Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Come back Spuggy, all is forgiven.

Watched a controversial documentary last night in disbelief. Still in shock. Geordie Shore is fucking dreadful and full of pricks.
Tara Court

For a good friends birthday I once had a Saturday night out in Bigg Market in Newcastle. For a brief moment I felt as though I’d stepped onto the set of a film based in some nightmarish post-apocalyptic future. A selection of creatures surrounded me, loosely humanoid in nature, shrieking, bawling and vomiting. The kind of place where a Deep Fried Snickers bar was considered Haute cuisine and the mantra of the night seemed to be “Why-aye man, therv got free shots!”. Fascinated by their tribal rituals as I was – albeit they mostly seemed related to mating and swearing - it was clear I was unwelcome there. I was wearing a coat for starters. It’s without a doubt one of the most terrifying God-forsaken spots in which I’ve ever found myself, and I live in Coventry and I've even ventured to Nuneaton. Eventually, and without loss to our party, we made our escape.

When Obi-Wan described Mos Eisley to Luke Skywalker with the words “You’ll never find a bigger hive of scum and villainy” there’s a visible shudder as he recalls his brief time in Bigg Market – “You’ll never find a bigger hive of self-obsessed loutish twats”.

So, after the brilliance of the Terry Pratchett documentary on Assisted Suicide, some channel flicking took place. And MTV once again found itself on my television. And in one fell swoop we moved from the absolute pinnacle of broadcasting quality to the absolute nadir.

At first glance it appears that MTV have created a new television show solely by driving a black unmarked van into Bigg Market on a Saturday night, covering the back with some neon and luminous Aftershock stained vomit and a crudely written sign bearing the legend “Free Shots here”, waited for ten minutes, locked the back door, switched off the ridiculously loud “unce unce unce unce” dance music and driven off.

So, Geordie Shore. A show to join the pantheon of other quality shows available on MTV now they can’t be bothered playing music any more. If you’ve never seen it, Well done you. Have a lollypop. Avoid it.  Consider this my favour to you - watching telly shows and getting angry about them so you don't have to. Think of the raised blood pressure I've spared you.

It’s a reality TV series in which eight fatuous and vacuous (and various other words ending with ‘ous’) preening twats share a house together – a kind of Big Brother where they’re not locked in but should be – and we watch the hilarious outcome from the inevitable conflict of personalities.

Sounds like a fascinating social experiment, am I right? Except of course, for one fundamental flaw in that not a single one of the 8 subjects possesses anything that, by any stretch of the imagination, could be referred to as a personality. It's hardly even worth them having names, such is the level of their genericism. The man are all preening, gurning, overly-aggressive idiots obsessed with but three things; not wearing a top, drinking and fucking. And the girls are exactly the same.

And they're all absolutely vile. They all closely resemble Auton replicas of real people, overly tanned and vaguely plastic-like in appearance. Clothing is next to non-existent due to the searing climes of Newcastle; I imagine the female cast of this show could quite happily fit their entire wardrobes into a shoe-box as their clothes mostly seem to consist of shoe-laces, dental floss and ribbon. And the blokes? Much like the men in My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, it appears that vests are back this year. For fucking idiots.

When of the casts ridiculously inflated pair of tits demonstrate more intelligence than their owner, you know something has gone terribly, terribly wrong with the planet.

I'm struggling to even remember if any of the cast even have names.

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