Never mind the bollocks... it's only TV

[YB941 5thD EFM ~soul~]

Never mind the [****!!****]... it's only TV by Richard Littlejohn

 

EVERYONE else seems to have an opinion on I’m A Celebrity . . . Get Me Out Of Here! So why not me?

 

Granted, I’ve never actually seen it. Nor do I have any intention of watching it.

 

Actually, that’s not strictly true. I caught a couple of minutes of it on ITV2 while late-night channel surfing.

 

I’m still none the wiser. They were just sitting around with the sound turned down.

 

Life’s too short.

 

But if that’s what gets you through the night, it’s fine by me.

 

There’s 400 channels out there. No one’s forced to watch it.

 

I’m A Celebrity is harmless nonsense, a bit of a chuckle, a modern freak show. So what’s all the fuss about?

 

Most of us accept it at face value. But you wouldn’t believe some of the drivel which has been written about it in the posher prints.

 

Heartbroken heavyweight hacks have lamented the appearance of Johnny Rotten as a betrayal of the punk generation.

 

Somehow, even though they’ve bought the semi and the Volvo, they expect the former Sex Pistols frontman to stay forever fossilised in 1977.

 

They obviously weren’t following the script at the time. It wasn’t called The Great Rock ’n’ Roll Swindle for nothing.

 

Rotten — or Lydon, as he now prefers — was never the genuine article. He was a song and dance man, even though he couldn’t sing or dance. Malcolm McLaren admits hiring him by mistake.

 

Johnny had no more intention of following Sid Vicious into an early grave than The Who had of dying before they got old, Keith Moon excepted.

 

It can’t be long before he turns up at Turnberry, playing pro-celebrity golf with Tarby and Brucie, complete with torn Argyle sweater and [***!!***] plus-twos.

 

A Round With Rotten.

 

Some commentators have been a bit sniffy about Jennie Bond. What’s a former BBC royal correspondent doing involved in this ghastly programme?

 

Easy. Having the time of her life. She loves the attention. My wife once saw her walking round Marks & Sparks in Muswell Hill wearing spray-on shorts, tights and stilettos, even though she’s only about three foot six.

 

The question is not how she ended up in the jungle, but how a wannabe C-list bimbo ever became the Beeb’s royal watcher By Appointment in the first place.

 

As for Neil Ruddock, you forget I saw him play for Spurs. Many’s the time we wished he could have been somewhere else — like in a shallow grave in Australia covered in rats.

 

The one who really intrigues me is Jordan. Not the woman herself, but the reaction of those who normally would look down their noses at her.

 

Even the Daily Mail, the bible of Middle England, has gone soft on her after discovering she likes horse riding.

 

Her Majesty’s Daily Telegraph has gone into raptures over Jordan’s ridiculous embonpoint, which is now seen as empowering and excitingly post-modern.

 

But it’s The Guardian which takes the bushtucker biscuit. Here is a newspaper which makes a living out of sneering at popular taste and railing against Sun readers and Page Three.

 

Yet the Guardian’s wimmin’s page has hailed Jordan as a feminist heroine on several grounds including her “lack of competitiveness with other women”.

 

You couldn’t make it up.

 

Lack of competitiveness? What on earth do they think those absurd, silicone-filled bazookas are designed for — smothering cruise missiles?

 

The Guardian also concludes that Jordan is “surprisingly moral” on account of the fact that she makes men wait a month before sleeping with them.

 

Yep, and then sells their sex secrets to the highest bidder. What’s the difference between that and a King’s Cross brass? At least with a ten-quid tom you know the price in advance.

 

The truth is that highbrow commentators can’t grasp the concept of I’m A Celebrity as nothing more than a giggle, a mere diversion.

 

They have to endow it with cultural significance and subject it to textual analysis.

 

And in so doing, they are even sadder than the social inadequates and insomniacs who sit up all night watching I’m A Celebrity . . . Is There Much More Of This?

 

Never mind the b*******, it’s only television.

 

 

[JKiF]

Bollox

 

>>Rotten — or Lydon, as he now prefers — was never the genuine article. He was a song and dance man, even though he couldn’t sing or dance. .<<

 

starts a diatribe about Metal Box...

[YB941 5thD EFM ~soul~]

From clips I've seen of Johnny Rotten in interviews from the seventies, he always seemed a bit 'pantomime' to me. Upsetting the hierarchy for the sake of it.

 

Actually, he'd be ideal in EFM!!

 

 

[JKiF]

well its like

if people bite then you're gonna take the pi$$ more?

 

an absolute ideal candidate for efm!