Run for cover! Katie Price (or Jordan if you live in the ’90s) is threatening us all with a new album. Aren’t there war crime tribunals for things like this? Seriously. We need someone like James Bond and some piano wire to sort this, post haste.

We know this because she cruelly asked everyone on Twitter what songs we’d like to hear her singing.

Of course, there were those who asked her to never open her mouth to make any kind of sound ever again, but alas, Price is not a woman who takes no for an answer, as her many, many marriages and babies are testament to.

The last time she made an album, it was a disaster on every level. 2006′s A Whole New World, which featured ex-husband Peter Andre, saw God Almighty considering reversing evolution to see that humans never developed ears (but alas, had better things to do like consoling child molesting priests from their nagging consciences).

Price tweeted:

‘I want to do another album for next year what would my fans prefer cover songs – new songs or mixture?’

One idiot suggested Adele’s Someone Like You and Price replied with:

‘Me and Leo love that song its our fav song.’

We can’t imagine Adele is much of a Katie Price fan to be quite frank and will no doubt do everything she can to ensure Price’s goose-like singing voice doesn’t get anywhere near her song.

Mercifully, one hecklerspray reader chirruped

‘you can’t sing so I wouldn’t bother’

This saw Price reply with

‘Whether you think I can sing or not at least I do things I want in life your obviously a person who would rather knock people.’

This is a woman who once described Jodie Marsh as having a nose like a ‘builder’s elbow’. Ms Pot? Meet Mr Kettle. That said, we have to applaud such a needlessly nasty snark.

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Here’s some advice. Fashion yourself a miniature love nest in your room, masturbate wrathfully for the next four days, then click the following link.

This link right here.

Yes, that’s right.You physically cannot produce enough paranoia and semen to replicate this video, can you? Well, seeing as you’re all loved out – it is all here, spread out in the This Morning studio. And apparently Ruth Langford’s preferred choice of hair mousse. Whatever. Chantelle Houghton and Alex Reid were never meant to be a couple. This is just a Closer magazine work experience girl typing a caption wrong. This is why communism was ultimately an unsuccessful idea. Most importantly, this is why Katie Price should stop marrying male prostitutes.

If you are currently unable to watch the video due to voluntary paralysis, here are a few choice quotes from one the most loveless pieces of television we have ever seen since that BBC sitcom where Jasper Carrot fathered a wheelchair-bound mute.

Chantelle Houghton on why she loves her new boyfriend Alex Reid

“When he walks into a room he is literally like a hurricane.”

Alex Reid on the tragedy of falling in love with a celebrity

“Why didn’t I just date a girl from the library? You know?”

Alex Reid on battling Atypical Depression

“My heart was a bit broken back then. But erm, she’s mended it.”

And not forgetting

“We share a lot of common experiences. Like Big Brother. And marriage.”

And to think we thought they were just rutting for money.

However, as Eamonn and his dried up cavern of a wife very helpfully point out – due to this dramatic amalgamating of two of the major power forces of British culture, there is unfortunately a risk of running into a bit of completely unwanted paparazzi attention.

But never fear, because Alex has found a way of turning this horrific situation into a great thing, judging by his Twitter page from yesterday, where he gallantly posted how ‘Soliders are dying in Afghanistan, but where is our freedom?’ – 36 times. Hero much?

This really puts into perspective that time Denise Van Outen used her Twitter account to call Natalie Cassidy a terrible mother, doesn’t it?

So, on this one occasion, it really has been made clear, that sometimes love can just be about the stolen moments between two lost souls at a TV Quick Awards after-brothel. So put that in your cynical pipe and enjoy your cynical cancer, cynics.

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Hey everyone, you massive pile of galahs! Pandre Peter Pandre Andre here, and I’ve been given just enough time by the scummy hoardes at hecklerspray to give something back to you, the people.

That’s what I’m all about now. Giving something back. You may have seen my new show on ITV2, that I don’t like to talk about, Here 2 Help? That’s all about me giving something back as well, to people who are so pathetic and downtrodden that just me giving them one of my special Pandre hugs and lobbing half a ballad at them makes them rise up and walk like Lazarus.

But I don’t like to talk about that show, that’s on every other hour on ITV2. Or talk about how much I love my kids, because I really love my kids. I just want to give some more things back… like tell you how to get a woman to date you!

Yeah, even you, sadsack with the flabby man-tits and the suspicious downstairs itch and 14 different tabs all open on RedTube!

