Denise Welch officially splits from Tim Healy, not that anyone cares anymore. Remember at the end of Jurassic Park where all of the dinosaurs were left to their own devices and untouched by human hands again? And when King Kong was shot fell to his death from the Empire State building? And when Ethel Skinner was put down by Dot Cotton, ending her reign of sexual terror? Well, these are examples of when it’s acceptable to lock up/euthanise sexual threats because they pose a threat to greater society.

Unfortunately, we are facing a turning point in our history because one of these situations has arisen again: Denise Welch is single again.

The 2012 Celebrity Big Brother winner and Byker Grove star confirmed the worrying news yesterday on Loose Women, where she spoke candidly and without any prompting from her agent about the situation between her and Career Geordie, Tim Healy.

Which isn’t great is it? Now you won’t be able to finish your cornflakes without worrying about where Denise will be striking next.

Unfortunately for any people with a working penis (she doesn’t discriminate against gay or straight apparently) this means that she’s bringing her own unique brand of syphilitic whoring to a town near you VERY SOON. Lock up your brothers, husbands, sons and nephews, because she is coming for them.

We imagine that this is what it felt like when news broke about Hitler annexing Czechoslovakia. Everyone was one step closer to War, and we are one step closer to reading all about her every step and clap of pissflap in every magazine going. We’ll have her yearning to have a family in OK! and her desire to be single and how she’s loving the single life in Hello! And whatever shit the Daily Mail want to publish about her.

The Welch Menace got all teary and emotional when she broke the heart-rendering news to the Loose Women audience and fans, and told them that they had been separated for a “a few months” even though she was seen acting like a married couple just last week at Tim Healy’s birthday, in a move that will send ripples through the camps of fellow Career Divorcées Kerry Katona and Natasha Giggs. If she can infiltrate and imitate a happy couple so convincingly then what’s stopping her from using her human chameleon powers to rob a bank, or worse still, your husband. In fact, she might even be in your house now!

To help put your mind at rest, here is our handy guide to surviving the Welch Menace until she is fully under control and we’ve all forgotten about her.

• Regularly check under all settees and covered tables. Denise Welch is well known for sleeping in dark and warm areas that can also provide protection, until she is ready to strike again. If you do suspect Denise Welch is under your settee, do not approach. She will lift her top and expose herself if provoked.
• Do not store unused alcohol on your premises until the Welch Panic is over. She can smell alcohol from up to 16 miles away and has been known to flock overnight to reach a newly opened bottle of Martini. At the very least keep a bottle top on all alcohol that is not in use, so as not to attract her attention.
• If you do become cornered by a Denise Welch, do not frighten or attack (see point 1). Instead, stay as still as possible until the threat has passed. Denise Welch is attracted by people who regularly move around and will soon get bored if she thinks there is no one in the room with her to annoy/talk about herself to/mate with. Once she has gone, lock all your windows and doors and wait for a member of Heat to arrive so they can document every thing she has done.
• If you are unfortunate enough and she does realise you are there, then either a) open a bottle of wine (pink is her favourite) and throw it into the corner of the room. The distraction will be enough for you to make your escape, or b) use whatever shiny surface you can find to distract her attention. If Denise Welch has a shiny surface to talk to, and thinks that she is talking to someone who she thinks is her equal, she can spend upwards of 56 hours nonstop conversing with herself.
• Do not under any circumstances listen to anything Denise Welch says. She is descended from a line of mythical prostitute Sirens and she has been known to make even a passing interest in her career stretch out for two decades.

If you’re reading this and your husband has already expressed an interest in seeing her at a local public gathering, or muttered the words ‘Natalie Barnes’ in his sleep, then unfortunately it is already too late.

Good luck out there and be vigilant.

Classy children’s author and stain on the pants of society, Katie Price, has insisted that she would never have sex on the first date.

Stop laughing.

Yes,the horse lover (and horse killer), formally known as  Jordan, turned up on Loose Women to talk about how she’s not the kind of girl who does that kind of thing, despite the fact she pumped the virginity right out of Gareth Gates in a London Hotel in 2002.

We remember things you see.  We also remember that sex tape she made. (Google it you perverts, we’re not here to help you sin.)

