I never really ‘got’ reality tv. It started with ‘Big Brother’ in which you watch a bunch of sub-normal morons talking about total rubbish for hours on end. For some reason, that never pushed my buttons. Other than the ‘channel change’ ones. Then they evolved into talent shows of various types, all equally horrible, and finally, they found a way to improve viewing figures even more, by using ‘celebrities’ as the contestants, featured victims, whatever. Yet how do you define a ‘celebrity’? Oh, as ‘someone famous’. Ok, goddit.

This week there were actual headlines in even proper newspapers announcing that Olivia Attwood had been removed from ‘I’m a celebrity, get me out’a here’ in a highly unusual and, well, not very interesting way. Did she have Covid? Was she pregnant?? Oh my word, the nation was on the edge of its collective settee with shock and amazement. Other than those of us thinking ‘who the fuck is Olivia Attwood??’ But she is, obviously, a ‘celebrity’, and like most of them, has equally obviously, had her face re-structured a bit, but for celebrity you need to be famous. So what’s Olivia’s claim to fame? And sometimes, you have to sink low to find things out. Up steps the Mail on Sunday with the information we’d all been so keen to know. Olivia, who is engaged to a Blackburn Rovers footballer (are you a proper ‘WAG’ if its not a Premiership team? Don’t like to get snobby about this, but there are standards…). But her ‘fame’ is not, as I first thought, for being on the board of a Footsie 500 company, setting up a charity to help children in need or even being a fifth-rate actress in pantomimes. No. Olivia’s fame comes from ‘finishing in 3rd place in the 2017 Love Island’. Wow. Impressive.

Strictly Come Dancing is another ‘celeb’ talent show I choose never to watch. But again, makes it into all the newspapers. And ‘strictly’ has a bit of a problem. The couples dance, the judges mark them but the decision as to who is thrown off each week is down to audience voting. Sounds workable. Always been workable. Until this year. When you have the perfect storm. Someone who is absolutely rubbish at dancing, but is immensely popular with a truly massive, loyal fan-base. Who all have phones.
Thus Tony Adams, ex-captain of Arsenal, does his passé doble, treads on his partners feet, falls over a few times, shows all the sense of rhythm of a goldfish dying on the kitchen floor. And then wins. Because there’s 100,000 Arsenal fans all phoning in.

Tony Adams is certainly the only Arsenal anything who I’d be prepared to make a phone call for. He not only captained a brilliant and successful team, he managed to do so whilst he and most of the others were addicted to drugs, alcohol, gambling, or all three. How most of them managed to lace their boots up every Saturday is a mystery, let alone win so many matches.

So that’s this week’s round up of our favourite tv shows. Unfortunately that is what they quite literally are, in terms of viewing numbers. And they wonder why our nation is in such trouble.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx