. Brian can do no wrong at the moment except when he’s attempting novelty pop songs whilst wearing percussion.

Now I know why Charley calls herself IT girl. She was a dead ringer for Pennywise the murderous clown. However I think she was acting out another Stephen King classic as she had her own Shining moment at the party when the inner monster returned to torment the housemates. Here’s Charley! Poor Brian was on the receiving end of her sledge hammer tongue as both of them ‘didn’t shout’ for at least half an hour of ranting about God knows what.

Liam was the most laid back magician I’ve ever seen. David Nixon would have been more vibrant and he’s been dead for 20 years. His glamorous assistant gave Ziggy a right Kinder Surprise. Chanelle wiggled her sequined hips and had him drooling all over the Haribo Super Mix.

If the Beeb ever bring back Play School, Carole would be an ideal choice to keep the kiddies quiet while Mum chat’s up the postman. Come to think of it. The way she handled the balloons and body paint suggests she’d make a damn good party hostess for Ann Summers too ;-)

I think she’s a good judge of character too. Giving Nicky a snake face was either subconscious wisdom or just her having a bloody good laugh.

The whole country squirmed with Ziggy as Nicky attempted her stand up comedy routine. It was like Maggie Thatcher topping the bill at a Miners Social Club.

The Chiggys auditioned for their very own shower gel advert. Well I think they were cleaning each other! Once again they were interrupted by Sam who seems to make a habit of walking into rooms and making the most inane comments at really inappropriate moments.

A nervous Nicky was ejected to the biggest boos this year, so far. Her exit was as awkward as her behaviour had been for most of the last 7 weeks. I always got the impression that Nicky never actually meant to come into the house. The whole experience for her was like she’d been picked for the hockey team when she really wanted to be home watching Deal or No Deal with her Nan.

Ziggy is still indecisive about his romance with Chanelle and he also changes his mind about staying in the house more times than Charley changes her hot pants. After yet another tedious row with the mouth of the south, he was begging Big Brother to let him go. We all knew that after a night under the duvet with his Wakefield comfort blanket he’d decide to give it another go ;-)

This week’s intellectual incident occurred during the debating task. When Chanelle was quizzed about the meaning of happiness, the wistful WAGabe asked ‘Is this what philosophy is? Deep stuff?’ William James couldn’t have put it any better.

BBTV went on air this week for the shopping task. Let’s hope they don’t fill the schedule with The Charley Show! I’m not being funny and I’m only being honest and I’m not lying but that would be worse than being tied to a chair and forced to watch repeats of It Ain’t Half Hot Mum on UKTV Gold.

Big Mama's House

G’day possums. I’ve been on holiday for a few days so missed some shows. The only thing of note that happened whilst I was away was when I slipped on the remains of a deep fried haggis and fell into the path of a Blackpool taxi. I very nearly had my own Alan Bradley moment!

Anyway back to the business at hand. What a bunch of dags. The lovely Pooh suckered the Pommies and had them reaching for their inner Kookaburra during a bizarre spiritual session in the garden. Pauline helped the housemates feel their animal spirits in her best Kath & Kim accent. Chanelle didn’t look best pleased at being told her guide was a deadly poisonous 3 tailed monkey fish.

The Chiggy’s finally called it a day (again) but by the evening they were canoodling on the chaise longue. Kate & Pete have fewer ups and downs ;-) Despite Ziggy saying that things haven’t worked out he’s still managing to wangle a kiss and a cuddle whenever he feels like a bit of lurve. He should mean what he says but then he never really says what he means so Chanelle will be dangling for a while longer. She should just tell him to rack off!

Nicky and Gerry clash on a regular basis so why the hell did he allow her to take her revenge on his barnet? I don’t think that his uneven back and sides will start a trend down Old Compton Street this summer.

Can’t get you out of my head looked more like a satanic transvestite gathering than a Kylie video. Gerry was so desperate to take the lead. I haven’t seen so much pushing and shoving in stilettos since America’s Next Top Model.

Spunky Brian celebrated his birthday and becoming a man with cider, cakes and Carole dancing like David Brent. The mouth of Basildon treated us to more gems like - What’s a Greek salad? Is it like a kebab? Then he surprises everyone with this pearl of wisdom - Politics is just showbiz for ugly people. He’s cleverer than he looks that lad. The way he outed the fake Pooh in the task was a stroke of genius.

On Thursday, the happy little Vegemites sang their hearts out for a piece of Peace and stood proud beside their shonky desert duvet. It was like Band Aid being sponsored by Poundstretcher.

Carole has well and truly taken control of the parenting duties and spent the week dishing out her own punishments for spilled jelly, missing toothpaste and flapping doors. Talking of which. Ziggy was treated to a Sharon Stone moment across the sofas. Unfortunately for him it was Carole’s bits that were on display. Strewth. How much more suffering can these girls inflict on the poor guy?

The lads naked nominations brightened the start of the week but Carole’s nagging finally made Ziggy snap and even the Twins stood up to her constant scolding. Well I say stood but they were actually bobbing in the pool in string bikinis with goose bumps.

Next up for a frightening haircut was Brian. I hope he washed the bowl afterwards. Carole will be on the warpath again if she finds a stray hair!

Hairy Potter

Billi. Billi who? It was business as usual with Carole and her hirsute chin pottering around the kitchen and generally being Mum to the unruly kids. Unfortunately we lost Big Daddy Jonathan this week too. His tearful exit showed us that not everyone in that house is without humility and selflessness.

It was Charley’s birthday at the weekend and they threw her a Moulin Rouge party. It was really just an excuse for her and Chanelle to swan around with their bums hanging out. The twins’ feather boas are starting to look a bit tired now and I suspect they won’t last the summer. Never mind eh. I’m sure Claire’s Accessories are standing by with an open cheque book for the girls once they’re out.

