It's television for the unemployed and the unemployable; the slackers and the students; the pensioners and parishioners of Middle England. Monday to Friday from 3.30pm to 6.00pm it is the Holy Trinity of television: From 'Countdown' to 'The Weakest Link' with (new kid on the block) 'Deal or No Deal' squeezed in between. There's even 15 minutes at 5.00pm where you can put the kettle on, check out how distressed Judy looks on Channel 4 or realise whatever it is that you are having for your tea it cannot possibly look (or taste) worse than what the celebrity chefs have rustled up in 8 minutes on 'Ready Steady Cook'. What is there not to like about that schedule?
Countdown has had a new lease of life since (well) Richard Whiteley breathed the last gasps of his own life and Des retired. Whiteley endeared himself to millions and is missed yet he was fundamentally useless. Des O'Connor is the Status Quo of light entertainment. Shut your eyes and he could be jousting with Eric and Ernie but it matters not a jot. And of course there is always the glint in those pearly white teeth. With O'Connor you just know there's something "wrong" there. What it is you don't know but it just nags away at your psyche. Carol Vorderman provides the brains and alludes to beauty. She has appalling dress sense but somewhere deep down she stirs something in a man's loins. There is also just that hint of jealousy going on between her and Suzy that sits in Dictionary Corner. She's the real clever one, the really good-looking one as she primes whatever z-list celebrity sits with her. We know that - and so does Carol. Des is oblivious to it all. But like all good quiz shows it is all about the presenters and us (the punters) sat at home. The contestants are dull to the bone - and throughout it's lifespan has provided more outlets for single persons than at the local library's Christmas party whilst us lot sit at home; doing sums in our heads and shouting out with glee when we get the conundrum. You never care who wins - it's just about passing 45 minutes before the real action begins.
Without so much a pause for a stairlift advert Countdown is followed by 'Deal or No Deal'
Noel Edmonds hosts the British version of the worldwide smash game show where any one of 22 players could win up to £250,000. Does their sealed box contain hundreds of thousands of pounds? Or just pocket change? Guts and instinct are the key to success as Noel gives real people a real chance to win real money. Well that's what the official blurb is.
This show has garnered as much publicity about Noel's TV comeback as it actually has about the show's content. Like Des he is timeless. But unlike Des he is a twat. From his 1982-stylee shirts tucked into his black jeans to his Swap Shop 70s haircut. And of course this is the man that taught George Michael all he needs to know about sculptured facial hair.
Edmonds is in his element and although he's undoubtedly a twat he has surrounded himself by even bigger twats - the contestants.
Again here is the official blurb:
There are 22 of them and they return each day until they are picked to play and hopefully win fuck all. The daily player chooses one of the 22 sealed boxes. No one knows what it contains. One by one the player opens all the other boxes, revealing the amounts within. All the while this gives them a better idea what prize may be contained in their own sealed box. And then again there is 'The Banker'. Periodically, the player will receive a telephone call from the 'Banker'. The Banker is always watching the player, trying to analyse their psychology, and has has no idea what the contestant's sealed box contains. The Banker's sole purpose is to try and ensure the player leaves the studio with the smallest amount of money possible. Based on the amounts of money the player has eliminated and their perception of the player themselves, the Banker makes a cash offer to buy the mystery box. Whenever The Banker makes an offer, the player is left with a desperate dilemma... take the offer, or risk losing everything!
Edmonds comes out with pyschobabble, the people with the boxes that have apparently bonded through being together for weeks roar encouragement and then shed crocodile tears when they open a box containing a large amount. 'The Banker' (Cockney rhyming slang here?) calls, Edmonds utters some nonsense then the contestant in the chair asks one of the others some advice and they sensing this will be their moment (knowing that they are too old and too ugly for X-Factor) seize their chance and go into Sir Alan Sugar Apprentice mode. Fucking hell it's all too much. No it isn't! It's just fucking luck which numbers you pick out. But by now us (the audience) are willing the idiot up there to end up with 1 penny. I mean they've just turned down an offer of £9,000. Come on you're wearing a Primark tee shirt - you've never seen £9,000 in your life before - take the offer. But no they can see £50,000 still available even though the odds are 6/1 they won't get it. And sure enough they end up with £1. Edmonds is consoling the person in the seat (dock), some bird's crying and we are whooping at the screen with delight. Bring on the next bastard and let's hope he/she falls fucks it up as well. Meanwhile Noel prowls around the set like a man at a Formula 1 convention as he counts the wads in his crinkly-bottomed jeans sniggering inside.
After the excitement and downright pleasure of the last 45 minutes it's time for:
"Any of the nine people brave enough to play The Weakest Link could win up to £10,000. They don't know each other, but if they want the Prize Money they have to work as a team. Eight of them will leave with nothing, as round by round, the player voted The Weakest Link is humiliated on the Walk of Shame. At the end of the show, the final two contestants go Head to Head. One gets the money, the other, leaves with nothing"
And away we go. Nobody ever wins anywhere near the £10000 and they never will because to a man and woman they are all as thick as pig shit. We know that, in most cases the contestants themselves know that and the show's producers and Anne Robinson definitely know that. She takes the piss mercilessly and shamelessly. Fat fuckers get it as do fashion disasters. Students are ridiculed beyond belief whilst those that think they have important jobs are dusted down with a caustic, nasty wit. Anne hates the pretty girls, destroys the biddies and eyes up the young lads that she undoubtedly would like a piece of. On some shows she's practically booking the hotel room as we reach the last four. As for the idiot contestants - they are irrelevant. We watch it for Anne Robinson alone. Of course it isn't as spontaneous as it looks but considering the old bird's got more skeletons in her closet than the Ghost Train at Southport she gets my vote.
