Okay, it’s time to make a confession. I have been known to watch Deal or no Deal (the UK version) whilst eating my tea. For a while, I found it quite riveting. The format is simple and so is the host. What better combination for a gameshow could there possibly be?
Just lately, however, it’s begun to grate on me. The banker, I like. Let me just state that from the outset. He is one cool dude — especially when he makes the girls cry. But the contestants… Jesus, where on earth do they find them? In the early days, they were fun (I kind of have to say this since I have a friend who was on the show, but it is true; the earlier contestants were a different breed entirely — or it certainly seems that way.) Now, however, we are subjected to day after day of hard luck stories. The whining so-and-sos, nine times out of ten, are crying before they’ve even opened the first bloody box! Either someone’s died of an infected ingrown toenail or, shock horror, Daddy ran off with the milkman and, well, “it’s been a difficult few years.” There’s snot and tears everywhere — and, like I said, this is before the game has even begun.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for people showing their emotions and sharing their stories. Given that I blog on a daily basis, it would be somewhat hypocritical of me to condemn them. But, please. It’s light entertainment. It’s meant to be fun — not some self-indulgent display of “stress” and ” trauma “.
And another thing. Everybody likes each other. All the contestants seem to feel that they have to be a part of this big smiley smiley lovefest — and I’m bored with it. I just want someone to come on and say, “Oh yes, I’ve been standing next to John for three weeks and by Christ does he smell! And June? Well, she’s quite simply the most judgemental bitch I have ever met.” Something like that, you know? Something to provide a bit of respite from all that happy “we all love one another” nonsense.
Then there’s Noel. I used to like him, once upon a time. The Multicoloured Swap Shop was, quite possibly, the best TV show ever (apart from the bits that involved Keith Chegwin.) But now, in his New Age dotage, six evenings a week, he is, not to put too fine a point on it, frankly, well, actually — he’s becoming bloody unbearable. The shirts, the pointy shoes, the silly voice, the blowdried hairstyle, all of it. It grates. Retire him and give us something better to look at whilst we’re chewing on our pizzas!
Deal… or no Deal?