Charley got drunk on less alcohol than there is in a swig of Listerine and decided that Ziggy really fancies her. Apparently he only got with Chanelle because she jumped into bed with him after 24 hours. She’s only being honest, of course.

An insightful Carole wrestled her way into the diary room for the 7 Deadly Sins task. She chose Wrath for Charley but she could just as easily have picked Envy, Pride, Sloth or Greed. You know what yeh. She actually fits the bill with most of them. Now I’m only being honest.

Ziggy’s glutton task was a piece of cake. Well cakes, sweets and assorted savouries actually. Sitting in a room, opposite an inert pig’s head was no problem for him. He’s been doing that in the bedroom for the last month.

The look on Gerry’s face when Liam walked into the bedroom in leather shorts was classic. I’m sure he’ll be dreaming about that vision for weeks, whilst clutching his monkey. I had a similar moment during BBLB on Wednesday when Dermot pulled off his hotdog to reveal his own leather ensemble! Trust my mate Max to get on the show with Dermot showing his legs and topless men in lycra. Grrrr

The Sin Party was like watching an Agent Provocateur night at Butlins. They all looked well sexy in a Bognor Regis kinda way. Sadly it wasn’t a good look for Carole who put me in mind of Uncle Fester wearing a road kill hat. Oh and I’ve sent an email to Channel 4 to recommend that Brian should be allowed to keep his gimp suit in case he has another nocturnal leak.

Don’t you just love Ziggy’s sense of drama. His collapse on the shower floor following the next round in the love triangle saga was about as subtle as an episode of Sunset Beach. Is it any wonder that Chanelle doesn’t know where she stands with him. He’s so woolly and non-committal it’s like he was born to play a part in Hollyoaks.

Determined not to be overshadowed again Charley decided to paint her body for the cameras. A concerned Carole was careful to make sure she didn’t look tarty. I suspect that Carole will never have a career as a Personal Shopper.

The Wang Sloth wobbled out of the house on Friday wearing her entire wardrobe. As the jeering reached a crescendo she ditched the smelly leopard robe to reveal a jacket she must have mugged off a Canadian tourist.

The housemates didn’t even have time to wipe away their crocodile tears before the plasma flickered and fake Pooh appeared from a land down under.

I’m convinced that the sham Sheila won’t be able to keep up the scam all week but the housemates watched in awe as she destroyed Charley’s character with a psychic reading on her kangaroo burger. Flaming bonzer mate

Incontinental Holiday

It was a sad house after Seány departed with his pink daisy and bike padlocks. Only a knobbly knees contest and the fact that they were lucky to get a Charley-free weekend cheered them all up.

Charley and Brian were packed off to the Big Brother caravan where the South London charmer swore and whinged for 2 days while Brian just lay around doing embarrassing teenage boy things. His sleeping bag was alive with farts and fidgeting but the bed wetting incident was the final straw for Charley and the holiday came to an abrupt and soggy end.

Even in a week with luxury food budget Nicky managed to throw a wobbly over a few meatballs. I think she’s got meat on the brain right now but I’m not sure that painting her eyes with liquid paper is impressing Liam. She did get up close and personal with him to discuss their bodies but that backfired too as he discovered she has more chest hair than him.

True romance, or not. I like the Chiggys. I’m sure it won’t last beyond their Heat magazine cover but it’s nice to see people down each others throats instead of at them.

The sleeping task was a disaster of Battlefield Earth proportions. Charley surrendered "because otherwise I'll be downright rude." I’m not being funny but what’s her excuse when she’s not tired.

As they got more and more sleepy on the bean bags the fighting escalated and despite everyone apart from Nicky being keen to give it a go, it soon became clear that none of them are insomniacs.

It’s ironic that they can all stay up until the crack of dawn most nights without a single prompt from Big Brother but give them a formal task like this and they’re dropping off like drunks on the last train home.

Charley was up for nomination and then she wasn’t. Thanks to her punishment she avoided the public vote but still managed to shout and scream at anyone who looked at her the wrong way for the next 24 hours. I’m not being funny, but it isn’t any longer.

How uncomfortable did Billi look when he was forced into that Happy cupboard with Charley. There was more love at the recent East 17 reunion!

Amanda’s pie and a couple of colanders confirmed that the twins are indeed psychopathic. Oh my God I always knew there was something strange about that pink pair. They’re like The Stepford Airheads only they do real, full on dumps!

Talking of pink. I reckon BB ought to have a word with Carole. She was trying to cover her modesty today with her blue towel over that stripy swimming costume. Someone could have told her it didn’t reach all the way round the back. Put me right off my Bar-B-Q chicken wings it did.

A bemused Billi left the house, waved off by a tearful Charley wearing a gold tea towel. Her newly formed axis of evil had lasted less than a day and it was time to repair the damage. Everyone had heard the jeering crowd.

Within minutes she was slagging him off to anyone who’d listen and slunk off to the Diary Room to lick her wounds. My patio doors are less transparent but then I’m allergic to chamois and Windolene makes me sneeze

It's Raining Men

Seány isn’t the best person to be employed as the house usher. He greeted Billi by bouncing around on the sofas shouting ‘It’s a gay, it’s gay’ like a plane had just landed on Fantasy Island. Jonathan didn’t do much better as our Irish doorman declared him an old person and propelled him into Carole’s ample chest.

Hunky Liam had the twins a quiver and Charley caught Brian in a flying body scissors and nearly popped out his ultra blue contact lenses. Maybe these boys would improve the demeanor of the surly shrews.

