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 AKA 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.............

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!

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!

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!

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.

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.