Christmas and New Year are over; I am a pale, limp, alcohol infused, Shane McGowan impressionist and, therefore, in need of something to make me feel better.
Is Celebrity Big Brother that thing? There are both pros and cons to it. Pro: having watched the first show where they all enter the house and prattle off some crap about their lives in a short pre-recorded interview, I’m left with an overwhelming feeling of superiority, but this is short-lived and, unfortunately, counteracted almost immediately by a con: “I am more brilliant than all these people in just about every conceivable way” I think to myself, “. . . but I’m not being paid to sit in a house and do nothing.” Damn! – The first blow. Pro: by the end of the show, in the public eye, I will probably be more popular and have more dignity than all the contestants combined. Con: they have a combined wealth of more than I will earn in my entire life.
So, in conclusion, without watching the whole series of Celeb BB, while performing constant psychological assessments in order to track and record a graph of ‘My Mood’ vs. ‘Celeb BB watching’, which I won’t do because I hate Big Brother, I will never find out if Big Brother makes me feel better. It’s a perfect catch-22!
I watched the opening ceremony on Friday (Is that what you call it? It was certainly funnier than the one in Beijing, which definitely had more of an undercurrent of oppression) with the sole intention of using it as blog fodder, because their idiotic opinions make the writing of derogatory slur – which is essentially what I do – an utter piece of piss.
This year, as with the past million years of Celebrity Big Brother shows, the method for selecting the applicants has followed the same tried and tested formula. Input the following: a politician whose career no one knows or cares about; an American that has no idea what the show is all about; a member of the Jackson family; a couple of opinionated twats; a couple of slappers and a few morons. The result is a nasty cocktail of polar extreme personalities that cataclysmically metamorphose into a group of grandiose hate figures, out of which, just one poor jaded individual will crawl out to absorb all of the nation’s love for a good year (until the next show comes along, and he/she can scuttle off back into insignificance again). Choosing to enter the house with these preposterous odds and dire consequences stacked against you seems foolish, but that is the nature of the celebrity ego.
All of last night’s entrees clearly feel they have a chance of endearing themselves to an indifferent and potentially vengeful public, but I am less sure. So, in these incredibly early stages, I will make predictions about their futures in the house, based on my preconceptions and unfounded hunches alone.
La Toya Jackson: Her plastic doll’s face makes her expression difficult to read, as such, she could hide her hate behind a fixed botox smile; couple this with her childlike naivety and she’s suddenly very appealing. If she remains untarnished by the evil vibes that will begin to circulate, she’ll do alright.
Mutya Buena: The once Sugababe now turned fat chav, made her entrance dressed as the Bo Selecta version of Mel B. Despite her poor appearance I think that she might be secretly quite nice.
Verne Troyer: Child’s body, baby’s voice and 40 year old builder’s head. It’s a weird blend that I would distance myself from, if I was in there with him. Due to his apparent womanising past I initially predicted that he would letch after Lucy Pinder, but as I watched him enter the house he exuded an aura of such powerful sadness and discontent I actually struggled to watch. I think the public will sympathise with his handicap and introspective inner grief and keep him in until the end.
Tommy Sheridan: Self proclaimed ‘infamous’ Scottish MP who, judging from his video, seems to have spent his entire career getting arrested. He looks quite boring and, therefore, I don’t fancy his chances of longevity.
Lucy Pinder: Her initial comments about the vapid nature of celebrity and her humble beginnings in the modelling game earmarked her in my eyes as a likely winner; she soon spoiled all that though by coming across as a pretentious, snobby, big-titted, tory-loving twat. We will see which side of her personality outs, if it’s the former she could go far.
Ben Adams: Surprisingly, the former A1 star has ditched the most interesting thing about him, his gay hangy string fringe, along with any remnants of personality he might have had. Apparently he’s been working as a songwriter for Alexandra Burke who’s been a pop singer for all of a fortnight, which puts a bit of gap in his CV, but I suppose he could always say he went travelling. Providing he keeps quiet I think he’ll do well by avoiding getting to the public vote and generally surviving on his innocuous behaviour . . . much like a chair.
Tina Malone: Fat old bird from Brookside and, more recently, Shameless, which she seems to have taken as a moniker for her attitude. Opinionated – but the sort of person that shouldn’t be – so may win favour with Daily Mail fans until they eject her when she invites the rage of their columnists.
Coolio: Clearly has no idea what Big Brother is. He’ll have discovered by now and also realised that he has nothing in common with anyone in there. First impressions are that he’s alright, although as a rapper he will clearly have a monumental ego that might erupt if not sufficiently flattered.
Michelle Heaton: Generic face of mid alphabet list celebdom. I imagine most of the public are as sick of the sight of her as I am, so I can’t see her lasting unless she magically transforms into the Lord Jesus Christ by the end of week one.
Terry Christian: Smirking git that presented The Word about 3 decades ago. Still maintains the front of someone whose opinion should be held sacred, despite the fact that no one has ever listened to anything he’s ever said (quite like me then really). Over the coming days I predict that his bravado will diminish as will he, until after a while he will surprise people by not being anything like the person he pretends to be – which will ultimately be a good move on the part of his subconscious.
Ulrika Johnson: By mentioning the name ‘Sven’ about 5 times in her opening interview, she set her stool out early as the ex Shooting Stars/Shagging Stars slag that she has been painted as by the media. According to some sources she is being paid more than the average celeb in the house, probably to divulge details of her sordid past. Needless to say this is not going to charm her co-celebs, or indeed us, but as is the nation’s bloodlust for these details, she’ll be kept in ‘til the bitter end, provided she keeps dishing the dirt that is.
Reading back what I’ve written – which has taken a while, so sorry – it seems that I’ve not actually picked a winner; and I’m not going to either, just in case the person I tip to win turns out to be a fascist, racist, bigot bastard and I am forever tarnished with the reputation of a “BLANK sympathiser”.
As such, I have no aspirations for the outcome of the show and can only hope that, when it’s all done and dusted, I feel better than the inevitable sorry sod that ends up as a public figure of hate with their once dwindling reputation irreparably shattered.