The four new lads had to sing for their supper and gave us a rather subdued YMCA. Liam looked more like Deputy Dawg than a 70’s cop and you would have been hard pressed to tell if the Indian was Jonathan or Carole. I’m convinced there’s a Surprise Surprise moment in store for that pair. I bet Cilla’s staking them out from the camera runs.

Charley’s insecurities have come out like a raging yeast infection since Shabs left. She’s wandering about the place trying to appear interesting to anyone who’ll listen. The extent of her appeal seems limited to the fact that she’s got more shoes than anyone else and wears the shortest skirts.

Charley tried to bury the hatchet with Ziggy & Chanelle and vowed not to get involved in any more arguments. 12 minutes later she was screaming at Laura over the hair straighteners. I’m not being funny but is it safe to use a hot iron on a nylon shag pile.

Truth or dare turned into the usual tonsil tickling. The gay kiss was like watching a starving baby hippo suckling on its mother. I was waiting for David Attenborough to appear from behind the sofa in a Blue Harbour khaki suit.

The swimming task was classic Big Brother and I can’t believe they passed. Carole bounced around like an Edwardian bathing belle on a Bank Holiday at Skegness. Every time Laura grabbed the megaphone I was reaching for the mute button. She was supposed to encourage the swimmers not warn them about approaching fog. Tracey in a Souwester was really unnerving. I kept expecting her to whip out a huge fish hook and disembowel the twins when the others weren't looking.

At one point I thought Charley was having a rest until I put my specs on and realised it was some plastic fish bones floating by the steps. She’d already given up and was shedding her extensions in the bathroom.

Gerry has become about as welcome as audience participation at a Pavarotti concert this week. First he upset Chanelle by saying she was unfit. Unfit translated into beached whale for Chanelle and not even Ziggy’s calming Sir Cliff tones could console her.

Nicky and Carole somehow got the wrong end of Gerry’s stick too and went round and round in circles for the next 24 hours with nothing being resolved because of their lacking in the listening department.

The Wednesday Twist saw £100,000 up for grabs but Carole was too busy fretting about her smelly towel to be bothered. When Liam heard they’d chosen him to get the cash he went even more blank faced than normal before collapsing onto the floor in a flood of manly tears.

Now I’m not saying the girls in there are shallow but suddenly they’re flirting and fussing with Liam. It reached a peak, well 2 squashed peaks actually, when Charley appeared wearing a satisfied grin and an elastic band nearly, almost covering her tits.

Chanelle & Carole fell out over a fingered sandwich. Much to my surprised it was Charley who turned peacemaker. Her take on the incident was - “You thought someone was something because something had been said.” Well now we know!

Odd girl out

Of course they failed the weekly task again but the sardine fiasco provided the best exchange of the series so far.

Carole “Are you OK Chanelle?”
Chanelle “I can’t speak. I have a fish in my armpit”

You just couldn't make this stuff up.

On Friday Davina welcomed a WWE fan with processed hair and an extra from The Sopranos. She also gave us someone to trim their bushes and a kid who probably left his Mum in tears at the front gate.

Charley unbuttoned her blouse and rearranged her chest as the sound dipped. Half an hour later she was sobbing uncontrollably, with one eye on the camera, as her best mate left the house.

Best mate, my arse. Why didn’t she tell Shabnam that she’d forgotten to put her pants on!

Diva Down

The arrival of the 2 new boys led to high spirits and hi jinx. I nearly choked on my Jacob’s Creek when Laura caught sight of Seany in the lobby and shrieked ‘It’s a clown, he’s a clown’. The poor girl. I dread to think what passes for a circus in the Rhondda valleys.

It was all rather fun until Seany decided to relieve Lesley of her duvet at 4am. That was the last straw for the Grand Dame. She rebuffed the Celtic bed burglar with an air of Bette Davis in All About Eve. She slowly patronised her way out of the house in the longest goodbye since Meg Mortimer sailed off on the QE2 when the Crossroads Motel burned down.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Seany decided to swipe the love nest from Posh & Pecs. The dreamy duo were relegated to stealing kisses on the Astro turf while Greek and Irish relations improved on the double divan.

For some reason, Gerry and Seany chose the Twins to nominate with them. Had they discovered some skill set we’d missed? The only talent I’ve spotted so far is plaiting hair and jiggling. Talking of hair, Seany has taken to wearing a hair band and a big blousy scarf. I swear he’s morphing into Christine Hamilton.

Carole wasn’t happy about Shabby’s steaming pants stewing in the bath. However Shabs had other things on her mind and opted to run around the garden in a pink feather boa shouting ‘Do I look like I’m jogging’. You couldn’t make this stuff up.

As expected, Charley ran out of fags and made a right racket. We had a budgie once that didn’t like us moving it’s millet spray. Hiding it’s mirror was the only way to shut it up. Take note Big Brother!

Laura has turned into a bitchy bedroom Buddha. She squats on her bed all day offering everyone her opinions. Most of them aimed directly between Ziggy’s shoulder blades.

Nagging Nicky, the Watford Whinger is doing my head in. She says she hates men. The male population of the UK should breathe a sigh of relief.

Girls just wanna have a bloody good ruck!

It’s all gone a bit pear shaped this week and I’m not talking about Carole in her turquoise bikini.

Emily and Chanelle were first to get in a tangle over the hair straighteners. The poor Wakefield lass was left bereft with her natural curl. She then lobbed a laminate at Charley. I can’t remember why exactly but it seemed to involve a kidnapped boot and 3 white socks.