Speaking with her voice she said:

“I’m not into doing the one night thing. It’s like, how long do you leave it before you do it?”

“Because I always think if you are going to give it to them straight away, then they think that you’re a dirtbag, and I’m not a dirtbag even though I want to jump into bed with them.”

*cough* dirtbag *cough*

With a list of ex partners, longer than Peter Andre’s remote control sized penis and her last victim boyfriend Leandro Penna, now broken and back in Argentina, she admits she finds it easy to fall in love.

“Even if I’m trying to be cool then I’ll either be really shy and I can’t eat in front of them or I don’t know, I go all silly. I’m an absolute nightmare.”

Yes you are. A great big Wes Craven style nightmare, THAT NEVER, EVER ENDS.

She just kept talking.

“People think that I’m this strong bolshy girl, but I’m not. I’m gullible, I fall head over heels, but I’d rather be like that than not like that.”

AND TALKING.

“I don’t like to play games, I can’t be bothered with that, I’m too old for that now. If I’m going to text them and if they don’t text or call back then I’ve got to the point whereby I don’t want to play games, if you’re not interested and you try and play games and make me keen on you and be cool, forget it, I’m not interested. If you like someone go for it, life’s too short.”

And you lot said she didn’t write her own novels.  SHAME ON YOU.

So there you have it.

We have no idea what to do with this news either.

ITV2 is a very odd channel. They seem intent on keeping Kerry Katona’s career alive for reasons that quite frankly baffle anyone with half a brain cell, even budget supermarket Iceland had enough sense to get rid of her and they had an advert in which Jason Donovan did the can-can in fish nets.

But even by their usual insane standards ITV2 has thrown us a curve ball, by using an obscure 90s alternative band famed for excess and eccentricity to advertise their middle of the road teen drama Gossip Girl.

Whilst getting our daily Loose Women fix we here in the hecklerspray bedsit couldn’t help but notice that the trailer for the new series of Gossip Girl featured the song Love Your Money by Daisy Chainsaw.

Because what says cool teen drama about modern day problems better than a pre-Cobain anthem about how shallow the record industry is?

For those unfamiliar with Daisy Chainsaw they were an alt.grunge band that inhabited the early to mid 90s with a borderline creepy juxtaposition of grinding guitars and child like vocals who went on to become the cult, Paris based, post-millennium rock band Queen Adreena.

They were also once referenced in an episode of Roseanne as Darlene’s favourite band, which automatically elevates their status to legendary.

Imagine if Gossip Girl star and singer for the Pretty Reckless, Taylor Momson, was fused with Keith Richards by way of post meltdown Charlie Sheen and you’ve probably got a pretty good idea of what Daisy Chainsaw singer KatieJane Garside was like in her Daisy Chainsaw days.

Garside once reportedly got so tired of her fame that she went to live in the woods for a few years. Could you imagine the sweet little pop-punk rebel Taylor Momson doing that, living in the woods, all on her own? She wouldn’t last a day without her eyeliner.

Plus she’d actually have to do something of note to achieve said fame in the first place, other than getting her underage baps out for the enjoyment of nonces everywhere that is.

While we’re naturally delighted that Daisy Chainsaw (and therefore Queen Adreena) are being given a fresh breath of life, we just wish it didn’t have to be in a bloody Gossip Girl trailer.

Because there’s nothing more annoying than listening to one of your favourite early 90s rock song without some peroxide blonde, Fukushima orange, shrieking jezebel, clad in an oversized t-shirt that proclaims something vacuous like OMG or LOL, clacking her way towards you in stripper heels whilst using her piercing, shrill voice to loudly exclaim, “OMG! Is that like, the song from the gossip girl ad!? It’s totally fetch!”

Although, it would be brilliant to see the new series of whatever it is ITV2 use as a platform to show Kerry Katona advertised using the Queen Adreena song Pretty Like Drugs.

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Daytime television is, by it’s own admission, awful. Never has it been implied that shows like Jeremy Kyle and Cash In The Attic exist to do anything other than while away the hours for bored housewives and jobless shut-ins. A spot of light relief between playing online bingo and masturbating into a commemorative tea towel.

