Tuesday, January 09, 2007
the erotic jacket
CBB5 Day Six
As I sit here writing this, looking out at the grey skies of North London, the BBC is reporting, “Authorities in New York are attempting to identify a persistent gas smell across a large part of lower Manhattan.” Surely it can’t be Jackiey? Not from this distance?
Thank God (or CH4, whichever has the greater authority in these matters) that the master/servant thing is over. The place was becoming a whine house without the offer of rehab ('Try to make me go to rehab. I say no, no, no'). It is fascinating how, with each series, a pattern is repeated. The bonhomie and Enid Blyton platitudes of the first few days (“We’ll all be friends forever!”) can be blown to pieces with a few simple costume changes and the splitting of the part into two groups.
The boss/underling business actually highlighted a number of issues endemic in society, and, no doubt, academics in Oxbridge are already planning post graduate courses in sociological theories derived from the first major task of CBB5.
As we know, this whole Upstairs Downstairs exercise became somewhat debilitating for Leo. In the dying embers of the task we were again gifted an example of Leo’s bizarre conversational technique. Telling Danielle that he woke up in the night with amorous feelings towards her (rather unappealing) jacket, her expression spoke volumes. Actually, not volumes, but three words, ‘grubby old man’.
I’ve rather warmed to Jade in the last thirty-six hours. Nothing became her in her four years of ‘fame’ as her passionate defence of the downtrodden. This did not seem like some clever, manipulative ploy for the cameras (could Jade ever engineer such a thing?), but more like the expression of a fiery, innate sense of decency. The valuing of the care and well being of others, above the desires of those that already ‘have’. Well done that gal.
But let us focus on Jackiey today (put a lens cap over the focus please), for Jackiey remains a fascinatingly one-dimensional figure in the BB house. The auditory experience of Jackiey is like listening to Motorhead from inside their on-stage speaker system, whilst having your fingernails extracted by Edward Scissorhands. Imagine Eliza Doolittle being trained in social graces and etiquette by the Taliban.
Jackiey appears to burn with anger and frustration 24/7. It’s sad, in the truest definition of the word. Life for Jackiey seems to be an ordeal, a vortex of disappointment and anguish. A daily climb of Everest, except she never even reaches base camp.
I wonder if Jackiey has any friends “in real life” as they say in the argot of the Internet. For patience and inner tranquillity would be pre-requisites for such a demanding role, and I wonder if such a saintly being exists. I hope so, as she seems such a lonely, disheartened lady, who only knows how to react with one level of emotion – an extreme and very raw level, at that.
remotevision@gmail.com
# posted by Terence : 5:58 PM
