Big Brother has returned for its seventh series which of course means we’ll be spending the summer listening to middle England clicking its tongues in disapproval while the rest of us watch the daddy of all mind numbing reality television (whether we are honest about it or not). Of course there are some key factors that must be in place before the whole shebang can kick off. Davina McCall will of course be presenting, proving that one can walk away from the wreckage of a chat show with a viable television career (am I the only person who still remembers the “sit com” she starred in by the way?). As is the norm she’s been knocked up for the occasion making me wonder if she has some obscure biological cycle that runs in tandem with Endemol’s production schedules. Dermot O’Leary will of course be the safe option for the Little Brother show, leaking the last vestiges of wackiness out of his bloodstream before he finally transforms into the Terry Wogan for generation X. Then of course for the satellite show Big Mouth we have Russell Brand. Very funny, usually rather crude and I suspect “the boy most likely to be kicked off television (again) for doing something inappropriate” at some point in the near future.
One of the biggest stars of the show it has to be said is the house and this time Channel 4 have gone all out to create an environment specifically to screw with the contestants heads. It seems by coating everything in rubber this will at the very least give the presenters as many opportunities to slip in double entendres (did you see what I did there). Drape the house in lurid colour schemes and mirrored surfaces and I daresay you’ve got a home from home guaranteed to induce psychotic episodes in even the most level headed individual.
The punters of course consist of the usual set of friction inducing stereotypes, take one northern slapper coated in makeup, one hyperactive wannabe rock star with Tourettes syndrome (no, no I am not kidding, really). A public school boy with a penchant for spending Daddy’s allowance and blood sports (he’s mates with Princess Beatrice). A gay Muslim (who claims he’s a 21st Century Quentin Crisp). A thirty five year old (yeah, and I’m twenty two) cosmetic surgery obsessive. A relatively normal one (who is after a modelling contract). A male model that hates feminism and hates being around ugly people. A self-confessed people hater (who went into the house dressed like something from Button Moon). An eighteen-year-old lifeguard who best expresses himself when naked (think Mr Muscle and you’ve got a visual picture). A Canadian sexual terrorist (his words). A double-barrelled “Sloane ranger” (I’ve never paid to get into a club, yah!). A “wacky” Chinese girl from Manchester (Sorted!). A young self-made businessman called Caesar. Oh, and a chav.
Phew.
That’s your lot. And I think its safe to say that a more disagreeable bunch you couldn’t hope to find anywhere. Of course Big Brother has been around long enough now for the savvy participants to pre-empt the show and give the show the sound bites that it wants to get themselves into the house. Of course I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again this is car crash television. Only this time the ensemble cast is potentially so bad I’m almost ashamed to watch.
I did say, almost…
See you after the summer.