Nicky and Laura squared up over foraging for food as mealtimes became increasingly flatulent. Hardly surprising when I think they only ordered chocolate bars and 8 varieties of lettuce. Shopping in the Big Brother House seems to be even more difficult than navigating the SKY+ planner!

I really love the way Charley hovers around every argument asking people to chill out. It’s a bit like the Hunchback of Notre Dame telling you to sit up straight.

The shopping task was a corker. Lesley smirked whilst gripping tightly onto the ‘Most Intelligent’ post but turned Medusa when Emily said she was ‘Least Considerate’. That woman can do stony faced better than that bloke in the middle of Trafalgar Square.

Shabby threw a wobbly when she was manhandled off the podium and relegated to mid table in the attractiveness stakes. Maybe it was a sign of things to come as Big Brother punished her for discussing nominations and she was stripped of her sparkly face mask and cartoon wardrobe.

Tracy had her very own morning rave on her birthday. Waving her glow sticks around, she put me in mind of a bin man on Pro-Plus at a Star Wars convention.

Emily had a kamikaze week. In the space of 48 hours her mouth and brain were divorced and she disappeared out the back door, in the middle of the night, with no knickers.

The poor twins still seem out of their depth and just run about in the background. They chase each other around the house in their underwear like a trailer for the Adult Channel.

With Ziggy’s nominations cancelled what on earth would Big Brother do to fill the time on Friday? Well they chucked in two gay guys of course.

I think Seány was pitching to be the next Dr Who. Sorry mate but Colin Baker did that look already. Gerry the Greek was an instant hit with the girls and the crowd. The only person who didn’t seem to take to Gerry was Seány. I’m surprised they didn’t get chilblains when they were sat next to each other in the Diary Room.

Seconds out. Let the bedroom battles begin.

The Rooster Has Landed

Davina announced the return of the chickens on launch night. Friday we got a cockerel too.

Whilst Charley was preening and flirting with herself in the mirror, a rooster in a 2 piece arrived in the coop to ruffle the feathers of the broody birds. Ziggy looked like a reject from Any Dream Will Do. He might not be Joseph but if The Blues Brothers ever reform as a boy band he could be in with a chance.

Ziggy is a strange name if you’re not a puppet or a soft toy but it didn’t seem to bother the chirpy chicks. They surrounded him in an instant and flapped and puffed up their various chests. Charley checked herself in the mirror again and Chanelle fiddled with her fillets. Tracy was bemused. She thought he was a waiter. Does she think they’re in the Borehamwood Travel Lodge I wonder?

Everyone seemed cock-a-hoop at the new eye candy. Everyone except Lesley, that is. The bossy bantam didn’t take to this young leghorn ousting her from the prime perch. There were tears and tantrums and she even tried waving a banana around in attempt to maintain her position in the pecking order. It was all in vain as he slipped under her single duvet and under the skin of a certain Posh Spice doppelganger.

The twittering twins still seem to be talking a different language to everyone else. I think Channel 4 should provide subtitles for those of us who never took a GCSE in squealing.

I’m really worried about Carole. I’m not sure she’s built for mangling. Every time she bends forward and cranks that handle I think she’s going to flatten those ample bosoms.

In between checking herself in the mirror at every opportunity Charley is making enemies in and out of the house due to her constant bitching, boasting and bubbling. Who knew that it was Charley that invented going out on a Sunday instead of a Saturday? Oh and I bet you never knew that skinny jean were the brainchild of our Emily.

Who says Big Brother isn’t educational?

Big Night in Borehamwood!

I was grinning from ear to ear as a 7 foot security guard led us down the housemate walkway towards the VIP paddock. The place was a lot smaller than I expected but the atmosphere was electric. My heart was beating so fast I thought my vibrating mobile alert was going off.

After a quick warm up we were introduced to the divine Davina. She looked stunning. Like Emma Peel going speed dating. She played with the crowd and even persuaded a rather cute and crumpled Dermot to take a bow before the cameras started rolling.

First up were two matching twizzle sticks who giggled their way into the house and then promptly fell in the bath.

An old dear in stretch pants and pumps swept by. She looked like she was there to audit the books and had taken the wrong turning.

Another girl was next. Charley was like Sinitta on a tight budget. The poor girl didn‘t quite live up to her video and she got a bit of a roasting from the crowd.

By the time Tracey arrived it was clear we were going to have a house full of estrogen.

The crowd was ecstatic. Tracey looked like what you might get if Sir Jimmy Savile exploded in a Flea Market. I shook her hand. Can you believe I’ve been touched by the hand of a 37 year old cleaner from Cambridge.

The smiley Welsh girl appeared to have come dressed as a Liquorice Allsort for some reason. I think she had the same stylist as Shab who was wide-eyed with leggings.

We also got a Posh Spice wannabe and a wannabe posh bird. There was one with a fringe who was a bit fed up and hated men. She’d obviously come to the right house.

They saved the best until last. Carole the activist exploded from her limo wearing some curtains from a Blackpool B&B. The crowd loved her and she loved her moment. It was a magical experience for her and us.

It may have been like watching the hen party from hell but I loved every clucking moment.

Bring on the boys

Blame it on the lesbian nun!

It only took the words ‘lesbian nun’ and I was hooked. 7 summer’s later and I’m breaking out in a sweat in anticipation of the launch of Big Brother 8. From the minute the first housemate steps out of the limo and waves nervously at the baying crowd, my summer of love (and hate) begins.

The build up has already started and I find myself roaming fan sites and forums on the off-chance of a launch night leak or a sneaky peak at the new house. Seeking out silhouettes of prospective housemates and dodgy aerial shots of building work at Elstree has already become an obsession. My tabloid quota has trebled and Heat magazine is compulsory reading on my way to work.