One afternoon, whilst killing time between brunch with Kelly Brook and playing golf on Richard Branson’s nose, flicking through the channels, the term “football” caught the ear. Lo and behold it was a woman on a panel show.

She had the look of someone’s Aunt, one who had once been in a waxing accident and never mentally, or aesthetically, recovered. She proceeded to elaborate about how “unfair” and “blatantly sexist” it was that her favourite reality TV show once had been moved back SIXTY WHOLE MINUTES to accommodate a football match going into extra time.

At first, this squeezed out a small chuckle – oh, that lady doesn’t like football and a lot of men do, how well she has critiqued the human race, *chortle chortle* – and then, a horrid curiosity took over. Jaw-ont-floor, the only feasible thing to do was to simply listen to her and the others batter all the “chauvinists” that had made them wait an hour to see Timmy Mallet rim a dead ox.

Patiently waiting for one of the esteemed guests or the salivating audience to point out that it happened because it was a live event, costing the channel millions and being pumped into homes and pubs up and down the country, alas, disappointment was met because this stupid rant was met with whoops of applause and an involuntary snort, death to men! Those football loving, channel organising vermin!

With no bra to burn and rushing to friends, who had also seen it and were equally miffed, the whole thing troubled in a quickly capsizing brain. For those who hadn’t witnessed this ogrish performance, it was difficult to articulate precisely what had been witnessed.

Imagine someone tried to film an episode of Question Time in Primark. Then imagine they handed out tickets for it with copies of the Sex & The City 2 DVD and crowd-sourced all the topics from The Daily Mail’s online forums and Kerry Katona’s autobiography. Now imagine it’s even worse than that… and you’re half-way there.

‘Don’t be daft’ you might say. You’re completely over-reacting. It can’t be that bad.

And so, it was decided that Loose Women must be given it a second chance and so, hecklerspray watched a second episode in full.

The panellists on show were Chris Evans’ ex-wife, someone from Corrie, the woman from that coupon advert and Arlene Phillips. Some quasi-insulting references were made to their age/weight/former alcoholism and the studio audience rolled about laughing. There’s was a nagging feeling that somewhere in that studio, there was probably some poor boy on work experience, who had the sole job holding the sign that said “laugh”.

This is how sad-clowns must start their careers.

After the formalities, they cracked on with the show and laid into a current news item. Promisingly at first, but it inevitably degenerated into a joke about someone on the panels’ age/weight/former alcoholism and the studio audience rolled around laughing, again.

Various sweeping statements were made on the current plight of the country. At times like this, you begin to shout at the television, offering counter points but it is no good because they can’t hear you, cackling over you with fashion tips, celebrity gossip and the OXO mum’s latest strategy for Afghanistan.

GCSE biology managed to calm fears that the country’s ears were vomiting in unison.

Eventually a celebrity guest was paraded in front of us all. He had a new book coming out and couldn’t wait to tell all the girls about it.

“Oh, I only read Heat HAHAHAHA”

Chirped one of panel. The ensuing awkwardness was side-stepped by some clever editing and ITV’s trademark eight hour ad break before viewers were treated to a montage of the ladies getting pissed at some award ceremony or charity do or whatever.

The show repeated this formula for an hour. With material being at a premium – and by material, read ‘things to talk about’ and not ‘the three remaining polyester threads covering Denise Welch’s chebs’ – time was killed by talking about Carol McGriffin’s drinking problem or Coleen Nolan’s weight, to which the presenters unhinged their jaws and opened their mouths as wide as they could to simulate the act of being shocked.

Simply un-missable TV for anybody who’s ever wondered what it would feel like to be stabbed in the mind.

Suddenly, inspiration hit harder than Sherrie Hewson’s erection. How about an all male panel show, comprised solely of laddish reality-TV rejects and failed boy bands? They could stare down the tops of soap stars who are there to plug an exercise video and offer their own personal insights into current affairs.

‘Yeah, like, my spray-tan place has put the prices up, why can’t we tax the banks for that?’

In the interest of fairness, it should be pointed out that this isn’t the worst thing on television. That show where Gok Wan saves ugly women from certain death each week by projecting their cellulite onto the side of a 40 storey building is more tedious and, if nothing else, it’s a day out for Lynda Bellingham isn’t it?

