Dear Him & Her

Dear Him & Her, (BBC3, Tuesdays @10.30pm)

Well, Tuesday nights eh? They used to be rubbish. I’d come back from my Mad Lizzie exercise class (think Zumba but with big hair and neon leotards) via some form of fried chicken emporium (every action needs an equal and opposite reaction) and sink into both the sofa and a greasy state of self-loathing. Like I say, Tuesdays were rubbish. Then it all changed, because along came a show so fresh, inventive and funny that it quickly became ‘must watch’ TV. I stopped going to Poultry Bungalow and started enjoying a salad or quiche on my return home. I stopped hating myself and life in general. In short I stopped and smelled the roses, and they smelled wonderful. Tuesdays at 10.30 no longer represented everything that was wrong in the world – it was a time for us all to gather on the sofa and laugh our respective socks off – and it was all thanks to one show, Wilfred. Simply brilliant television.

Wilfred - made Tuesday nights something other than an orgy of chicken grease and onanism

Why am I telling you about how great I thought Wilfred was? Well I’m hoping that you’ll feel suitably shamed, because by comparison you make the greasy self-loathing look like a two-week all-inclusive holiday in the Algarve, local alcohol included. To go from the quirky, original and genuinely funny Wilfred to the seen it all before, stilted, awkward, puerile laugh desert that you presented me with was akin to going to bed with Angelina Jolie and waking up with Dom Joly. In fact it’s even worse than that, because whilst that scenario would be massively disappointing there’s still an outside chance you’d get a laugh out of it. I think you get my point though, I loved Wilfred, and I loved it precisely because it was everything you are not.

"No, he thought he'd gone to bed with Angelina Jolie! What? Of course I let him!"

In fairness to you I should have known what was coming as I had already subjected myself to the horrors of watching half of series 1 (a feat for which the medal I should have been awarded never arrived) and struggled to raise anything beyond a stifled obscenity and a look of sad bemusement. However, the powers that be saw fit to grant you a second series – “It must have picked up in the second half!” I thought to myself, temporarily forgetting that ‘the powers that be’ at BBC3 are the same people who kept re-commissioning 2 Pints of Lager until even the cast and crew hated it – so, I figured I’d give you a second chance too. Mistake.

I don’t know what it is I like least about you. Well that’s not true, it’s the fact that for a ‘comedy’ you’re not what I like to call ‘funny’. Not even vaguely. However, that’s

Pete Burns - pop star, pin cushion, primate

obvious, any old fool with a sense of humour and opposable thumbs could write to you and point out that you’re not funny, like you don’t already know it, but what’s the point? Like if Pete Burns asks “How do I look?” responding  “You look like a monkey that’s been in a car crash. A really bad one. Whilst not wearing a seatbelt. And carrying a box of nails.” isn’t going to help, he knows this so it’s a worthless and pointless observation that isn’t going to help you one bit. ‘Be funnier’, while great advice and certainly something you should consider (alongside ‘stop altogether’ and ‘sod off’) is too vague, and one could argue too easy – being funny at all would achieve that goal. So, setting the obvious aside what are my gripes?

Well, I think I’ll limit myself to the top three, and to make it feel exciting I’m going to start at three!

3) Charm

You haven’t got any and it’s a vital part of comedy. You don’t need it by the bucket load, just a smidgen here and there, but it

Remove the charm from this beauty, go on, I challenge you. Oh you have? Already? Oh...

feels utterly absent throughout – like with Ed Milliband (in fact I like that analogy better – you are Ed Milliband to Wilfred’s David). You’ve even managed to somehow clinically remove the charm from the bewitchingly sexy Sarah Solemani which should not only be impossible, but should be punishable by imprisonment. How have you done this? Well I think it’s in your efforts to…