The cries of ‘Oh I’m not watching it this year’ are already ringing around the office but by the end of week two I bet we’ll be taking sides and analysing personality disorders in pubs across the land for the next 11 weeks. Sure as hell beats pondering over Tony Blair’s legacy!

The genius of Big Brother lies in the casting. Even the strange blip that was BB4 had its share of heroes and villains. A human zoo with designer furniture and copious amounts of alcohol is a magical combination.

I started fretting about BB earlier than usual. I’ve spent a few sleepless nights worrying about red buttons, multi-coloured eyes and hoping the Virgin Media adverts don't have annoying characters with shit catchphrases. The Carphone Warehouse flies were a particular low point.

Big Brother will be taking over our lives very soon. We’ll love and loathe the housemates and argue about their nocturnal habits. The Eviction crowd will boo everyone and usually for no good reason. Oh and Dermot will wear shorts at least once on BBLB.

What will Davina’s opening line be?
Will Dermot have ditched the Action Man haircut?
Who on earth can fill the skinny black hole left by randy Russell?

I’m getting palpitations as I’m writing this but that may be due to the Chilli Beef wrap I had for lunch.

Hell in Helsinki

It's nearly here again and we're going to be in the bottom 5 and most probably in last place with NIL points again. Even the crap entries are much better than our pathetic Pontin's Holiday pap.

This entry from Ukraine may be dire but it's tongue is firmly in it's cheek whereas our hideous lot have their heads suck up their fake tanned arses.



Flying the Flag sounds like a reject from the BBC Song for Europe contest circa 1989 and Scooch will be the laughing stock of Helsinki on the 12th. There may even be the biggest booos ever heard outside of a Big Brother Eviction when they flash the Union Jack flags at the end. What were they thinking?????

OK the voting is usually dodgy but in the end the best song usually wins (last year being a strange exception).

Thankfully I won't be around this year to watch our humiliation. I've decided to drop the annual Eurovision party, so there'll be no German sausage and Edam cubes at Chez Steps this year.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a massive Eurovision fan but I just think we've lost the plot. Not only is the song bad but the band can't sing and whoever created those ill fitting polyester costumes must have been on a very tight budget. The whole set up is just lazy.

Who cares if we never win. Just stop with the second rate Butlin's cabaret crap and let us at least be proud to support our Eurovision entries.

I've just received my copy of the Eurovision 2007 CD and my tips for success are:

Greece - really catchy pop dance song with a cute singer and sexy dancers.
Denmark - camp disco feelgood song sung by a drag queen in full feathers
Serbia - powerful and dramatic ballad with acrobats?!?
Switzerland - OTT epic about vampires.......yes vampires
Belgium - Brussells does Earth Wind & Fire

hyvää yötä xxx

Friday Fiasco, Farts & Flesh wounds

I was happily listening to Iain Lee on LBC when housemate asks if I'd like to go for a spin to IKEA. My immediate response was 'F**ck off. I'd rather stick my knob in a juice machine'. After a bit of grovelling I relented, as usual, and pulled on some combats and a beanie hat and headed off to the Croydon Twin Towers. We left the lovely Iain chatting to some manic depressive OAP with no self esteem.

HM had to get a refund for some bits of laminated chip board that were attempting to pass themselves off as kitchen cupboard doors. He'd bought them earlier for the kitchen area at his work and somehow managed to pick up the wrong doors and fittings. It's easy done in that breeze block warehouse when faced with a sea of cardboard boxes and bar codes.

Even as we approached the main entrance I could feel my chest tightening. By the time I stepped onto the escalators I was hyper-ventilating and my ankles swelled up like a pregnant rhino. The dizziness hit as we glided past a display of red, yellow and green plastic that was posing as a home office.

I sat down at the edge of the restaurant and composed myself whilst 2 fat women in leggins and flip flops, spoon-fed Swedish meatballs to their 2 equally rotund children. Breathing and heart rate stabilised we ventured off into the rainbow maze.

We tried to be clever and found what we thought was a shortcut through to Kitchens but landed up back at the restaurant, twice. In the end we gave up and just got in line and followed everyone else along the designated path as they scooped up colourful crap into their yellow plastic bags.

At last we got to Kitchens and a lovely IKEA chap with a small afro did something on the computer screen and handed HM a little ticket with the number 424 on it. We were ushered off to the Returns department. Afro man told us to 'give it half an hour'. That should have started alarms bells ringing but by now we were suckered into the whole IKEA 'experience' and wandered off to Market Place to while away 30 minutes amongst the candles, ice cube trays and fish slices.

I finally succumbed and picked up 2 packets of voile window drapes (that's net curtains for my straight readers). HM nearly became a serious casualty as he was diverted by a teak stained, pine steamer in garden furniture. I managed to prise him away eventually after reminding him that we'd been foraging for 25 minutes and had an appointment in Returns. I now have a thumping headache.

The tills were empty so I parted with my £6.98 very quickly. Left turn into Returns to be greeted by a sea of trolleys and a big digital display flashing the number 401!

40 minutes later and I'm started to get agitated again. My growing anxiety is made worse when a small child decides to whizz round the place on those stupid roller trainers. It was making really annoying sound effects every time it sped by and after about 10 minutes I was planning on hurling an empty tolley at him on his next circuit. I could feel my palms sweating as I gripped the handle and rocked gently on the bench. That kid would have been roadkill if HM hadn't interrupted my concentration with an ice cream.

This was only a temporary respite as said kid then decides to stop in front of us and stare while we struggle in vain to prevent the ice cream from dripping all over the floor. Foolishly my HM decides the best approach is to enter into a dialogue with the brat. The evil child just shrieks, laughs and speeds off after dropping a very smelly fart.