Just follow the patented method I invented which I used to get my big strong Aussie hands on Stacey Solomon, outlined in the Sunday red-tops after I rang myself and left precise instructions on my own voicemail just so I wouldn’t forget or something, and you’ll be swatting them off faster than you can count to the highest chart position of Insania (3, but I don’t like to talk about it).

First, pick your target. If you’re too busy being on TV (Here 2 Help, ITV2, on right now unless American Idol’s on) or loving your kids to find someone yourself, just get your management company to open this week’s copy of Heat at random and point to the first female under 50 that they see. That’s the girl for you, guy!

Unless it’s Stacey Solomon, because she’s mine, and if you go near her, I’ll cut you, no matter how much I love my kids.
Second, play it cool. Just casually announce in an interview or two that you think Stacey Solomon is amazing, and you really want to take Stacey Solomon to Bella Pasta and treat her real nice, and make sure you write in your trashy magazine column about how your life is no more than a pointless dive into a screaming abyss of depression and loneliness because Stacey Solomon is not by your side. Remember: girls love being complimented, and the more deranged the fashion, the better!

Third, why not invite her to your kid’s birthday party? (Wow, don’t you love your kids? I know I do, but I don’t like to talk about it) Because nothing says sexy like licking icing from a Finding Nemo cake off your fingers and pointing your crotch at Stacey Solomon while she glumly clings to her boyfriend and tries to hide from the TV cameras from your reality show to the soundtrack of 100 ignored and hyperactive kids pinning down a bedraggled and underpaid clown and kicking his face apart! (Yeah, don’t worry if she has a boyfriend, mate. Boyfriend isn’t in Peter Andre’s dictionary. I had to cross it out so I could write “giving” in there twice.)

And lastly, the killer blow. Bombard her with texts and phone calls and beg her for a date. Don’t take “I don’t want to come to your child’s birthday party”, “I’m engaged to someone else” and “If you contact me again I’m calling the police” for an answer. Desperation smells even more potent than my latest album, Accelerate, drenched in Lynx Africa!

That’s it. Easy! Good luck, mate. It’s definitely going to work for me. Watch out for my new series, “Pe-tacey: Jungle Loving” starting next month on ITV2!

Note for lawyers: this article was shoved under the door of the hecklerspray bedsit and was almost certainly not written by Peter Andre. We don’t think he’s got any crayons in that colour.

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Proper news organisations have all sorts of grown up codes and practices. So imagine if they were having a slow news day and had to report on less important articles like Lee Ryan? We imagine that a piece about one of life’s biggest blips would go along the lines of saying; “Lee Ryan, bad boy of pop band Blue has been living up to his reputation of causing chaos on a night out on the town.”

But here at the hecklerspray hole, we know that Lee Ryan has never had a credible reputation as a popstar or as a hard man. A yoghurt that’s gone a day past its expiry date poses more of a threat.

However, our number one bruv has been in bother with the authorities before. A few years ago, he was fined £500 after attacking a taxi driver following a crash in Surrey. Maybe our Lee’s given up on singing and is now imitating superheroes by getting involved in brawls, but not saving anyone. This particular epic struggle took place at his birthday party in June.

Why we weren’t invited to the birthday celebrations of Lee Ryan is beyond us. It isn’t like we’ve ever fallen out or anything. Well, there was that one time he dropped the “c” bomb on us after we had a snigger at his appearance on reality show Hell’s Kitchen. Surely the skills he picked up could be transferred to his local kebab shop where Lee could claim the title of chief meat botherer? Hell, he could probably stab us all to death in a really artistic way if he really wanted to.

The simplest of things can cause a full blown fight to erupt. It could be from political differences, pointless hate over supporting a rival football team or even the classic scenario of someone accidentally looking at your drink. We don’t know what happened at Lee Ryan’s big bash to cause such a kerfuffle, but we imagine that someone disagreed with Lee’s stance on elephants. After all, the Blue singer does feel that the victims of September 11th weren’t as important as the tusked creatures. We wonder if he knows where ivory comes from? But from reports, we’ve heard that:

“The singer had invited dozens of people to an Oxford nightclub, charging £10 for tickets, but a row inside spilled into the street.”

