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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.
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Dear Columbo

Dear Columbo, (Loads of Channels, 1968 – 2003)

This is something of a first for me, a letter that is both entirely heartfelt and somewhat posthumous, I hope you don’t mind if at times it’s a little bit less than serious.

Basically I just wanted to say how saddened I am that Detective Columbo has now shuffled off this mortal coil, to know that the next time I see a detective he (or indeed she, for these are the times we are living in) will almost certainly have two functioning eyes fills me with both trepidation and an intense sensation of boredom.

Columbo - f**king ace!

In the last forty odd years there have been so many cop shows that it’s impossible to count. Actually that’s nonsense, it’s perfectly possible to count them, but it’s Friday night and I can’t be bothered. The point remains, however, that you can count the number of cop shows that lasted longer than you, Columbo, on the fingers of a dolphin. Or a jellyfish. Or a budgie. Basically you can count the number of cop shows that have lasted longer than the 35 years you have managed on the fingers of any creature that doesn’t possess fingers. It’s zero. None. Nada.

I should maybe acknowledge that I haven’t researched this, so it actually might not be true – I can’t think of a cop show that has lasted longer and do you know what, I don’t care. Columbo’s just died, if I want to say his was the longest running cop show in history I will. You can’t stop me.

Excuse my waffling, I’m emotional.

I’m one of the three billion people in the world (again not researched, sue me) who were born after your show began, so I feel like I’ve known you all my life. In a huge sea of cop shows that came and went, everyone knew Columbo and everybody, at least on some level, loved you. Yes we had our passing dalliances with others: the pastel shaded speedboat excitement of Miami Vice, they offered a glamour you simply never attempted; the tropical intrigue of Magnum who sported a moustache you couldn’t match; and the hokey old school warmth of Jessica Fletcher – who was also blessed with impressive facial hair. We fooled around with them, even loved them, but when they were gone we came back to you Columbo. We came back not just because you were there, but because we loved you.

Thomas Magnum - Sexy and undoubted owner of impressive lip upholstery, but a bit of a show off.

Why did we love you? How typically modest that you should ask you scruffy one-eyed midget. Well let me tell you why:

  • You possessed a natural charm that other shows simply couldn’t match, and trying to match it would have been a fool’s errand – because they didn’t have Peter Falk.
  • You drove a battered old car that looked ready for the scrap yard. Whilst Magnum and Miami Vice tried to engage the Yuppie audience with their flashy Ferraris you were realistic about your main audience: stoners and the unemployed. They don’t care about Ferrari’s, they don’t particularly aspire to own them – seeing a successful detective drive the sort of car they could afford was all they ever needed – and you supplied it!

He drove the sort of car that no-one ever aspires to. He was one of us.

  • Mrs Columbo. We almost never saw her, you made sure of that (we certainly never watched the ill thought out show that was Mrs Columbo), but boy we loved her – we knew all her little foibles you see, Columbo used to tell us all about them. The best character never to appear? Quite possibly.

Mrs Columbo. Yes, it was a real show.

  • The dirty Mac. Maybe my memory’s playing tricks on me, but whatever the weather, be it chilly (what’s that in LA? Low teens Celsius??) or if it was sweltering heat, you were wearing that Mac. I believe I’m right in saying that this also means you’re the only man ever to wear a Mac that often and never be caught masturbating in a public place. Bravo for that.
  • You had a glass eye! That’s cool enough, but the fact that you never got drunk, popped it out and dropped it in your bosses drink? That puts you a class above.

And they are the reasons I love you, I believe they are the main reasons that we – a couple of generations right around the world – love you, and why we’re very sad to see you go. The world is a poorer place now, but I will leave you all to your grief.

Sincere Condolences, and much love

R

Peter Falk - Legend

Oh, and just one more thing – you’re a one trick pony, but what a f**king trick! We knew who did it, we knew that you knew who did it, we knew exactly how you were going to pin them down but it was exciting every single time you did it. Just as you were getting to the door, or into your car, or as they were about to leave – it didn’t matter – you’d just toss it out there, all casual, like it was an after thought, like it meant nothing “Just one more thing…” and they were nailed, you had a piece of information, evidence or just a bloody hunch that they couldn’t escape from. Like Chris Waddle with his shoulder drop, it was the only trick you had, but you forged an incredible career out of it. It was brilliant.

That one more thing is why we loved, sorry love, you Columbo, and a big part of the reason that we will miss the awesome actor and human being that was Peter Falk.

RIP Columbo and Grandad out of The Princess Bride, you will be missed.

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