Jungle Bunnies
It’s that time of year again, kids. That two week period of the year when all right-thinking people guiltily indulge themselves with two weeks of what is the television equivalent of slowing down past a gory road traffic accident.
Yep, I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here is back. The programme where ten micro celebrities, at least four of whom most of the country have been blissfully unaware of until now, are permitted to publicly debase themselves in the name of entertainment.
To be honest, I don’t generally like so called “reality” shows but this one is different and I usually find myself watching it. Because it involves so-called celebrities, the satisfaction of seeing them having to act and think like the normal people they presumably once were, with the added complications of dealing with the clash of celebrity tuned egos, borders on shadenfreude. They’re not the victims of their own misfortune – they’re getting paid for it and we want our money’s worth. And they get to eat worms.
I use the term “celebrity” lightly. With one or two exceptions these people aren’t your everyday household name. They are, by and large, those who once enjoyed some form of limited fame or tabloid notoriety seeking a much-needed boost to their income. They are invariably members of boy and girl bands in that “difficult” period between their second and third albums seeking a raft of curious new fans; ex-soap stars “between projects” and others whose celebrity is either genuine or second hand.
This year we have no less than 4 ex-soapies, two poppies, one Osmond, the most annoying woman ever to have been on TV (Jilly Goolden), a genuine celeb and almost definite winner of the student vote in David Dickinson and er…Carol Thatcher. Carol’s connection to glitz is that her mother was the most hated woman in the universe and her brother’s the biggest twat in it. Her very own mealticket is now assured after the night cameras caught her having a sly waz next to her bunk. Great to be known for something, eh? Mummy must be so proud. Nobody to rival John Lydon from two years ago but genuine legends tend to be busy most of the time.
Sadly I’ll miss most of it this year because we’re off to France for ten days on Friday. Mum? Put a tape in…
Yep, I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here is back. The programme where ten micro celebrities, at least four of whom most of the country have been blissfully unaware of until now, are permitted to publicly debase themselves in the name of entertainment.
To be honest, I don’t generally like so called “reality” shows but this one is different and I usually find myself watching it. Because it involves so-called celebrities, the satisfaction of seeing them having to act and think like the normal people they presumably once were, with the added complications of dealing with the clash of celebrity tuned egos, borders on shadenfreude. They’re not the victims of their own misfortune – they’re getting paid for it and we want our money’s worth. And they get to eat worms.
I use the term “celebrity” lightly. With one or two exceptions these people aren’t your everyday household name. They are, by and large, those who once enjoyed some form of limited fame or tabloid notoriety seeking a much-needed boost to their income. They are invariably members of boy and girl bands in that “difficult” period between their second and third albums seeking a raft of curious new fans; ex-soap stars “between projects” and others whose celebrity is either genuine or second hand.
This year we have no less than 4 ex-soapies, two poppies, one Osmond, the most annoying woman ever to have been on TV (Jilly Goolden), a genuine celeb and almost definite winner of the student vote in David Dickinson and er…Carol Thatcher. Carol’s connection to glitz is that her mother was the most hated woman in the universe and her brother’s the biggest twat in it. Her very own mealticket is now assured after the night cameras caught her having a sly waz next to her bunk. Great to be known for something, eh? Mummy must be so proud. Nobody to rival John Lydon from two years ago but genuine legends tend to be busy most of the time.
Sadly I’ll miss most of it this year because we’re off to France for ten days on Friday. Mum? Put a tape in…
posted by Richard at 2:31 pm
1 Vegetable peelings:
Greetings from the North of Scotland - that's the bit that's joined to England heh he.
Welcome to blogging. I've enjoyed reading yours.
Kats:0)
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