Someone who is far more intelligent that us once said “The more I see, the less I understand”. If that person had watched the same TV as me this weekend, it would’ve read "The more I see, the less I want to understand”.

You see, originally, it was deemed that TV would be a great source of information, entertainment and insight. On turning the TV on three completely random times, well, chances are you get a bit of diversity.

Not so. Reality TV has taken over our airwaves and – by crikey – tears were imminent.

First up was the baffling Supernanny US. Jo Frost, star of the show,
prised herself into witless American homes and in true Brit – true Grit -
style, sorted ‘em aht good and proppa!

Immediately noticeable were the fantastically odd American children who,
incidentally, provided hecklerspray with the quote of the weekend. As
the hapless American ‘can-do’ mother asked her six-year-old child to do
his schoolwork, said demon flatly replied with "Talk to the eye-ball".
These young Americans are archetypal US standard issue. Bigger,
bolder, more grotesque. Where British children merely sulk and urinate,
the Americanas vomit, scream until their lungs pop and brandish
chainsaws.

This is unsurprising when you see the witless father of the family
putting the children to bed. After seeing Supernanny’s example of how
to put your child to bed (which involves a ridiculous situation.
Basically sitting beside the ‘crib’ and very slowly sliding out of the
door on your arse), Dad turns on two different musical toys at once, to
create the most terrifying monged noise – much like a fairground ride
falling down a spiral staircase in Hades. Naturally, the petrified
infant takes his cue, and screams until his tears turn to blood.

Naturally, Jo Frost comes to the rescue with her awful grammar and
meaningful long (lusty) looks. Supernanny is less Mary Poppins, and
more… well… Kray twin. In sharp suits and common as muck cock-er-ney,
she “escplains” (her words, not ours) how dreadful these parents are.
That said, it is refreshing to see someone on a sprog-prog like this
who doesn’t sound like some softy from the world service. Of course, it
all ends in tears… of joy for the family, and desperation from the
viewer.

Next up was the Channel 5 film Monkeys! Go Home!. Unsurprisingly, hecklerspray
presumed this to be either a cutting diatribe against the racist
attitudes of certain sections of Britain, or at least, a Big Brother
style house with Chimps instead of No-List celebs. Alas, the TV-addled
brain couldn’t cope with the fact it was a marvellous romp through
1950s France, with the fanciful idea of a man, and his monkeys picking
olives and getting into various scrapes. In fact, it isn’t that far
from the ‘reality TV’ option. Still, a reasonable outing, and hilarious
whenever any of the pitiful actors said ‘MON-KEES’ in their ‘French’
accent. It wasn’t long before the reality, or sur-reality kicked back
in.

Next up was the pointless-except-for-betting Dancing On Ice, most notable for having the least
imaginative title for a spew-cast ever, only
bettered by People Wearing Ice Skates For Money And/Or Pleading.
Hosting this terrifying event was Philip Scofield. He looked splendid
with silver hair, orange face and a voice that sounded like the last
air being squeezed from a balloon.

As ever, bloodshed was needed to
liven up this celeb-fest. Disappointingly, most were quite capable, and
didn’t fall. Those most in need of cracking their skull on the rink
were Andi Peters, Sean Somebody from
Corrie, Tamara Beckwith and Bonnie Langford. Apparently, more than 24
million people watched Torvill and Dean skate their way to a gold medal
at the Winter Olympics in 1984. You can’t help but feel that a
millionth of that number enjoyed Saturday’s ice based prog. ITV’s track
record for Saturday night ‘fun’ isn’t glowing, and it isn’t impossible
to assume that Dancing On Ice will go the same way as Celebrity
Wrestling. God bless them for trying though.

[story by Mof Gimmers]