Anyway, where’s the remote…

This was a guest post written by Adam Clery so give him a big patronising pat on the back or something.

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Unless you like period dramas or watching inbred, six-fingered divs arguing on Jeremy Kyle, ITV doesn’t really have much more too offer, apart from the parody that is X-Factor. For those who aren’t unemployed or students, the daytime schedule contains nothing of any interest apart from muting out This Morning to look at Holly Willoughby.

For what seems an entirety, one program continues to be broadcast, despite it being a lacklustre copy of The View. Yes, with a comedy title that makes them all sound like whores, Loose Women covers no burning issues and instead focuses on guests that have items to promote.

Katie Price often features due to the amount of amount of autobiographies she releases. During a guest appearance last week, she was said to have impressed producers so much that they want her to be a permanent guest.

It’s a winning situation for all the panellists really. Because Katie Price is slightly gobby, she’ll be able to fill the airtime with rants about how crap men are. Poor Peter Andre will have to work overtime on his awful reality show to make us think is the world’s nicest man.

But of course there could be problems with all of this as Digital Spy reports:

“Current panellist Coleen Nolan has described Price as a “d**k” in the past, while Carol McGiffin once called her a “monster”.”

We assume that Coleen Nolan has called her a dick, something which probably won’t be taken as a compliment. But we’re sure it’ll just be a case of being misquoted like Stephen Fry was. Damn press and media stirring things up and causing rifts.

It is difficult to get away from the publicity seeking Katie Price. Every other day she is in the public eye for apparently falling out with Alex Reid, slagging off Peter Andre, reminding us what a git Dwight Yorke is or she’ll be promoting some vile range of clothing or releasing her millionth perfume. An opportunity like this for Katie Price would be disastrous for everyone.

We’d never bloody see the last of her. Digitalspy report:

“Show bosses are apparently hoping she will give the talkshow a ratings boost and Price has said that she’ would love the job’.”

All we can hope is that a TV company let the hecklerspray writers come together and harp on about stuff in our own unique way. Though we’d probably get axed after one episode for upsetting someone with rude words, or accidentally libelling someone.

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Carol McGiffin is a terrifying human being. Why? She willingly had sex with Chris Evans for one. Secondly, she willingly works on Loose Women without wanting to open them all up with a chainsaw. Thirdly, it seems she’s obsessed with telling people about the habits of her vagina. Fourthly, her face looks a bit like an out-y belly button.

Now, she’s introducing the pot to the kettle after branding Katie Price a “monster”.

Someone on Twitter compared Carol to the mostly drunk, boob flashing, haggard old soak… and for the life of us, we can’t imagine why anyone would make the connection.

Yep.

Some smart-arse twitter user asked the Loose Women shrieker if she could pinpoint exactly when she turned into Katie Price “with the vodka soaked tweets”.

Barbed.

“I hope you are joking, otherwise you are blocked,” McGiffin responded to the user. She then added: “F**k it you’re blocked anyway. Anyone who compares me to Katie Price is an a**ehole.”

The offended presenter told another Tweeter: “I will not be compared to that monster.”

Monster?

Fair enough, Katie Price is a horrific spectacle at the best of times and yes, there is something slightly Frankenstein’s Monster about her what with all that surgery… but… oh sod it, you’re right.

She is something of a monster, but alas, not a million miles away from your good self. We should know. We’ve had the misfortune of reading your autobiography.

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For the unemployed of the land or students suffering a hangover from the night before, you will have seen Loose Women.

No, it’s not a programme on prostitutes or any other sort of muckiness, it's in fact an hour of programming aimed at the ladies of the land. No knitting or cooking tips are passed on, instead it's four middle-aged hags bleating on about how crap men are and disturbing incites in to their own personal lives.

It’s a pretty boring show, but live TV is always made better when someone swears. Especially when it comes from a loudmouth American. And what better person to fit this description than Joan Rivers. Despite being told the show was live, she still gave her opinion on Gladiator Russell Crowe.

You can thank us for one minute and eight seconds you’ve just wasted from watching this clip.