So anyway. When I waddled in from the pub last night and turned on the television I thought I was hallucinating. I had, after all, one of my drinking companions had told me, been having a pint or few in the pub where Derren Brown relaxes when he’s in town.
George Galloway is on Celebrity Big Brother.
I don’t usually watch Big Brother, celebrity or otherwise, after realising that spending one’s life watching other people spending their lives doing nothing is probably not the best use of one’s time. But bloody hell, I couldn’t drag myself away from it last night. It was some of the most excruciating, morbidly fascinating, utterly compelling television I’ve ever seen.
The urge to change channel in squirming embarrassment while George sat glassy eyed listening to Michael Barrymore’s whining self-justification was almost irresistable. And the bit where George exchanged small talk with cross-dressing basketball player, Dennis Rodman, was pure comedy gold (”Are you still playing, Dennis?” and “I’m here to get our message out”). I liked the “our”.
The bit where he fumbled around trying to explain to Rodman that he was hoping to get across to people who wouldn’t necessarily have heard of him was priceless: “The kind of people who watch this show” or somesuch. He didn’t quite say proles or The Great Unwashed but you could see he was casting around for a non-derogatory term for people more interested in reality television than the travails of Gorgeous George.
Are the people who voted for him angry or relieved that he’s decided to take himself off the streets of their constituency for an extended period again, do you think?
All the housemates were seated around the kitchen table talking as I retired. The ever visually arresting Pete Burns from Dead or Alive was waxing lyrical about how he loved cities and wanted the world paved over. George was ready for bed by this point, his navy blue pyjamas buttoned all the way to the top, tight around his neck. “Big Brother” asked over the PA system that all housemates make sure their microphones were positioned correctly. Cue much shuffling and wriggling as microphones were adjusted.
Not from George though. He remained quite still, his microphone perfectly positioned in the lapel of his pristine, powder blue dressing gown.
Oh, his voice is going to be heard all right.
7/1/06: Gorgeous’ constituents are out of luck, it would seem.
Still, at least George took the time to salute Michael Barrymore’s indefatigability: “You’re a funny man, Michael, you’ll be back, and you’ll be back big.” Funny how? Funny ha ha or funny peculiar?
I always though what happened to Stuart Lubbock was a bit, well, funny.