Thursday 4 June 2009
Today I wake up dreading the sight of the toilet in my bathroom and the potential flooding that could go with. Fortunately when I eventually brave it thankfully it has dried out.
When I finally get on the train today at Colchester station not long after some guy chooses to sit on the seat right next to me and crowd the plate even though there is still ample room elsewhere on the carriage. This as ever is the worst of all omens for the day ahead.
Eventually the train pulls into Liverpool Street at a depressing 8.04.
Today my balls feel huge. I don’t know why this is; all I know is that every time I sit down I experience some kind of feel of discomfort.
When I reach the restaurant this morning it is a positive and optimistic reflection that greets me in the front door vision. Perhaps things won’t be so bad after all.
Again I am first with the alarm duties and all. I love the restaurant when it is just me present and it is so quiet and peaceful.
This morning the accounts consultant is the first person in. He is keen. Not long after The Girl phones me twice to tell me that she is stuck in traffic and will be late. This is a slight improvement on things; she doesn’t seem to bother getting in touch at all these days. When she eventually arrives she proceeds to moan her way through the day about having a toothache.
Today is another busy day dealing with the auditors, which is then coupled with meetings getting in the way of making any progress or dealing with queries/issues. These two audits are turning out to be a nightmare but this was always going to be the way and was to be expected. The guy doing the audit though is thankfully very good with a good attitude but I do think we are causing him headache after headache.
During a meeting between the consultant, the posh boss and myself I cannot help but burst out laughing when out of boredom the posh boss just begins picking his nose and inspecting/examining it. I could happily echo these sentiments.
When my bosses keep saying/referencing “Jason’s predecessor” I’m not quite sure which one they mean.
At lunchtime I have Parmesan chicken with linguini and it is a winner.
The afternoon suffers some kind of blow out, as queries long felt dealt with keep/continue rearing their head. It is very frustrating.
Later I discover that David Carradine has died in suspicious circumstances in Asia. Sounds sexy.
I leave the office at 6PM. As I walk down the road to the station I suddenly remember that I haven’t renewed my car tax yet and four days into the month it just completely passed over my mind I have been so busy of late. That’s a bad sign. I remember when I was young dad did the same thing with the car MOT and unfortunately was hit by a bus almost fucking up his insurance claim.
On the tube from St Johns Wood to Baker Street tonight there is a mad man on the train. He has a Burberry cap and wants to speak to the ladies. He gets up just before Baker Street and I see him whistling. Then he heads for the door that I am exiting from. FUCK OFF!
Changing tubes I race up the escalator to my Baker Street change and stood in the carriage is a woman dressed in KB Kickboxing kit. This is so weird and frightening. I have never ever seen anyone from KB Kickboxing on this tube before. Are they now following me until I pay up the remaining “fees”? This lady has a particularly starry eyed glare of a person gone too far.
When I reach Liverpool Street I board a 6.38 Colchester train, which is a horrible cramped train full of a lower standard of passenger.
As a couple squeezes in between me, on the other side of the train is a (blatant) student type with two phones, one of which has a Sesame Street ringtone. This man cannot be trusted. He is also a fucking idiot with such an infantile, juvenile, paedophilic ringtone. Meanwhile next to me the sideways version of frottage ensues: “sideage”? Then Sesame Street starts up again and once more I am distracted. Is this how the guy lures in kids to fiddle? Later I realise that the ringtone is actually originating from the phone of some black dude in an orange Hawaiian shirt sat across the way that in between phonecalls spends the entire journey dancing in his seat to the songs in his headphones. If I only I could reach such heights.
When I get off at Colchester I spot another clone of my American friend but this one has a fierce Bettie Page fringe despite being several times dumpier than Bettie ever got.
My walk home then proceeds to go Twin Peaks on me as I see the one armed man from Saturday. I walk a pace that gets me away from his as soon as possible.
Tonight as I may have already said is the cultural event of the summer – the beginning of Big Brother. Anyone that scoffs over this show with some kind of superiority complex is a person denying themselves some kind of opportunity to judge, vent and join in with the main topic of office conversation for the next twelve weeks. There is no doubting that this is lowbrow stuff but at this point in history just what on our TVs is not?
When the show begins it is with a whimper although Davina does look amazing for a woman her age. I think it is to do with the fact that she is dressed in something tight and shiny. As she shows the camera man (and us viewers) around the house I barely see anything of the house as all concentration is aimed squarely at her arse with thoughts of grabbing it hard and making her scream (maybe even with pleasure).
There is some kind of stipulation attached of the housemates not actually being housemates (“non-housemates) but obviously this is nonsense.
Then it begins. They come.
When Freddie enters the Big Brother house you sense he isn’t expecting to be the first one in (he keeps shouting “hello”). As he wonders at the toilet you wonder if he has ever used one correctly before. Immediately his hat fucking winds me up and his sheer silver spoon existence royally offends me but of course this is exactly what Endemol want from me hook line and sinker. He writes indie music mixed with reggae. He also has political aspirations, which would fit in with his politically correct music leanings.
Second in turns out to be Lisa the geezer bird that I swear has been in Big Brother before under a different name. Immediately upon entering the house her front drops and she gets very boring very fast. Soon her Brummie accent takes over her character. That and the flat Mohawk. Shock horror she is a lesbian and proudly professes to turning women into lesbians. Yeah, I appear to possess the ability to do that too.
Following the first two is a bit pair of tits called Sophie. The initial reaction of the nation will be that she is ten a penny but of course counted using erections instead of fingers. She can hold a bottle in between her boobs, which she gone done six weeks ago. Nice to know. She wants to be the president of England in five years time. Good luck.
