So Sofa got home last night after a weekend away. We were discussing the fact we’re both single and I was lamenting about the fact that no one will ever fancy me again and Sofa managed to grossly offend me by saying, “You’re quite hot really though. You know, for a gay guy.” Classic foot-in-mouth moment. We both just sort of sat there for minute thinking ‘Can you really say that?’, ‘Is this okay?’ Turns out it was: it could be worse. I could be a lesbian.
Prior to this rather bizarre turn of events, my heinous excuse for a bank balance resulted in much TV watching this weekend. Personally, I think because of the way I spent my entire Sunday locked away watching Come Dine With Me (6 episodes! SIX!) makes me quite inadequate as a human being: as though I should be unemployed and signing-on, or, at the least, be a sort-of-Bridget-Jones character devouring ice cream and listening to 80s power ballads in a frugal attempt to feel ‘alive’ again. As it turns out, I was just broke and the company of vintage (get me) CDWM was too alluring.
The thing that bothers me about old-skool CDWM however, and, more importantly, More4’s frankly psychotic scheduling, is that the half-hour episodes that once made up a whole week of programming (5 of them! FIVE!) are here shown back-to-back, and after just one you’re hooked and forced to sit through all of them just because there’s nothing better to do (EastEnders omnibus? No thanks. T4 On The Beach? Rather Not). I drank four strong cups of black coffee yesterday while watching More4’s CDWM marathon (or, as I like to call it, Come Dine With Me: The Movie) and by the end of the exhausting “week” (2.5 hours of Dave Lamb), I actually had the shakes and palpitations. And they say computer games are bad for children.
The highlight was CDWM-host extraordinaire Angie, who not only was obsessed with Am Dram but also made a point of letting everyone know it at every opportunity. The truly magical moment was the way she named her 3 courses after 3 different musicals (Oliver! Carousel! The King & I!) and then proceeded to sing at her guests mid-meal and grossly offend some fat bird (who’s name was Zoe CONDOM - I think) throughout the week. At one point she called her “a thin Fern Britton” – it’s fair to assume this was recorded during the era of pre-gastric-band-Fern – and later Angie cast The Condom as Ursula in her mind’s eye version of The Little Mermaid. Score. A taster here.
Later, after Channel 4’s hour-long, more concise and up-to-date (i.e. new) modern CDWM offering, Sofa returned home and following our banter about the fact I’m a hot-gay-guy-but-an-ugly-straight-man, we turned our attention to Lewis on ITV1. As a Lewis-virgin before last night it took me about twenty minutes to remember why I knew who Kevin Whateley’s alter ego was (Morse. Dur.) and so was impressed when I managed to remember Morse’s first name (Endeavour. Dur. Again.) Anyway, I won’t be watching this poppycock again, given that I’d worked it out with 45 minutes to go and felt very cheated. Here endith my review.
So what’s this weekend’s lesson? Don’t ever let Sofa go away again – or, if she is going to go away, make sure I have some money and can actually do something to escape the wonderfully devilish world of Sunday TV. And, when she returns, ensure we don't talk about boys and/or my attractiveness.
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