COULDN’T let the column go this week without passing comment on the reality TV show Geordie Shore.
I’d preferred to have passed something else on it from a great height, but this is a family newspaper.
People say the MTV reality show is like Marmite, you either love it or you hate it. Well, it reminds me of something brown and sticky, but it isn’t Marmite.
I had the dubious pleasure of watching the horrors unfold with my wife, who – hailing from the West End of Newcastle – had as much success containing her anger as half the Geordie Shore cast had containing their breasts (ie, no success whatsoever).
“Geordie Shore,” she fumed, trying to articulate her anger as the participants leapt into bed with anything that had a pulse, “It must be with a silent S.”
Nice one, I thought. Though obviously you’d have to replace the the S with a W to get it past the spell check.
Whatever you think about the show, there’s no doubt it’s got the publicity it craved.
And it’s the clearest example yet of Alan Partridge made real.
Remember the episode of I’m Alan Partridge where Partridge (played by Steve Coogan) tries desperately to pitch TV show ideas to a BBC executive in a bid to save his career?
Clearly making them up on the spot he comes up with Inner-City Sumo, Arm Wrestling … with Chas and Dave, and finally, the classic Monkey Tennis. Geordie Shore is up there with Monkey Tennis.
Question is – where does the show go from here? It’s like Big Brother, but without the preamble.
You can see the MTV programme team setting up the show’s premise.
“We get a house full of Geordie lads and lasses and over the weeks we watch what relationships develop. Hopefully there will be some drunken laughs and sexual encounters along the way.”
Within a few minutes they were hopping into bed with each other.
By the end of the first episode they’d got drunk, been sick, had sex, cried, fallen out, made friends, threatened to leave and had a bar room brawl.
The producers may have to seriously consider introducing a troop of baboons armed with tennis racquets and a bag of balls just to break up the endless stream of debauchery.
As far as I’m concerned, Geordie Shore is nothing more than over-hyped car crash TV that does little but provide family newspapers with an excuse to print photos of half naked women under the guise of being outraged.
Thankfully the Echo is above such cheap shots.
As I’m sure you, and Geordie Shore’s only Sunderland star Charlotte, pictured with her co-stars in a hottub, will agree.
THANKS to reader George Reid, of Alexandra Park, who sent me this funny (note: Readers are now learning that you’re more likely to have your letter printed if you butter me up with praise. This is the second I’ve printed in, ooh, four years.)
He wrote: “I felt the need to e-mail you after reading your forever entertaining column on Friday, May 6.
“How sad is Mrs Brown not to recognise a great wit and sense of humour. She probably gets riled by Mick ‘The Pen’ Brown.
“She probably didn’t even smile when the American government announced last week that they were looking for Osama Bin Laden’s number two.
“My partner wondered why they wanted to know what he had been eating! I know, disgusting toilet humour. Oh well.”
Thanks George. Toilet humour is my bread and butter. Which is why you should steer clear of the Marmite at our house.