So, the worst has happened. You’ve woken up and realised you are Peaches Geldof. Now, the most important thing is not to panic. You are perfectly fine. You do not have to do a thing. You don’t have to dig deep inside yourself and work out where your true talents lie. It’d take too long, and you’d only get disheartened with the lack of results.
Short answer – you emerged from a celebrity uterus, and 22 entirely fatuous years later, here we all are. No, don’t cry. We’ve only just started!
Remember when those nice people from ITV2 turned up with that human hamster with dead eyes called Fern or Bush or something, who kept shouting about how everything was amazing? And you got to talk about being a Scientologist and everyone nodded and smiled and you felt like you were being a really clever sausage? Those nice people are back, and they’ve given you your own show. It’s called OMG. OMG! Hang on! That’s, like, totally what you say! OMG! And in it, you can, like, totally discuss the important and shocking issues of the day and everyone will, like, totally respect you and stuff.
Except it won’t be about important and shocking issues. It’ll be about troubled people pretending to be vampires, but it’s OK, you can basically just talk over them because they’re not important like you. And about Facebook relationships, or whatever. I mean, you don’t have to think about it too much, Peaches, because the people running the show clearly didn’t. They just grabbed a beermat, wrote “OMG!” on the back of it, and somewhere along the line that translated into “Get a studio full of people who would willingly hack out both kidneys with a butterknife if it meant they could stand about awkwardly in the same room as a minor celebrity, make them stand about awkwardly in the same room as a minor celebrity, film for one hour, stick straight on ITV2, get back to the Groucho for last orders.”
Anyway, Peaches. There’s a bit at the start of the show where you have to read off an autocue. You’re starting to panic, aren’t you? Don’t worry. You won’t have to do it with any panache, charisma or acting nous. When you’re meant to look moody and searching, just stare blankly at the floor. When you’re meant to make seductive eye-contact with your viewing public, just stare blankly at the camera. If you can, try and look like you’re in the middle of a severe neurological episode.
But remember, this is a show about really shocking stuff. OMG, right? It’s meant to make you go OMG! You know, Oh-Em-Gee, just like real people actually say in real life and everything! So when the vampire lady comes on – not the dippy fake vampire who just hikes her boobs round her thorax and mooches about near graveyards in black velvet chokers but only in daytime and every evening kisses her Noel Fielding poster goodnight, but the “real” vampire, with the twitchy eyes, the self-harming and the vial of O-neg clamped in her pale fist – make sure you ask really searching questions, like “So, you are pretty much bang into drinking blood?”
Careful, though. When the mental vamp chugs her own plasma and starts eulogising on the merits of slashing open your own arteries and drinking deep from the life-force that spews forth, and it all gets a bit serious and emotionally disturbing, immediately and abruptly change gear by cutting to a VT of you and your stupid, stupid co-hosts dicking about in a goth shop in Camden under the watchful gaze of a Rick Parfitt lookalike gently climaxing under his cloak made from used tissues he snaffled from Robert Pattison’s wheelie bin.
Did we not mention the co-hosts, Peaches? See, you won’t be alone! There’s a gay man from the radio, who’s gay, and he’ll be your gay best friend, because he’s gay. So whenever you need a gay perspective on things – for example discussing hot new iPhone app Grindr, so hot and modern and shocking and OMG! that it was only mentioned on Top Gear two years ago, he will be there, because he’s gay. And of course, he can speak for all gay men because as we all know, absolutely all gay men are exactly the same, so that’s that thorny issue sorted.
There will also be someone who no-one will have ever heard of, but who will call herself a “TV psychologist,” and all she will say when confronted with anything at all – drinking blood, updating Facebook, respiring oxygen into carbon dioxide – is “Sorry, I respect the way you live, but it’s not for me, and I think you should get help.” And then make a face like she’s giving birth to a shattered mirrorball.
You’re doing really well, Peaches. It’s almost the end of the show. There’s just one tiny little bit to get through, and it’s about the oh-so-OMG! topic of finding love on Facebook. Bit of a hitch, though. The nice ITV2 people couldn’t actually be bothered to find anyone who’d fallen in love on Facebook. So what they did, right, was get two researchers to pretend they were a couple, and then pretend they were broken up, and then film them pretend to change their Facebook relationship statuses. That’s it. OK – that might sound a little…slack for a prime-time TV show. But it’s OK, because they’ll slap some Adele all over it, and everyone still watching will assume it’s heartbreaking, because they’re fucking idiots.
Oh, no. Hang on, Peaches. Something’s gone terribly wrong. It actually IS slack. It’s worse than that. It actually could be one of the worst television shows ever broadcast.
You know that bit where you misunderstood one of the features and the off-camera stage manager had to explain it to you? They didn’t even edit that out. It’s entirely misguided. In trying to show the OMG! side of life, whatever that bloody is, it veers from vacuous tooting over how hilarious threesomes are to being completely unable to handle what are quite tricky psychological issues.
And you, Peaches? You’re just awful. It’s your show. You’re meant to be the main presenter. Your interviewee just drank her own blood. Don’t you have anything to say about that? Anything? Huh? Well?!
What’s that? You’ve got a new boyfriend and it’s, like, so funny?
OMG, Peaches Geldof. Sometimes that’s all that can be said. OMG.