2) Mimic Reality

Doing this is all well and good, if you actually do it, but you’ve got all the ‘real feel’ of Ricky Gervais’ humility or Amy Children’s breasts. I’m assured that I’m supposed to feel like I’m peaking through the window on to a couple going about their everyday lives, so why do I actually feel like I’m watching a highly contrived effort at commonness, crudeness and banality? It’s not because of the performances of Tovey or Solemani because these two are actually alright – though the supporting cast could turn to appearing smoked, sliced and glazed in honey at the local Deli such is their hamminess – no, it’s because whilst aiming for the position filled by The Royle Family you’ve fallen well short, and that’s partly because of the…

1) Dialogue

The number one sin in trying to be realistic. Don’t feel bad, loads of much bigger budget productions make a far bigger hash of it than you have (see The Shadow Line). In fairness a lot of your dialogue is really quite good in this respect; at times I found myself believing I was listening to actual conversations – but my God those conversations were dull. If the News of the World hacks had listened in to these conversations for all those years they’d be heading to an asylum, not a prison. Sure, some people probably do talk like that to each other, and conversations of a similar ilk probably happen up and down the country on a daily basis – but that doesn’t make them good TV. Unfortunately when the dialogue isn’t dull it dives headlong in to ‘heavily contrived’ territory – I mean what’s all that ‘apple rubbing’ thing about? It felt like it was trying to be Quentin Tarantino. It didn’t work.

A middle class couple having a dull conversation about guacamole and loft insulation. I don't want to listen to this either. Dullness is not limited by class.

Look, you’ve got plenty of people who think you’re great just the way you are and that all that occurs is ‘wryly observed’, the poor bastards, their lives must be painfully dull. My point is though that this is just my opinion – it’s right, obviously – but you’ve got plenty of easily pleased idiots you can turn to if you want to feel better about yourself. And no, I’m not just talking about the BBC3 Commissioners.

So don’t go changing (though you probably should)

Tatty Bye

R x

PS – If you missed Wilfred then I’d seriously suggest getting the box set.

PPS – And then watching it on Tuesday nights at 10.30pm

PPPS – It’s good to be back!

Dear Jim

Dear Jim, (1926-2011)

Please please please please please please please please please please please could you fix it for me to return to the simple days when your show was one of the highlights of my weekend?

Your death, whilst terribly sad, was not a complete surprise – I have never once seen a photo of you without a cigar on the go, and once even saw you jogging while smoking a fat one – but it drew something in to very sharp focus for me: Kids today are utter bastards.

'The Chair' allegedly nine immigrant workers were killed in its 3 year construction

I think back to the letters that you used to get. You’d be sat there, decked out in your finest gold like a bleached anorexic Mr T, sat on that giant chair with all the secret compartments where you’d hide cigars, gin, your gun and of course those famous ‘Jim Fixed It For Me’ medallions, and you’d read out a letter from little Kevin in Withernsea asking if you could get him in to London Zoo to see if elephants really are scared of mice; or if him and his mates in the cubs could go to Alton Towers and eat a Wimpy meal on the rollercoaster. You’d make some delightful quip and then we’d meet the little scamp. They were generally agreeable enough, polite and clearly delighted to be there. These, let it be perfectly clear, were not spoilt little bastards – even I could see that through my haze of envy as they got to be a passenger in a stunt car doing a wheelie, throw a million pounds into a fire or press the button that demolished a tower block – they were just normal kids with the dreams of normal kids i.e. silliness, messiness and a bit of destruction. And you made them come true. And they got a bloody medal at the end of it. Jammy bastards.

Do you know what Jim? Even without your incredible charity work, your pioneering radio endeavours or your unrelenting service to Elizabeth Duke and the struggling British shell suit market you’d be a shoo-in for a spot on the good side of the afterlife. I have no idea who you’ll meet there, Jeremy Beadle’s a 50/50 shot, as is Rod Hull – mostly thanks to Emu, but I would imagine Bamber Gascoigne’s going to be there – he’ll be great for Trivial Pursuit. Did you two get on? I digress, the point is that you made so many kids happy that your spot is assured (we won’t mention that you did introduce some kids to Gary Glitter – how were you supposed to know?).

You could, of course, have made a lot more kids happy had your show not been cancelled, and while many will argue that your time was up because you were a relic of a bygone era, those people are idiots barking up the wrong tree.