We’re aware that the world’s economy has gone belly up and everybody is looking to save money where possible, but charging people to get into your own birthday bash? Christ knows what the payment is for. Perhaps Lee did have good intentions and wanted to give anyone attending more than just a party bag containing a slab of cake, hat and rubbish toy. That said, if he was broke, he could’ve sold left-over copies of Blue’s albums before they’re all shipped off to North Korea to be used as coasters.

At this point we’d argue that fining someone a laughable £80 for improper conduct is a joke to justice and hardly a dent in the finances of someone with ‘celeb status. But then again, the judge knows that the perpetrator was Lee Ryan, a bloke who is close to joining a local busking band as backing vocalist in order to make some pennies. So the amount is fair, it’ll take him months to repay in weekly 5p instalments.

But we don’t like to see a bruv in peril. Therefore, we’re offering a staggering £50 for Lee Ryan to come play at the ‘spray bedsit Christmas party. It’ll be a hoot. And full of knock off booze and, most importantly, pointless fist fights.

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The Eurovision has been and gone, with an immediately forgettable song from Azerbaijan winning, leaving the controller of AzTV absolutely shitting his pants at the prospect of hosting one of the most prestigious shows in the calendar.

More forgettable that the winning song… which was called… uh… um… whatever it was, is ‘I Can’ by Blue which, in hindsight, should have been called ‘We Won’t’.

Of course, the collective egos in Blue won’t be able to process what happened on the night. They’re still wrapped in their little bubble that tells them that, if they hit a high note or two and flash some pectoral muscles, they’ll be met with unswerving praise, like they’ve just found the cure for every illness in history. Alas, they finished mid-table and are now filed under ‘flop’.

Blue managed to create the world’s first tug o’war that saw neither party wanting them, leaving their song acting as the loose rope, limping dangling between two groups, both yelling “NO! WE HATE THEM MORE!” And while hecklerspray desperately wanted a scoreless performance from the lads, we’re actually rather pleased Lee Ryan & Co finished in middling nowhere.

Everyone remembers Gemini. Hopefully everyone will forget Blue even existed in the first place.

Naturally, this doesn’t make any sense to the members of Blue so they’re sticking with the line, presumably fed to them by a personal assistant who can’t wait to see the back of them, that they have been victims of political voting.

Simon Webbe said:

“It is often not really about the song but who your neighbours are. But we are proud of what we did.”

So proud that, reportedly, Duncan, Lee and Simon stayed up until 6am being really classy and knocking back endless Jaegerbombs like they were students. Token stolen police cone, Antony Costa, was so disappointed that he went straight to bed before planning which cashpoints he’d urinate on in the morning.

Sadly, we suspect this isn’t the last we’ve heard of these horrible, preening gits.

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If the borders of reality and literature were to ever blur by magic and represent members of society, then Peter Andre would be the human equivalent of the Mr. Happy character from the Mr. Men books. You can’t pick up a trashy 67p magazine without seeing the ex husband of Katie Price and general lousy pop star slapped across it.

Over on ITV where the bosses are keen to fill their airtime with any old tosh, Andre has been given his own show where he shunts his children around, showing what an adoring parent he is.

Tears literally roll down our cheeks everytime we watch, but we get the impression that the footage will be used as evidence to show he’s be a more responsible parent than Katie Price who spends her time running over horses. When Peter Andre isn’t kissing bot-bot to the camera, he supposedly has a day job as a singer. Tragically, he’s in demand.

If you’re a performer who has a fan base who’d literally jump through burning hoops to see their idol, it doesn’t matter if you announce tour dates two weeks or even a year in advance. People will buy tickets on mass and treasure them until the big night arrives. Looking at people like Rihanna, Take That or even the late Michael Jackson, those who want to go to a gig will travel far and wide for the spectacle.

We can only assume that Peter Andre is using the same model for his live shows. In actual fact, it came as a surprise to us that Peter Andre has enough followers who pester him enough to divulge in touring information. His Twitter feed must have been full of the same messages and mail sacks must have spilled over the floor of his home as fans desperately pleaded with the Mysterious Girl singer to tell them his tour plans. Taking to magazine column which doubles as a Peter Andre PR board, he said:

“People have been asking if I’m planning to tour again, and I’m pleased to say the answer is yes.”

Adding:

“Dates and venues haven’t been confirmed, but it looks like I’ll be on the road around January.”