So there you have it; more drama, comedy and excitement in two and a half hours than you get in 10 series of Casualty or whatever. O'Connor, Edmunds and Robinson - We salute you!
Countdown has had a new lease of life since (well) Richard Whiteley breathed the last gasps of his own life and Des retired. Whiteley endeared himself to millions and is missed yet he was fundamentally useless. Des O'Connor is the Status Quo of light entertainment. Shut your eyes and he could be jousting with Eric and Ernie but it matters not a jot. And of course there is always the glint in those pearly white teeth. With O'Connor you just know there's something "wrong" there. What it is you don't know but it just nags away at your psyche. Carol Vorderman provides the brains and alludes to beauty. She has appalling dress sense but somewhere deep down she stirs something in a man's loins. There is also just that hint of jealousy going on between her and Suzy that sits in Dictionary Corner. She's the real clever one, the really good-looking one as she primes whatever z-list celebrity sits with her. We know that - and so does Carol. Des is oblivious to it all. But like all good quiz shows it is all about the presenters and us (the punters) sat at home. The contestants are dull to the bone - and throughout it's lifespan has provided more outlets for single persons than at the local library's Christmas party whilst us lot sit at home; doing sums in our heads and shouting out with glee when we get the conundrum. You never care who wins - it's just about passing 45 minutes before the real action begins.
Without so much a pause for a stairlift advert Countdown is followed by 'Deal or No Deal'
Noel Edmonds hosts the British version of the worldwide smash game show where any one of 22 players could win up to £250,000. Does their sealed box contain hundreds of thousands of pounds? Or just pocket change? Guts and instinct are the key to success as Noel gives real people a real chance to win real money. Well that's what the official blurb is.
This show has garnered as much publicity about Noel's TV comeback as it actually has about the show's content. Like Des he is timeless. But unlike Des he is a twat. From his 1982-stylee shirts tucked into his black jeans to his Swap Shop 70s haircut. And of course this is the man that taught George Michael all he needs to know about sculptured facial hair.
Edmonds is in his element and although he's undoubtedly a twat he has surrounded himself by even bigger twats - the contestants.
Again here is the official blurb:
There are 22 of them and they return each day until they are picked to play and hopefully win fuck all. The daily player chooses one of the 22 sealed boxes. No one knows what it contains. One by one the player opens all the other boxes, revealing the amounts within. All the while this gives them a better idea what prize may be contained in their own sealed box. And then again there is 'The Banker'. Periodically, the player will receive a telephone call from the 'Banker'. The Banker is always watching the player, trying to analyse their psychology, and has has no idea what the contestant's sealed box contains. The Banker's sole purpose is to try and ensure the player leaves the studio with the smallest amount of money possible. Based on the amounts of money the player has eliminated and their perception of the player themselves, the Banker makes a cash offer to buy the mystery box. Whenever The Banker makes an offer, the player is left with a desperate dilemma... take the offer, or risk losing everything!
Edmonds comes out with pyschobabble, the people with the boxes that have apparently bonded through being together for weeks roar encouragement and then shed crocodile tears when they open a box containing a large amount. 'The Banker' (Cockney rhyming slang here?) calls, Edmonds utters some nonsense then the contestant in the chair asks one of the others some advice and they sensing this will be their moment (knowing that they are too old and too ugly for X-Factor) seize their chance and go into Sir Alan Sugar Apprentice mode. Fucking hell it's all too much. No it isn't! It's just fucking luck which numbers you pick out. But by now us (the audience) are willing the idiot up there to end up with 1 penny. I mean they've just turned down an offer of £9,000. Come on you're wearing a Primark tee shirt - you've never seen £9,000 in your life before - take the offer. But no they can see £50,000 still available even though the odds are 6/1 they won't get it. And sure enough they end up with £1. Edmonds is consoling the person in the seat (dock), some bird's crying and we are whooping at the screen with delight. Bring on the next bastard and let's hope he/she falls fucks it up as well. Meanwhile Noel prowls around the set like a man at a Formula 1 convention as he counts the wads in his crinkly-bottomed jeans sniggering inside.
After the excitement and downright pleasure of the last 45 minutes it's time for:
"Any of the nine people brave enough to play The Weakest Link could win up to £10,000. They don't know each other, but if they want the Prize Money they have to work as a team. Eight of them will leave with nothing, as round by round, the player voted The Weakest Link is humiliated on the Walk of Shame. At the end of the show, the final two contestants go Head to Head. One gets the money, the other, leaves with nothing"
And away we go. Nobody ever wins anywhere near the £10000 and they never will because to a man and woman they are all as thick as pig shit. We know that, in most cases the contestants themselves know that and the show's producers and Anne Robinson definitely know that. She takes the piss mercilessly and shamelessly. Fat fuckers get it as do fashion disasters. Students are ridiculed beyond belief whilst those that think they have important jobs are dusted down with a caustic, nasty wit. Anne hates the pretty girls, destroys the biddies and eyes up the young lads that she undoubtedly would like a piece of. On some shows she's practically booking the hotel room as we reach the last four. As for the idiot contestants - they are irrelevant. We watch it for Anne Robinson alone. Of course it isn't as spontaneous as it looks but considering the old bird's got more skeletons in her closet than the Ghost Train at Southport she gets my vote.
So there you have it; more drama, comedy and excitement in two and a half hours than you get in 10 series of Casualty or whatever. O'Connor, Edmunds and Robinson - We salute you!
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1 comment:
What about Golden Balls ?? That knocks spots off Deal or No Deal, with Carrot as host!
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