11 years too late, but still...

So Channel 4 have finally decided to bin that stinking pile of uber-shite Big Brother? Good bloody riddance.

When it started, the first series had a novelty appeal. I didn't watch it (although I caught the final in a pub) but you could understand why people were interested in it. Genuine people were slung into a house and watched, while their arguments and emotions were played out for the voyeuristic viewers. Not my cup of char, but if it lights your candle, go for it girl.

The thing is, after that, C4 were like "Hold up, this is taking off big-style. Maybe, instead of sticking to this format though, we fill the house will a series of ill-monikered goons, socially-retarded wannabees and scantily-clad nork-merchants to titillate our clearly idiotic fanbase. Then, we'll employ some skinny blokes with concerning fashion tastes to discuss the goings-on in the house like a Jeremy Kyle-version of The Big Question. That'll be ace"

And lo, said ideas were actioned, and for the last decade we've been subjected to the likes of Jady Goody (RIP, Queen of our hearts), that Chantelle woman and John Tickle. Really, are any of these people actually worth the skin they inhabit? They're no-marks of the highest order yet because they spent 6 weeks sat on their arse in a house, they are thrust into the limelight while every facet of their sex and social life is plastered across the newspapers, usually by a plumber named Dave who used to shag one of them.

The idea of it being an interesting social experiment died when they started taking themselves so seriously, employing old Bignose to tell us how important it was, and how interesting the folk in the house were. You could argue that she was spectacularly missing the point; that people who invest any kind of emotion or time in the plights of these skanks were somehow the right-thinking in this society. Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming the BB producers for tapping into the culture of brainless voyeurism that blights our televisual treats these days, but to make it look like the must-see show across the summer is at least worrying, at best irresponsible. Yes, dip in every now and then to see them having a scrap of showering together, but don't stop up all night watching them sleep on an infra-red camera. That's just gay.

Sadly, the rumour is that another station will pick up the franchise and eek even more mileage from it, despite the fact that it ceased to be a good idea in 2002. Naturally I won't be tuning in, nor will I be picking on the people who like it to any great degree. Despite what you read above, I genuinely don't care. I just find it fascinating how much effort and airtime goes into covering a dozen unemployed, intellectually-challenged individuals arguing for 2 months.

I just hope McCall doesn't find herself at a loose end and fronts another series of her dreadful chat show. That really would be a tragedy for TV. Cheers.

How to create a reality TV programme

It's true to say I actually like about 10 TV programmes, although I'll happily watch millions when there's nothing better to do. However, apart from House and Top Gear, there is only one other programme in the whole world that I get arsey about missing.

Brooke Knows Best.

Now, for those of you who don't know, this is a reality documentary charting the life of Brooke Hogan, daughter of Terry "Hulk" Hogan, who was a boxer or something. The plot is simple: she spends her entire life talking to her roommates (fit and gay respectively), while we sit there bored shitless waiting for something to actually occur. Hardcore BKB fans will know that her parents recently got divorced after Tegs started knocking off one of Brooke's friends, and now both parents are shagging someone nearer their kids' age than their own. The result is an unmissable mix of Miami footage and the lovely Miss Hogan in a range of skimpy togs.

It's what our forefathers fought for.

You'll be surprised to learn that the production values on this epic aren't exactly spectacular. Indeed, the whole programme actually lasts about 17 minutes, when you strip away the 4 million adverts, and easily the most annoying part of the show; the "Coming Up" section.

Basically, this is what happens:

1. Opening credits roll. Staged beach shots which make the Baywatch cast cringe ensue
2. Brooke voiceover: "Coming up on Brooke Knows Best"
3. We see a minute-long montage of literally everything which is going to take place in the show tonight. I mean EVERYTHING.
4. We sit through the rest of the show watching exactly what we were shown in the preview, embellished with the occasional house or location shot, or one of the roommates looking wistfully into the middle distance, possibly wondering why the feck they're in this tripe in the first place.

It seems to me that 2 things have taken place for us to end up here:

1. Brooke actually has a normal, run-of the mill life (except no job, it appears)
2. The production team have spunked so much money on the production of this piffle that they have to cobble something together, albeit with results that don't exactly have the Emmy awards committee moistening their undergarments.

The sensible option would be to say "You know what, B? We might as well can this, cos you don't do owt remotely interesting, and the only stuff you ever do that is vaguely watchable is over so quickly we have to rely upon padding it out with millions of swimmers or skaters or external shots of your house that we've already used fourteen times in this show"

Then again, if they did, where would people like me go for their car crash fix? Jeremy Kyle? I think not, squire. Keep up the good work, MTV.

Ikea: Home of vocal lesbians and hot dog-chasing tightwads

You probably know that I recently moved house. I'm now in that familiar position of having two television cabinets whilst not being entirely sure where the kettle is.

Part of the homebuilding procedure is of course visiting Ikea. I checked the relevant paperwork and found that yes, I am legally obliged to visit the Swedish furniture superstore once a month until I'm dead. My only choice is which day I go. What a gyp.

I chose this time to go on a Monday, mainly because I expected it to be relatively quiet. It wasn't, mainly because it's the school holidays, so I was constantly on my guard for kids pushing miniature trollies at high speed into my ankles. Luckily for them, no such collision occurred and they'll happily see their teen years.

The problem (or benefit, in my opinion) of Ikea is that the close-knit nature of the layout means you're often in the vicinity of other couples measuring headboards, and get to hear snippets of their conversations. It was through the medium of inadvertent eavesdropping that these two beauties fell into my lap.

- An obviously lesbian couple, with an obvious husband/wife set-up. Whilst milling around the picture frames, they passed me in the opposite direction. Grabbing the 'wife' by the waist, the 'husband' then imparting this sweet nothing in her beloved's ear:

"Come here and give us a snog, you big lesbian"

I managed to control my laughter until I was just out of earshot (I have no doubt she could've kicked my head in had she wanted to), but you have to ask what kind of statement that is. As if hetero couples refer to each other as 'big fat straighties'.

- The woman in front of us at the checkout pulled the checkout girl up when a dish she thought was one pound odd actually turned out to be a little over two. After checking, it transpired the shopper had picked up the wrong sized dish, so decided to leave it, due to the 80 or so pence difference in price. "Fair do's" thought I, surmising that she must be a bit short on brass and couldn't afford to go chucking it about on oversized cookery items. I found myself to be wrong, however, when she proceeded to the hot dog stand, bought TWO, then ate them herself on the way across the car park. Clearly spending the thick end of two quid on processed meat products was more favourable that spending the extra 80p on a dish. What a gal.

I'm off back next Monday to actually buy something. I'll report back on the latest goings on with the social underclass once I've been. Ciao.