The writing was on the wall for the show when Jimmy fixed it for this little boy to have a free go on 'Miss Swallows' at the local knocking shop

The problem was the kids Jim. In your heyday in the 80’s the kids had simple dreams – dancing The Locomotion with adorable teeny pop temptress Kylie or driving a locomotion with gruff giant Northerner Keith – they were fun and, importantly, achievable. Then the kids changed. The bastards. No-one wanted to be a train driver any more, they wanted, neigh demanded to be famous – talent optional. No longer would they be happy smashing a fake priceless vase on Antiques Roadshow (that was a brilliant one by the way) no, they ran out of imagination and into the shopping mall, wanting expensive things like computers, they wanted the moon on a stick – and they wanted it now. If you’d carried on you’d have had to have a budget of several million a show,  and giving in to them would have just compounded the problem Jim. You were best off out of it.

One lucky git meets the legend that was Roger Hargreaves, this kid changed his name to Mr Spawny

You never answered my letter but I forgive you, you were a very busy guy. It was probably an unreasonable request any way, I wanted to have a go in a fighter jet. It was a lot to ask, especially bearing in mind the rapidly collapsing Communist bloc subsequent political upheaval and increased demands on the military, not to mention the vast costs that would be involved in taking a child far too unattractive to appear on modern television (but perfectly acceptable then – in your face ugly present day kids) on a ten minute joy ride that would inevitably end with vomit filling the control panels. Regardless, you prolonged my innocent wonder at the world for a bit longer, and I thank you for that. It saddens me to think that in order to have watched, understood and properly enjoyed an episode of Jim’ll Fix It you’ve got to be over 21 – that’s a whole lot of people who missed out on something really special. No wonder they rioted.

The world was a better place with you in it, so (lights cigar) now then, now then Sir Jim, you Rest in Peace now, you were a proper legend.

From

R (aged 34)

PS – If you still get the letters wherever you are I would still like that flight

PPS – Or a go on a hovercraft

PPPS – Or a go on Kylie. I’m not fussy.

 

 

 

Dear Celebrity Big Brother

Dear Celebrity Big Brother, (every night @9ish, 5)

Welcome back, though I think it’s only fair of me to say that a) I was glad to see you leave in the first place , and b) I’m not particularly pleased to see you back so I suppose c) I shouldn’t really have said welcome back. I’ll start again.

Hello. You are back.

That’s better. Right, to business. I’m hoping that you can help me because, after watching as much

A scan of my weeping brain shortly after the 'assault' reveals several 'mind tears'

of your visual enema as I could manage (it was approximately 28 minutes before my brain crept out of my head, dragged itself to the bathroom and sat under the shower, gently sobbing and rocking – you’d violated it you see. You raped my brain) any way, none of that matters, we’ve made up, my brain’s going for counselling and I’ve promised not to leave you two in the same room ever again. Where was I? Oh yes, how you can help me. The thing is that I think, that is I’m concerned, worried even, that I might be, what you refer to as…a celebrity.

In truth I’ve had my doubts for a while – shows like Celebrity Family Fortunes, Celebrity Masterchef, and even the recent BAFTA’s have had me so bewildered about what actually constitutes ‘celebrity’ that I’m in constant fear that I myself might be one of the most famous people in Britain. What if I have a stalker? What if my fans think I’m aloof, arrogant or simply a prick because I ignore them? These are genuine concerns, and they’re only there because the likes of you and seemingly the entire commissioning board of ITV have decided that some cretinous spunk dumpster from Essex who says “Oh my God, I’m so jel” about anything and everything (though presumably it’s always about the same thing – the process of independent thought) is a genuine bona-fide celebrity. I shouldn’t have these concerns, unlike most of these fucktards I’m a normal person and wish to remain so.

Amy Childrens - just like a Barbie doll, but with fewer uses and less brain power

Let me tell you the reasons for my concern. They are manifold so I’m going to use a list. I hope you don’t mind but don’t actually care either way.

1. I’ve been on TV several times.
2. I am recognised by several people, probably in excess of 500.
3. If I google search my name I get several results about me.