January? We can’t fucking wait January to see a mediocre pub singer wheezing his way through a half hour set against a backing track. Before you start constructing effigies of Peter Andre to burn for making us wait till 2012, fear not, he is planning some summer festival action. So where will he be heading? Down to Glastonbury with all the hipsters? How about Glade to do a secret nosebleed Gabba set? Or perhaps he wants to literally take it easy at The Big Chill? No, his stage is much bigger; Andre broke the news again by saying:

“He couldn’t wait” to perform at summer festivals, including gigs at Kempton Park Racecourse and the Isle of Man’s Bay Festival.”

We imagine his slot will be perfectly timed between the donkey ride ending and the finger painting event getting set up by the festivals organisers.

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Katie Price aka Jordan is bloody brilliant. Not only is she covered in boobs, has cloven hoofs and a slightly large orange head, she also has a great big gaping hole in the front of her face and sometimes words fly out of it like a perfectly veneered bat cave.

Of course, like any devoted celebrity mother, she keeps her kids grounded and out of the spotlight by putting them directly in front of TV cameras and providing them with several, slightly useless father figures to choose from when they grow up and decide to run screaming from her clutches.

While she’s waiting for the sun’s rays to transform her once and for all into Zelda from Terrahawks, she loves to talk about her sex life and is apparently still shagging her cage-fighting ex Alex Reid with her unholy vag.

She eloquently snarled:

“Do I go and f*** Joe Public or do I go and f*** an ex? Can anyone here tell me they’ve never f***** an ex?”

While we’d love to open a bottle of ‘ up yours’ and get right into that debate, our eyes were drawn to another little sparkly gem she had vomited over the interviewer.

She said:

‘My main dream – and I’m trying to get Living TV to do it – is to go into prison and interview serial killers, rapists, murderers, psychopaths.

‘I’m so interested in the brain. I read true crime. I’m not interested in any b******s made-up stuff; it’s got to be true.’

Unlike 90% of her face.

And we are like, sooo interested in the brain too! We wonder if hers is controlled by Satan directly or if it’s just a merry band of his minions, driving her around like The Beano’s Numbskulls.

We feel Living TV would be insane to not allow Price and her brain into a room filled with as many axe wielding, damaged inmates as possible.

We’d also recommend they ask her to sing, just in case any of those nice men aren’t quite angry enough.

The wonderful Joanna Bolouri wrote these words. Give her three cheers or she’ll find out where you live and beat you up

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Those of you who are fans of crushing idiocy have had a rough time of it recently. There’s always the Bieberphiles and the Kardashians to entertain you, but nothing can quite compare to the eternal, head rottingly awful stupidity that can come about from the coupling of two dunderheads of colossal proportions.

We are, of course, referring to Jordan Price’s  hook ups and doomed marriages to men primarily made from the revolving meat suitcases that you see adorning the kebab shops of this fine land. Where would we go and who would we be sarky about now that she has released another one into the wild?

Fear not, good people, even when she’s let them loose from her clutches she still pipes up from time to time to remind us all of why we loved her and her dwindling intellect. Even though her and Peter Andre have been split up for about a year (which is decades in gossip time), they have ‘continued their war of words’ (according to most, ‘continued honking at each other like frightened geese, according to us), to both keep each other in the public eye and, apparently, to moan about their kids getting burnt or something. It’s mostly the first reason, obviously.

Looks like they are both not only godawful people, singers, presenters, speakers, ‘writers’, thinkers, and whatnot (you can probably go ahead and add that they are godawful at eating, pooing and playing basic children’s games as well), not only are they undoubtably terrible at those things, but it turns out they are also drastically bad parents.

Who would have thought it, eh?

Seems as though the Price/Andre idea of a good time was to play ‘injure the small child’ and now allegations are coming out that they’ve both been waving lit matches in their kids faces and hurling them into pits of lava.

Digitalspy readies it’s fire extinguisher to tell us:

It was reported yesterday that Andre had used his lawyers to contact his ex-wife after discovering a burn on the child’s back. Price hit back on Twitter claiming that the story contained more “lies” and went on to suggest that her son Harvey had received an injury while in Andre’s care.

Of course, they are both parents who clearly love their little publicity machines very much, but is this not just the same as being trapped in a waiting room with a new mother who just won’t stop going on and on and on and on about how her little darling was coughing all last night and was right off his babychino this morning and she won’t stop until you commit a timely act of violence on her person?

Instead of being a new mother, it’s two of the most boring and unlikeable celebrities on the planet, and instead of a waiting room it’s all over the internet and those magazines that girls leave in their houses and it’s not even a coughing fit, it’s the world’s tiniest burn sustained yonks ago and an unspecified injury.