By the time we get to number 423 I've started chewing my nails and rolling my eyes so frequently I must have appeared to have some kind of nervous tick. Why do we keep looking at clocks and watches when we're waiting. It doesn't make the time go any quicker and just gets us more wound up.

Finally, after an hour, my HM is called to till number 5. I decide to stay put and fiddle with my voiles while he's being interrogated.

20 minutes later and I'm chewing the skin round my nails. He's now got 3 IKEA staff round his till and they're all fiddling with bits of paper and scowling at the PC screen. It took another half an hour for the 3 of them to work out what the correct order should have been and how much of a refund my HM was due.

I guess when you employ muppets whose primary skills are being able to swipe bar codes, you can't really expect them to be good at adding and subtracting too.

As I head for the exit I'm hit on my blind side by a overloaded trolley and it slices a chunk of flesh off my heel. It's the 2 fat meatball women and they glare at me as though I deliberately put my ankle in the way of their trolley. They look a bit fierce so I decide against a confrontation and limp off bleeding to the car.

Finally get home to hear the last 5 minutes of Iain's show, with my foot and fingers in tatters. Still no Agent Chris and Vinnie is taking calls straight to air. I feel normal again.

I have now taken a blood oath that I will never venture into that soul-sucking warehouse ever again. Al Quieda chose the wrong Twin Towers



*footnote*

The voile window drapes stayed up for approx 80 minutes and have spent the rest of the weekend on the bedroom floor.

Roll for the lads

Just what us brawny boys need to wipe up our manly messes

p.s. I have survived the patio plunge and managed to put up the replacement blind all by myself with no one helping me. I'll be watching Soccer AM and setting light to me farts next!

Bedroom Bunjy Jumping

Today has been another one of those days when I wish I'd just stayed in bed and not allowed myself to get tangled in life's evil web.

This morning, around 7am, I was drifting off to sleep again after pressing the Snooze button for the third time when my mobile rang. I got such a fright that I let out a girly yelp and pulled the duvet over my head. Why on earth did I think that the theme from Psycho was a good idea for a ringtone?

By the time I'd composed myself and adjusted my eyes to the dim light in the bedroom the caller had rung off. I assumed it was a wrong number and snuggled back under the covers only to hear the main house phone ringing within seconds. I let it ring and waited to see if the person would leave a message. Just as the bloke started talking I remembered my new shed was being delivered today!

I stumbled through to the lounge only to hear this Argos oik telling me to get out of my bed! To be fair, he did have a point. I was still half asleep so wasn't really sharp enough to have a go at his interesting customer skills when I finally picked up the phone.

It was good to get that delivery out of the way early. I just hadn't expected it to be so early. Usually if I book a morning slot the doorbell rings at 11.59.

My Sainsburys shopping delivery arrived promptly too. Just after Loose Women and before a spiky phone call with a project manager who looks like Herman Munster and smells of Ritz crackers.

This evening I'd arranged to go to IKEA to get a new blind for my bedroom. I'd managed to break the mechanism for opening and closing the blinds during a Jacobs Creek tasting session. What little co-ordination and dexterity I possess vanishes completely after 2 glasses of Shiraz.

In preparation for the IKEA trip I drank 2 cups of camomile tea and popped a propanolol but I was still feeling flushed and anxious. The car trip was only 5 minutes but as the blue and yellow towers drew closer I had a twinges in my right arm and my ankles turned crimson and swelled up. Not a good look when you're wearing 3/4 length shorts.

I did some breathing exercises on the escalator and by the time we got to rugs I was feeling pretty chilled. We reached blinds and spent 20 minutes arguing about colours and drops. In the end we decided on the 120 x 155 in pale wood. I say wood but I swear it felt more like Wrigleys Spearmint chewing gum strips.

Half an hour later we find the tills and the exit and depart Swedish purgatory without purchasing anything that we didn't come for. Never EVER pick up the yellow bags in IKEA. If you do you're sure to arrive home with a useless fish slice, rubber ice cube tray and some apple & blackberry tea lights.

Got home and decided I'd have a go at putting up the blinds myself despite my famous lack of skills in the DIY department. The old blind came down really fast but I managed to break the fittings in the process. I'm not good up a ladder but I was being dead focused. Too focused really as the fittings snapped off.

No worries, I thought. I'll just unscrew the old fittings and put up the new ones. Unscrewing was a piece of piss. One by one the screws came out and fell on the floor as I teetered on the step ladders. Why is it that step ladders make such scary creaking noises the higher you go up?

Replacing the fittings shouldn't have been a problem but when I started I realised that the screw holes were in a different place. I'm sweating now and the step ladders are moving freely around my laminate flooring. I'm determined to do this and get the right side fitting fixed after a medium struggle.

The left hand side proves more difficult as I can't get a good twist on the screwdriver due to a wall cabinet being in the way. After dropping the screw 5 times I'm getting stressed again but despite the wet arm pits and neckline I persevered and decided I needed to apply more pressure on the screwdriver.

The screw fell out another 6 times and I'm getting angry and more heated. My head is throbbing and after counting to 10 I decide to have 1 last lunge at the screw. The shift of weight pushes the step ladders back and throws me forward......through the open window and I do a stuntman dive onto the patio, destroying a group of Jasmine clippings in small pots.

I think I've done something bad to my shoulder and my left ankle is feeling sore. I feel a bit shaken to be honest but I haven't got time to worry about my injuries because I now realise my trauma has been in vain because HM just told me that the window is more than 155cm deep so the blind is too fucking short!

