Back to reality

Well, the countdown has begun – only 9 days to go. Not to hollybobs you understand, or Small Person’s fifth birthday (which is next Wednesday, incidentally), but to something infinitely more important – the return of Big Brother. I am unashamedly obsessed with this programme – other reality TV passes me by for the most part but this I love. Well, I say it passes me by – I will confess to a guilty and slightly embarrassing penchant for “Airport”. I think it’s because it’s comfy, cup-of-tea and slippers programming – a warm and cosy slice of middle-class England passing through airports; variously fainting, being too drunk to fly or losing their passports, all narrated by the soporific, comforting tones of John Nettles. There’s no high drama, nobody dies and it always turns out alright in the end. Lovely. The other weekend when the Other Half was poorly, he snoozed on one sofa (he laughs in his sleep – how scary is that?!) while I curled up on the other and blissfully watched an hour and a half of back to back Airport on some satellite channel or other. Rock and roll…..

Anyway, Big Brother. I know it drives people mad, and it’s fashionable to be sneery about it and write it off as dumbing-down and the lowest form of entertainment, but it’s cheaper than the zoo and you can drink beer while you watch it – I rest my case. There’s something utterly compelling about watching a bunch of fame-hungry halfwits prostituting themselves on national television, and acting completely surprised when they leave to discover that either they are loathed by the nation or, worse, greeted with total indifference. The hurtle into obscurity is always gratifying to watch too, particularly if said contestant has been convinced of their meteoric rise to fame on leaving the house. I realise that a number of people stopped reading this when I got to the words “…the return of Big Brother” but I love it and it’s my blog so there. My sister Fifi and I limber up our thumbs and charge our mobiles in order to spend pretty much every night of the week watching from our respective houses and texting (mostly the words “Oh, my god”, admittedly) throughout. We become obsessed with the contestants and talk about them in intimate detail, as if they were long-standing friends or family members which is slightly worrying and probably not to be encouraged – I mean, it’s sort of ok for me to discuss Robbie Williams in personal terms as he’s proper famous and therefore in the public domain, but to become unable to start my working day without a twenty minute discussion on the toilet habits of a nail technician from Aylesbury is probably not normal. In the summer of 2002 when my niece was born, Fifi and I spent the day in her living room watching the live feed on E4 from two different camera angles. Absolutely nothing happened at all, but we were unable to leave the room in case something did. I’ve watched C4 late on a Friday night, gazing vapidly at the screen for ages as the contestants sleep on, oblivious, and I try to convince myself that it’s ok to go to bed now as it’s unlikely that 3am will herald an all-out naked drunken wrestling match. I know it’s sad and I know it’s wrong but I just can’t help it. It’s one of those guilty pleasures, like secretly enjoying Countdown if I’m off sick, or listening to Radio 2 in the car. The joy of Big Brother lies in it’s unerring ability to make you feel good about yourself – the feeling of superiority engendered by watching a sad drunken Sarf London slapper whap her tits out during a game of strip poker is unrivalled. I realise that probably says more about me than her, but I’ll take superiority where I can get it, thanks. It’s my self-esteem and I’ll boost it however I want. I invested in a Freeview box yesterday, lured by the promise of E4 switching over when BB starts. I can’t actually get any ITV channels on it but am convinced that my personal god will prevail and enable me to spend the next twelve weeks in glorious, horrified bliss, texting like a maniac and smiling smugly to myself throughout.

I’ve asked the Other Half to Sky Plus BB while we’re in Mexico, but he insists that he has to switch all electrical appliances off while the house is empty. A likely story – he just doesn’t want to spend 4 hours watching the Friday night shows back to back when we get home, the poof.

Must remember to wrap Small Person’s birthday presents before next Wednesday………SUCH a good mother…..