It’s not like this is even playground-style hair pulling to get the girl you like to notice you. Apparently,

Price went on to add that she hoped the latest row would put an end to “ridiculous” claims that she wanted to get back together with Andre.

They’re even denying us the satisfaction of looking forward to a whole new messy break up, they’re just boring us with their bad parenting.

Teases.

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Argh! What do we do in this situation?! Peter Andre has been rushed to hospital and we don’t know what level of piss-taking to offer. What if he dies over the weekend? We’ll look nastier than usual then?

Mind you, we could claim it as a ‘first!’, thereby giving us the chance to say ‘we told you so’.

So yeah, Peter Andre will probably die this weekend after he was rushed into hospital for “extensive tests and scans” to determine the cause of a random and searing pain coursed through the singer’s body.

The people who will be most devastated by this news are the people of Plymouth who were due to turn out in their millions tonight to watch Andre sing ‘Mysterious Girl’ and that other on he did kinda recently. Sadly, it has been postponed.

Andre’s manager Claire Powell said:

“We are very worried about Peter and at present we do not know what is causing him to be in so much pain. Peter is terribly disappointed that he is unable to perform at tonight’s sold out opening night.”

She continued:

“At this time we have no more information, though we are hoping Peter will be able to perform at Minehead tomorrow as planned.”

NOT IF HE DIES!

OH GOD! HE BETTER NOT! WE NEED PETER ANDRE IN OUR LIVES!

Andre’s ex-wife Katie Price revealed that Peter had been taken ill in a message on Twitter today and a full statement confirmed the news on his official website. The news being that Peter Andre has excruciating stomach pains. Of course, you lot are such huge Peter Andre fans that you’ll know already that he’s collapsed once this year thanks to gallstones.

The people of Plymouth need not riot yet. The concert has been rescheduled for Tuesday December 21st. That’s a nice Christmas present for you.

UNLESS HE DIES.

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People in the real world have to deal with emotional heartbreak in different ways to famous people. The best way to cope with a break of a partner of several years? Go and get yourself utterly drunk, vomit up your insides and then suffer in self pity the next day. What could be better? Possibly releasing a single telling the ex to basically go fudge himself?

Yeah! That’ll do.

Former tit-model-cum-fame-whore Katie Price has decided to do this. But she seemed to do it the wrong way round. After divorcing Mysterious Girl twonk Peter Andre, she ran in to the arms of Alex Reid who gives all kick boxers a bad name. Recently they got married in a tacky ceremony which would have been complete if a pink unicorn was the ring bearer. Ironically, she just released a flop single called Free To Love Again. She isn’t a swinger is she?

The key to success in the music world these days is to extensively tour, make yourself unique and constantly get your video played on music channels.

What did Katie Price do?

She went on to GMTV – you know that show that is so successful that it’s getting old One Show presenters to help it before it drowns in its own piss-poor attempts at being entertainment. We guess Katie Price did do something to get people to notice her single’s performance – she made it totally gash.

Baring in mind that this was being broadcast 9.30am, it seemed weird that Katie Price wanted to get everyone motivated for going out for a Friday night. Wearing trousers that resembled a few dozen bin bags wrapped round her legs and held together with duct tape, she topped it off with tangerine makeup and a quiff that Jedward would be proud of. Sexy and sophisticated – no; looking like a back alley stripper who got turned away from every lap dancing establishment? Why, yes!

Don’t worry Lady Gaga, we haven’t quite yet found a wacky British version of you yet. Perhaps when one of The Saturdays leaves the band, she can reinvent herself and come back wearing clothes made out of used pizza boxes. What does make the situation better is that Katie Price herself has admitted to being pretty much useless when it comes to singer; she’s been quoted as saying:

“I’m not the best singer in the world, let’s be honest.”

Hmm, perhaps that’s why she only sold 3,000 copies and flew in to the chart at a staggering number 60. But fear not, we guess she can always write another book about her time as popstar and bring it out in time for Christmas.

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When summer comes thundering round, we all know what it’s set to bring – ice cream, crappy weather and another soul-sapping series of Big Brother.

In the beginning, Big Brother was a crazy experiment which for once didn’t involve cutting people open or giving them drugs which would result in the growth of an extra eye. Instead, it was set to monitor the results of living in a controlled human environment. Or as most viewers interpreted it, a chance to maybe see some people have sex. But as time has gone on, the experimental phase has vanished and contestants have used Big Brother as a platform to launch a career. None are ever successful and, brilliantly for us, we get to see them crash and burn.

