Chez Moi

You’d think after last week’s killer-cough and the neck spasm would be enough to keep me going, won’t you? Oh no. I decided to round things up by coming down with ‘flu on Saturday morning. So have been feeling like shit and death warmed over.

Which is why I am listening to the Moldy Peaches’ “Anyone Else But You“. I have loved the song since watching ‘Juno‘ and it is a super song. Give it a listen. I got it thanks to Moving in Stereo.org

Ok I missed Episode I of this year’s series, shuttling as I was between Marne de Vallee / Chessy and St Pancras stations. But thanks to Guardian blogs and BBC’s excellent iPlayer, I have been brought up to speed. And I have to say, the actual viewing of the missed episode paled in comparison to Guardian’s Anna Pickard’s lively piece. The girl is undoubtedly hilarious!

I actually thought I would steer clear of this year’s quota as it was getting a bit stale. A scowling Surallen, the latest crop of Britian’s Supreme Twats and the po-faced trusty sidekicks was too much deja-vu. But typical of car crash telly, one cannot keep away, right? And when you can get quality television, thanks to the supremely arrogant tools on the show, why deny oneself eh?

Last year’s show was made interesting as 1. I could discuss it the next day with my team at work and 2. we had a sweep of sorts to predict the winner. (I gotta say, I never would have chosen Simon Ambrose in a million years!) So this year, I am looking to my lovely readers and my reluctant uni mates to make it all interesting.

So, BBC 1, Wednesday at 9.00 pm - mark it!

Jordon - sorry, we are supposed to call her Katie Price now, to go with her new demure, non-smutty image. She is, after all, trying to reinvent herself as a serial writer and a children’s author. Which moron decided to let her loose on the influential minds doesn’t bear thinking.

For those of you who don’t know who she is (oh you lucky, lucky sods!), she’s a Brit glamour model, who married former pop singer Peter Andre and has been alternatively baring her bod and having his babies. She’s also trying to shed her glamous puss image and become a wholesome personality. She ain’t having much luck with it, I should say. During the launch of her recent book at the Waterstone’s outlet in Central London, she showed up in a supergirl type outfit, complete with hot pants. Not a look a children’s author would like to sport, now is it?

Well, true to type, she resorted to her usual shenanigans - she lifted her hands and guess who popped up to join the party?

What amazes me about this character is her releasing her THIRD autobiography!!! I mean, word fails me to learn that not only has some one commissioned her to write an account of her life but gone on to update it a further two times. Really!

One cannot have an article about Jordon without a mention of the other skanky mank, Jodie Marsh. So here is she, in her ‘wedding gear’. The picture says it all, doesn’t it?

I really despair for the British society that these individuals are the celebrities who are flying the Union Jack and are having young, impressionable children looking up to them. What has the world come to?

What is this guy doing? I mean, seriously. Yeah he had a pop at a tennis career. That bombed. Now, in true blue British sense of the word, he is trying to make a career for him as a celebrity? I mean, what gives?

When I saw him with his family on Family Fortunes last month or so, I thought “what?” but then, the oddest celeb has-beens parade on that show so it wasn’t a big. Or so I assumed.

And now, for the past three weeks, he has been gracing my TV screen every Sunday night, on Dancing On Ice. And it is excruciating to watch. This gangly, seven-feet or so of ungainly man comes on the ice every Sunday, as stiff and ill-suited to a spin on the ice as one could possibly be, with an inane grin fixed on his mug and it is enough to make me scream. Why? Why? Why?

Stop making a fool of yourself, please, Rusedski. Stop trying to carve a life as a celebrity on British telly. I cannot imagine a life worse (for me, that is!) than watching you pop in at random moments grinning like a nutter. This may sound really bizarre, but how about a life away from the limelight? Yeah? Move away from the cameras. No Spouse Swap, Celeb Big Brother or I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here nonsense, ok? Just get yourself out of here. Please!