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!