It’s now the turn of Chanelle Hayes.

The ninth series of Big Brother is due to hit the UK in a couple of weeks, which only means we will be in store for more tantrums, bitching, crap romances which will end six months after the show finishes, swearing, potentially racist comments and someone to become the new national idiot.

Every year, one of the contestants annoyingly lingers around like a bad fart once the show has ended. Unfortunately for us, it’s Chanelle Hayes, a woman who still seems like the hideous creation of someone determined to show us the opposite of how humans should act and behave around around others.

Jesus, was she an annoying cow. Listening to a car alarm for half an hour or shitting glass seemed more appealing that sitting through her endless tyrant of squeaks, moans and arguments with anyone who’d listen.

Amazingly, Chanelle was somehow signed by a talent agency. Not because she had any talent or credibility, but because if she took her clothes off, opened her mouth and looked vaguely seductive, blokes could imagine she was about to give them a blowjob.

After modelling and destroying TV shows, Chanelle has now turned her hand to singing. Of course, it’s absolute bollocks and Chanelle is the only one deluded enough to believe that it will actually sell. Because everyone suddenly likes dance music, this is genre that she’s gone and destroyed. Her single I Want It is a bland slab of Balearic house which hasn’t exactly had leading DJs queuing up in order to play it.

But let’s give Chanelle some credit. Because she knows it’ll bomb, she’s said:

“I’ve spent time in the recording studio and I’ve got all these songs for an album so if the single is a success then I’ll do an album. But if it’s not then I won’t inflict any more pain on you all!”

Good, she’s soon to be gone when her single crash lands in at number 178. However it’s not all good news. With a new series of Big Brother on the way, we can only guess that’ll they’ll be another gaggle of plebs emerging who’ll want to launch a dream singing career.

So more than likely we’ll run the same story next year and just replace ‘Chanelle Hayes’ with some other idiot. You’ll never notice.

Read more:

Chanelle: I’ll Quit If Single Is A Flop - Digital Spy

New BBC 3 show Lily Allen And Friends is in trouble. And not just due to the rubbish title – although surely a more accurate name would be Lily Allen And A Bunch Of Z-List Hangers-On Who'll Vanish As Soon As Her Fame Begins To Dwindle, Therefore Leaving Her With Nothing Better To Do Than Record An Embarrassing Christmas 2009 Novelty Record With Her Father.

The idea seemed like a rating winner at first. Get one of the most high profile pop stars of the moment to front an inane and unchallenging chatfest with some equally dim celebrity mates.

Then? Then came the studio recording, and the point at which things didn't so much go downhill as start tunnelling to the centre of the Earth like that weird drill-vehicle from The Core. And – after disappointing the live audience so much that a good percentage of them walked out – Lily has now seen this failure to engage reflected in the broadcast arena.

Only two percent of the potential audience tuned in to see Lily wheel out her cockernee accent and prance around before the cameras on Tuesday night, and it's not known how many of them actually enjoyed the sight of something approximating a Primrose Hill primary school child auditioning for Oliver.

Of course, the obvious reason for such a disaster would be that people thought the show would be roughly as entertaining as snorting ground-up fibreglass. But let's give the Lilster a chance – maybe that wasn't the only factor for the failure. It's entirely possible that the BBC 3 audience – confronted with something that wasn't an episode of Two Pints Of Lager And A Packet Of Crisps – found themselves so bewildered that they had to immediately turn over before their skulls exploded.

Besides – broadcasting this on a Tuesday? Like, duh. Are you totally unaware of Lily Allen's target demographic? Don't you know it's their weekly How To Pretend To Be 'Street' When You're Actually A Privately-Educated Twat class over in Highgate? You really should come along next time – Tarquin's really developed that Brixton twang, and Isabel's new dreadlocks are just totally awesome.  

Whatever the reason, the BBC has put on a brave face on this whole fiasco and called it a 'solid start'. Nevertheless, one can't really help but feel that poor old Lily won't be getting a second series. Man oh man – she must be really worried about her future in the industry. After all, it's not as though she has a famous television personality father and film producer mother with which to continually leech undeserved exposure and opportunities off, is it?

Oh.

Read More:

Allen's TV Show Flops - Yahoo