TNS TV Dump
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I’ve had a hard week to be fair, really hard. Not least because I’ve been working like a tiny dog or writing until my fingers bleed. Not because I’ve been so busy I haven’t had any time to do any washing and now smell like a hobo who showers in raw sewage. No. Because I was forced (not quite at gun-point but close enough) to watch the hell, the rancid, awful hell that was Desperate Scousewives. I have been trying to wipe it out of my brain, but I can’t. I can’t. Seriously these shows. What next? Brummy Bums? The magnificent structured reality of the hobo network in Birmingham? The new OC? Basically films of meetings that take place in Oldham Council? Desperate Scousewives emerged nonetheless. Much like TOWIE and Made in Chelsea but even more badly acted (how - I don’t know) It depicted a bunch of orange, braindead scousers mooching around Liverpool doing a whole lot of nothing. Jade opens the show by saying “Liverpool is looking gorgeous”. No, me neither. We were introduced to the characters and latest plots - Layla “a shop assistant and model” (shop assistant it is then) lounged about in her pants waiting for this guy called Joe to kick her out after a night of Liverpudlian lust. A lass called Amanda moaned about how hard it is being a single mother, although I would have no idea of her plight as she was never actually filmed with her kid at all. Nothing much happened really, (as per usual with these shows) and it trudged on. Layla got it on with Joe and then got booted out of his house only to go back home with him for more sex later. And there was the gripping storyline that had me on the edge of my sea t- Jodie got herself a job in a beauty salon that specialises in anal bleaching. Yum. With no likeable characters and no glimmer of any real Scouse humour, this was a festering god-awful crap hole of stink, which literally made me want to vomit. By the end I was gagging for The Only Way Is Essex. Compare that tasteless tripe cutting to the majestic brilliance broadcast on Sunday evening, from the mind of Charlie Brooker. Now, I will be a bit biased here as I love anything this man does. He is like a rough, tramp version of Robert Pattinson, and the embers of my heart burn ever bright for him. My love for him aside, the first part of his ‘Black Mirror’ trilogy was one of the best pieces of television I have seen for several months (at least). ‘The National Anthem’ was as black as black comedy can get, and although disguised as a political satire, was more a comic (but also depressingly) frank study of social networking and modern media practises.
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