Now I realise that none of these results sound impressive enough to justify use of the term ‘celebrity’ – I certainly didn’t think so at any rate, not until I saw the rag-bag bunch that entered your house the other day (and will probably have left by the time you get this). I’m not going to pretend to recognise most of them, so here’s my understanding of who went in and why they’re famous:

• Sally The Cow – Famous for marrying a man of arguable importance and then doing everything in her power to sabotage his career.
• Little Bobby Staples – Famous for having pretty hair
• Tara ‘The Defendant’ Reid – Formerly famous for being a small part of the American Pie team, now famous for her drink, drugs and fanny flashing debauchery. A classy lassy.

"Miss Reid, Miss Reid! You've accidentally covered up one of your breasts." Cries her carer forlornly

• Paddy Doherty – Famous for being on a reality show about gypsies and being a bit fighty.
• Amy Childrens – Famous for something called ‘TOWIE’, being jealous of everything, sticking beads and glitter on various lady gardens and having the intellectual capacity of a mollusc.
• Viscount Lucien Von Trap III – Apparently an actor, famous for being very pretty.

What? You heard that Lucien had had it away with Kym Marsh? That's just Hear Say! Thank you, I'm here all week. Try the fish.

• Kerry Katona – Originally famous for being in the very first of the 96 incarnations of the pop band that will never die, Atomic Kitten, then famous for marrying Boyzone/Westlife (delete for accuracy) then famous for being famous, then famous for a lack of self control, then famous for being an utter fuckwit, now famous for being a famous fuckwit with no self control.
• Darren Lion Bars – I know that he’s technically famous for taking photographs of mildly famous people, but you have to presume that in all actuality he’s famous for being a massive bell end.
• Pamela ‘Not Anderson’ Baywatchface – Famous for being married to Mitch Buchanan, then divorcing him before he started drunkenly guzzling burgers on the bathroom floor.
• 

  Sickeningly the last thing that Tigger ever saw was a pair of happy morons. If rumours are to be believed they also have coats made from 101 Dalmation puppies and their wallets are crafted from the Little Mermaid's tail.

  Edwohn – Even I know these two crazy Irish bastards, genetically engineered by the finest Gaelic scientists as revenge for making their nation host Eurovision 15 years in a row. They’re famous for achieving a new level of mediocrity on a ‘talent’ show that already excelled in this department and being generally irritating. Still less annoying than Bono though, sorry Irish science guys.

Now I think you can probably see why I’m confused. I’m at least as famous as half of these buggers. Admittedly I’m not married to someone famous, but I have said hello to Mel Gibson (before he was a Jew hating racist mental case) and once shook hands with Michaela Strachan – and when you combine that with all the other stuff it’s a fairly compelling case I think you’ll agree.

Any way, that’s why I’m worried so if you could just answer me these three simple questions I can either stop worrying because (as I hope) I’m not a celebrity, or I can at the very least fire my agent (do I have an agent? Make it four questions) for not telling me I’m a celebrity in the first place.

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1. What exactly is the cut off point for ‘celebrity’? Would, for example, the man who waxes David Beckham’s (where am I going? Balls or car, balls or car?) wife’s moustache (fooled you) be classed as a celebrity?
2. Do I have an agent? If so could you please tell him to call me
3. Am I a celebrity? You make the rules, you make the call!
4. If I’m not then how come these no-marks are? Maybe you should re-name it Been On Telly Before Big Brother? Or ‘If You Watch ITV2 You Might Recognise Me But Probably Not Big Brother’.

One of the people who is probably a die hard example of those who are not my fans, but I can't be sure until I know if I have fans, or people who are intentionally not fans or if no-one really knows who I am. God I'm confused.

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Please let me know ASAP, I’m sick of trying to avoid people who probably have no interest in having their picture taken with me.

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Thanks,

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R

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PS – What were you thinking with Brian Dowling? Oh dear, oh deary deary me.

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PPS – Seriously, look up the word ‘celebrity’ I think you think it means something else.