The first attractive man (not my opinion) arrives in the form of shipwrecked Alex Zane clone Kris. I used to work with someone like this at the studio. He is a visual merchandiser – what would the world do without those? He doesn’t care about anything or anyone. He once appeared topless in an STD advert – does this mean he has AIDs?
Around this point I head to MSN to see if Iain is around as last year on Big Brother first night we had a very funny group session on MSN. This year he is online but only with one other person, it would appear all opening night comments have switched to Twitter where the stars are Charlie Brooker and David Schneider sat at home cutting through the bullshit.
Noirin arrives next looking like a glamour Gladiator out of costume/character crossed with an X-Factor winner (Simon Cowell victim). She also looks a like a black Jennifer Garner, which is a good look. She’s Irish.
Full of himself this years hip hop representative Cairon arrives with his faux American accent and double-barrelled name. He reminds me of a Daisy age clone. Part of him is from London and part of him is from Georgia and all from the mean streets of grammar school I suspect. Despite this my friends on MSN seem to take a shine. Cairon feels weird wiping his own arse though.
Half of Tatu turns up next taking an age to stagger into the house and upping the geezer bird quota for the year far beyond driven. It would appear she dressed in the dark of her father’s wardrobe this evening and excitingly she is a female boxer but the likelihood of her dealing out any beats on someone looks very low as soon as she falls into the house she also drops her front/persona immediately. Looking like an ugly Isabella Rosselini she appears to be this year’s professional oddball.
Scotland comes next as another blonde pair of tits arrives. She looks like Ferne Cotton crossed with David St Hubbins’ girlfriend (Jeanine Pettibone). Almost immediately forgot everything she says in her video, every feeble boast and every soft threat. No sport in this one.
Coming in ninth is a WWF wrestler. He appears to be modelling his look on Wolverine but claims Logan stole his look. Basically here comes a comic book geek. He once set fire to his own face….a bit. As he goes into the house he goes “awight” reminding of the time Michael Barrymore went into the celebrity house. Heavy metal!
Beinazir arrives terrifying announcing that “there hasn’t been a Pakistani Muslim in there and I think it needs one” but we had Shilpa Shetty and she was close enough. This woman looks crazy, a real baiter and another one of those unfortunate fallen cases of all front in rehearsal and destined to be nothing in practise. With her big nose and big hair though she is the one in so far I find most attractive. She says she’s an “alpha female.”
Giggling her way into proceedings via Twitter Charlie Brooker hits the nail on the head by describing Sophia as a “June Sarpong action figure.” The looks twelve years old but apparently this is due to something to Lupus. Her non-stop screaming giggle as she walks into the house suggests an invisible person is tickling her all the way. That or she is experiencing some kind of nervous breakdown. Deranged, she would look great in an Ewok movie.
Rodrigo is a strange one. He reminds of so many foreign people at work, those really nice guys who always smile but I just cannot understand (in conversation) for the life of me. He is from Brazil and complains about a lack of opportunities and how much he loves England but also how it is turning gay. Talk about give with one hand and take with the other. This guy is a total drip, in on the idiot card and likely to win friends in such a way. He once paid a taxi driver with his shoes.
Looking like an anorexic Sean Penn, Charlie opens up by announcing that “he hasn’t got a nasty bone in his body except for the one that was in his boyfriend last night.” Is this code for an STD ridden penis? Nasty Bone is a frilly Geordie who sounds like Alan Partridge’s thick mate Michael were he homosexual.
This thing is a single mum that doesn’t want to be a bitchy person but at the same time cannot see good things in anyone or anything. The kid she is leaving in the outside world is seven months old, to which my friends on MSN point out how this is how they would imagine Baby P’s mum to be. Really, she must have auditioned knocked up! Her soundtrack is “Heavy Cross” by The Gossip, something that I am sure Beth Ditto would be happy about. She arrives missing an arm from her purple dress. It must have been ripped off during her last date. She’s like a young version of Mrs Merton.
Acknowledging that Slumdog Millionaire was a worldwide international hit Big Brother drops a real freak on the house in Sree. Already by the end of his video introduction I “reality hate” the guy and think he is a cunt but then he trots out of the car in a Union Jack shirt straight out of Nick Griffin’s closet (the one he is still apparently in) in act of garnering favour not seen since Amir Khan’s appearance at the 2004 Olympics. Listening to his voice he is Peter Sellers in The Party. His favourite word is “love”. He is a fucking disgrace.
Arriving like a big hairy dog or Wookiee the final housemate stands out. Ordinarily I feel/sense/think that I would hate this guy but once past all the decoration and make up there is nothing to dislike; he is the funniest space cadet. With his Dali moustache and stupid clothes the guy is super laidback and appears to possess that rarest of Big Brother commodities: an original sense of humour. He’s like an Iranian David Bowie crossed with Chewbacca on downers – a winning combination.
With everyone in Big Brother then sets an immediate task for everyone. It is not perhaps the wisest move when Rodrigo goes into the diary room seemingly struggling with the English language. As the task is described to him suddenly Rodrigo begins to resemble Manuel from Fawlty Towers as he struggles to understand a challenge being explained to him.
The task is to shave off somebody’s eyebrows and draw facial features on the person’s face with a permanent marker. Almost immediately, not even an hour in, these people are being ridiculed and degraded to millions of viewers. Already these people are subhuman.
As he heads out to do the task within four minutes he manages to snag the black Irish lady (Noirin) into it. She is already too eager to please. Then Rodrigo appears to forget the second part of the task almost result in an immediate FAIL. Stupid people.
With that the first night show ends and so does our collective MSN conversation. Early impressions seem good so a good series may lie ahead. My friends head over to E4 for another show but with my Freeview box currently broken I cannot join in.
Instead I sail out the evening with Jarhead on TV before passing out.