Tuesday, January 23, 2007
the ride of the valkyries

CBB5 Day Nineteen
Rather in the manner of Dorset folk plundering the beach at Branscombe and making off with their booty, CBB continues to scavenge for enough material to fill a one hour highlights show. I suspect the BB production team have legged it down to the West Country and lifted one of those barrels that washed up on the Dorset coast, as I think I hear the sound of the bottom of a barrel being scraped in rather a feverish frenzy.
Dirk "don't touch me!" Benedict is in the diary room, declaring that Cleo 'crossed the line'. He delivered this speech in the style of Robert Duvall as Lt Kilgore in Apocalypse Now. It was a disappointment that Dirk didn't go on to tell us that he loves the smell of napalm in the morning.
Meanwhile, we had another weak task, which didn't work out at all well either for the viewers or the participants.
H from Steps approaches every task like he is about to appear in the Royal Command Performance at the London Palladium, rather than (in this case) whilst sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a room measuring about six feet by six feet.
Cleo goes even further, treating the whole affair like a life or death situation. The previous day's excruciating costume drama did not prevent Cleo spending several hours preparing for another dire exhibition in which, acting out some awful monologue that would have seemed out of vogue even in the era of Joyce Grenfell, poor Cleo suffered the worst fate for a 'comedian' of dying, theatrically speaking, to a great roaring void of silence.
The judgement of whether the housemates had passed the task, or not, was clearly somewhat arbitrary. Jo, the Snigger Queen with the Dracula fangs, was lauded for creating a 'joke' involving a camel and its hump, whilst Danielle failed, attempting humour by constructing a simple mirror image of herself.
Danielle has some sort of tripwire in her brain that compels her to utter the two words, "Teddy Sheringham", at least once each hour.
Whether this is pleasing to the ageless West Ham maestro, we can only conjecture, but I imagine that warming up, running up and down the touchline, at the moment, may not be the most pleasurable experience for the Hammer wearing the number eight shirt.
"Oh... Teddy, Teddy....."
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