I'm washing down more propanolol with Jacobs Creek so even Jodie Marsh couldn't wind me up now. I wonder if I need an X Ray? It hurts when I do this..............

Touch me Tahmoh

This isn't really a blog but I've been watching the Battlestar Galactica box set over the last couple of weeks and have become obsessed with Tahmoh Penikett. Sexy name too!

He looks great in and out of uniform.

He can dock his Raptor in my loading bay any time xxx

*sigh*

The Great North Grope!

Off on my travels again. This time I'm at the mercy of GNER as I make my way to Newcastle for a business meeting and a big company do. Spent the whole previous evening emptying the contents of my wardrobe and trying to pair up tops and bottoms for the party. In the end I went for a Diesel/Primark combo of jeans and black t shirt adorned with various crucifixes. I think I'm turning into Madonna circa 1984.

Surprisingly the trip North was pretty uneventful apart from a toothless drunk across the aisle who kept emptying a carrier bag full of Celebrations and Quality Street onto his table and counting them. After he satisfied himself that they were all still there he would scoop them up and put them back for 20 minutes before starting all over again.

He caught me watching him outside Peterborough and waved a mini Mars bar in my face and laughed so much he nearly choked on his own phlegm, like a TB victim facing the last rites.

Jumped in a cab at Newcastle station and when I said where I was going I got what sounded like some mild form of Geordie abuse. 30 seconds later when we pulled up to the hotel I realised why the cabbie hadn't been best pleased. The hotel was just the other side of the traffic lights. I felt so sheepish and embarrassed I gave him a fiver and told him to keep the change.

After a curry I finished off some work in my room and had a glass of something passing as red wine before getting ready for bed. I was really tired and looking forward to hitting the pillows. I slid under the covers with a grin on my face and my specs perched on the end of my nose. It took about 5 seconds before I realised I was lying on something damp!

I threw off the covers and leapt out of bed. Well I didn't exactly leap. It was too late at night for leaping. Anyway I switched the lights on and gently patted the mattress. It was definitely damp. Should I sniff it? I sniffed it! No smell but it's damp. I sat on the sofa for a few minutes wondering what I should do. No choice but to call reception and think about packing up and moving rooms.

After about 5 minutes there was a knock at the door and Blakey from On the Buses walked in! I swear he was a dead ringer. He has a feel of the bed and ventures a sniff. We're both rubbing the sheets now and it's becoming clear that the dampness seems to have vanished! He's now looking at me like I'm some sort of mad person. He's quick though as he suggested that maybe it was the 'sea air' as I had the windows open. I found myself agreeing with his theory to get out of my predicament. He bid me goodnight as I rushed him out the door. I guess I'll never know where the dampness came from or where it went. Maybe it was some kind of paranormal wetting!

Next morning my guts were playing up after the curry. I'd already had 2 toilet sittings in the hotel before the cab arrived. Why don't hotels provide bog brushes. I'm sure it's so the maids can have a laugh at your skid marks.

I'd only been in the office for about half an hour when the curry made itself known again. Nothing worse that doing a poo in the office but I had no choice in the matter. I sneaked down the corridor and after checking to make sure I had no neighbours I landed in trap number 4. Just at the point of noisy release, the toilet door opens and in come a group of lads from the call centre. I think I've only ever taken a dump at work on 2 occasions and both times I ended up with a giggling audience outside. Having a shit can be really shit sometimes.

The main event was the party in the evening. I work with a great team of people and we always have fantastic nights out but this one was extra special as it marked a big change in our company. A change for the good I have to say. It's been a dead exciting time and we were all really up for a good time.

As usual Big Frank, the tea-total giant, got rat arsed after 2 pints of Carling and was swaying by the Ladies toilets offering Marlboro Lights to anything that walked past. We got him a cab at half nine as his eyes were rolling back into his head after someone gave him a Sambuca.

Soon it was the last record of the night and we were all on the floor linking arms and shouting along to The Proclaimers and 5000 miles. As we got to the 2nd verse I felt this hand down the back of my jeans. Inside my underpants! I turned to Diane who was on my right but realised her hand was on my shoulder. The hand down my pants belonged to Ian from Finance! What a f*ckin liberty!

We staggered across the bridge to Buffalo Joes for more of the same. I love Buffalo Joes. Especially the bar staff. Those sexy lads in chaps and leather waistcoats are very pleasant viewing. I was apparently quite easy on the eye to a young guy who followed me around like a puppy. I say puppy but I think he was more like a predator as he tried to get me away from the pack at every opportunity. I was flattered and it was fun but he wasn't my type.

After a quick snog and another grope I escaped back to the herd only to be thrown onto the bucking bull. Well I say thrown but actually I was getting boos from the crowd as they were getting bored waiting for me to take off my boots, jewelry and find a safe person to hold my mobile phone. I finally made my entrance and leapt onto the bouncy base around the bull. Misjudged the bounce and fell forward, bashing my nose on the saddle. I lasted 12 seconds on the bull and staggered off with a bloody nose only to be greeted by Ian from Finance with a tissue and a smile........

I Lost My Heart to a Welsh Hip Looker

Well it's happened. Bloody hell it happened! First time in ages and I had one of those lust moments that kinda takes over your body and having a shag is the only thing on your mind.

Trouble is mine happened when I was midway through delivering a presentation at work!

I could tell this wasn't going to be an ordinary business trip when the youth driving my cab decided to do a James Bond wheelie round a bus outside the Council offices.

I was too busy fumbling on the floor for my new Sony Ericsson mobile to notice that we were now in the wrong lane and hurtling towards the Croydon underpass. I never put my seat belt on in a cab so I'm now lying across the back seat with one foot sticking through the front seat head rest.

I dropped the phone again as he swerved across the lanes and cut up a BT van with seconds to spare before we dipped into the tunnel. My teenage chauffeur grinned at BT man, waved and completely ignored the quivering pile of arms and legs on his back seat.

I managed to recover my composure by lots of deep breathing on the Thameslink train en-route to Paddington. I was listening to the Ian Lee show podcast and trying to stifle my giggling on the packed train until one of my favourite callers made me laugh out loud and my chewing gum popped out and landed on the laptop of the bloke sitting next to me. He didn't notice so I shuffled across to the doors so I wouldn't be a suspect when he spotted it.

Made it to Paddington and dragged my trolley over to the ticket machines. There was 2 machines being used and a fat, bearded American with an Ohio baseball hat on standing behind machine 1. I queued behind machine 2 and when it was free I moved forward. Finger poised to touch screen. The Yank steps forward and says 'I'm next'.

I give him one of my best glares and point out that he was queuing for machine 1 but as the fracas escalates he is shouting loudly about how there was only a single queue for both ATMs. ATMs my arse. We now have an audience as I find my Scottish roots and begin 'F'ing and blinding like a drunken Glaswegian who's just dropped his kebab.

Yank backs down when machine 1 becomes free and we both stand there pressing the screens violently and mumbling under our breaths until we get our tickets.

The train to Swansea was absolutely packed but I managed to get a seat OK. The comedian Dom Joly (sp)was sat across from me. He was much smaller in real life. I always thought he was a tall bloke. Anyway the reason I mention him is because there was loads of mobiles going off and every time a person answered a call they'd say 'I'm on the train' in a very loud voice. It was surreal and when I caught his eye as we approached Reading we exchanged smirks.

When we arrived in Cardiff the train was fairly empty. This cute little girl who was a dead ringer for Kelly Osbourne got on. She had bleached blonde hair spiking out from under a brown hat. The strange thing was that when she took the hat off the top of her hair was brown so it looked like she was still wearing it!

Had a pretty uneventful time getting to my hotel and after a curry with my Welsh colleagues and a couple of glasses of Merlot it was off to bed after the usual 10 minute wrestle with the remote control to find the sleep function. Made even more difficult by the fact that all the lettering had been rubbed off by thousands of fingers searching for the porn channels.

The next morning we were off to the Call Centre and I was being honoured with a personal tour by a small dumpy supervisor with sideburns called Eva. She was very sweet and introduced me all the Team Leaders as we maneuvered our way around the banks of desks and PCs. The place was massive and everyone was really cheerful which is unusual in that line of work.

After a cup of decaffeinated dish water from the vending machine I was ushered upstairs to meet the people who were attending my presentation. I knew most of them from conference calls and email chains and wasn't particularly looking forward to meeting one of them because we'd had a couple of run-ins on the phone due to his brusque manner and condescending tone.

You can imagine the state of my jaw as I was introduced to this gorgeous hunk of Welsh rarebit. He was smiling from ear to ear and what a bloody sexy grin it was too. He had scruffy black hair, dark eyes and just the right about of stubble to tickle your thighs. He was a bit unkempt but it was done in such a cool way that I was struggling to stop myself dribbling. As we shook hands and a bolt of electricity shot up my arm. It might have been the static from the worn grey carpet but to me it was a sign that we were having a celestial bonding.

I really struggled to take my eyes off him the whole day. I was blatantly flirting across the table and had a permanent semi for most of the meeting. I was so horny that when it came to my bit I had to hold a couple of pages of A4 across my flies as I did my presentation.

He was obviously flirting with me too and was more than happy to help me get logged in at lunchtime to check my emails. I was acting like a teenager but loving every minute of it.

We were brought back down to earth with a bump after lunch when we returned to the meeting room. In the corner by the flip chart was a huge human poo that was shaped like a comma. The smell was terrible and it kinda brought and end to the sexual frisson. Nobody else looked particularly perturbed by this faecal feature. Apparently it's quite a common occurrence in the call centre. Maybe it's an old Welsh custom or welcome greeting.

After the exit of the excretia we carried on with the windows opened and I lusted after Boyo for the rest of the afternoon. Isn't it funny how you can make an opinion about someone over the phone and yet when you meet them face to face they are not at all what you expected.

He offered to give me a lift to the station. I was almost cumming in my pants with excitement.

As we drove out of the car park he asked me if I would mind if we picked up his missus on the way to station.

I was crestfallen *sigh*

All the travel, late nights and sexual tension finally caught up with me as we pulled out of the train station. Jeez I was knackered. I thanked the Lord the train was quiet and not busy.

Next stop we were invaded by a Welsh Stag party. I tried to block out the noise with my headphones but they were so loud I couldn't make out what song was playing on my mp3 player. They were all laughing for no apparent reason and kept oggling the females in the carriage with such sexual intent that it was making me really uncomfortable. Is that what I looked like today in the meeting room?!?!

Luckily they all staggered off at Cardiff and for 1 stop I had the table to myself.

I knew things couldn't last and sure enough at Newport this freaky looking family got on and the youngest kid posted itself opposite me and just stared. It was like the kid from The Omen in le Coq Sportif.

He got bored of the staring and produced a Batman action figure and proceeded to fly the figure above the table and decided that I'm The Joker and must be destroyed. The second time that Batman glanced the tip of my nose I snapped and rounded on the parents. Damien starts to cry and I get looks of disdain from the rest of the carriage all the way to Paddington.

I was queuing up for a Travelcard when my phone went. It was a text. It was text from Boyo. It was text thanking me for coming down and saying how much he enjoyed meeting me!

I had a stiffy on the Circle Line until Sloane Square....