Anne Hegerty has left – by which I mean she was voted off – I’m a celebrity get me out of here. I’m glad I didn’t start watching the programme on the basis that Anne wouldn’t last long and surely I could invest a few hours watching.
She lasted and I wouldn’t have, even from the comfort of my own living room. I’m pleased Anne did so well, and hoped she’d go on to win. After all, who wants John Barrowman to be successful yet again?
(I won’t mention the other contestants, because I’ve not heard of them.)
Never having watched these celebrities compete, I have no idea what they actually do in the jungle. Possibly neither do real viewers. There’s no guarantee what you see is what happened.
I learned of Anne’s freedom on Facebook this morning, and felt both relieved and sad. A couple of weeks is a long time to go silent on social media.
Hoping to find out more, I Googled, but the stuff I found in the tabloid press made me blush. It also left me no better informed than when I started.
What makes me especially happy, is that Anne picked up new fans for doing so well among the creepy-crawlies, and that by setting a good example she has become a role model for others on the autism spectrum. For me that was an unexpected bonus of this spectacle, but if I’d stopped to consider it, I shouldn’t have been surprised. The jungle reaches further than The Chase.
On that basis I’m terribly grateful to Anne for suffering for the many, and showing the rest of the world what is possible.
Is Steven Moffat taking us for granted? I found myself watching the Christmas episode of Doctor Who with mounting surprise. ‘Is this it? Whatever happened to the idea of a special something for Christmas?’
The 50th anniversary episode a month earlier was so very, very good that I somehow imagined they knew what they were doing. Perhaps they used up every ounce of great ideas for that, and now there was none left. My loyal in-house Whovian pointed out there were some nice in-jokes. Maybe there were. Maybe the hardcore fans always get more out of an episode than the mere spectator. But even idiot viewers should be given some fun, while the experts chuckle over the cleverness of whatever they’ve come up with.
If I was Peter Capaldi I’d sue for getting such a crap entry to what should be a fantastic new job. If I was Matt Smith I’d sue for getting nowhere near the kind of exit David Tennant had. I was just sitting there willing it to be over. Die and let’s see this new Doctor and then we can all go and watch Downton Abbey.
I’m gladder than ever that I watched the 50th shebang in November. It made me pleased to ‘be part of it.’ (So for the sake of clarity; I had nothing to do with the Christmas failure. Not the 50th either, obviously, but, you know…)
My in-house fan then showed me the Peter Davison half hour programme about the other former Doctors who – supposedly – weren’t part of the 50th show. That was terrific! I could happily watch it again.
Thankfully Doctor Who won’t be back for a while. They will need time to write something we will want to watch.
Posted in Television
Tagged Colin Baker, David Tennant, Doctor Who, Downton Abbey, Jenna-Louise Coleman, John Barrowman, Matt Smith, Peter Capaldi, Peter Davison, Russell T Davies, Steven Moffat, Sylvester McCoy, Tom Baker
Would fish fingers and chips – bunged in the oven – have made a difference, I wonder? I’ve been informed this is how mothers coped with Saturday dinners in the olden days of Doctor Who. Because it’s astonishing quite how many episodes I never watched as the Doctor returned to the home screens eight years ago.
I think I plonked Offspring down in front of the box to watch, because it was what you did. Generations of British children watched the Doctor and the Daleks from behind their sofas. I don’t think I really expected to watch. I had no proper upbringing that led me to want to do it. So I probably watched a couple of episodes to keep people company. And I caught glimpses of the Tardis and stuff as I dashed in and out of the room.
I have long been under the impression that I watched every other episode of season one. Now I know better. I didn’t. Not by a long shot. I ‘met’ Captain Jack Harkness only by hearing him talk soothingly to Rose, as she sailed across the London sky. I have a lot of weird, half-fake memories. Sat through the ‘are you my mummy’ episodes to keep Daughter calm. But they were creepy.
In fact, I didn’t care that Christopher Eccleston stopped Doctoring, because I simply didn’t know the man well enough to miss him. And he was followed by the lovely David Tennant, so was easily forgotten by me.
Luckily the lapses of yesteryear have been rectified. I have just watched every single episode of season one, up to and including the Christmas one where David Tennant mostly slept on the job. They were pretty good, on the whole. And I’m beginning to see why some fans moan these days. They really did write them better before. They just did.
Never mind who was the Doctor. It’s who wrote the script that matters.
Have a Barrowman Christmas!
Happy 45th birthday to John Barrowman!
Hardly surprising John is like he is with such crazily fantastic parents. Good thing they gave up on the idea of throwing him out for being a noisy baby. (Although he is still pretty noisy at 45.)
(Photo Helen Giles)
In my infinite generosity I have decided to share last week’s book interview with John and Carole Barrowman with my CultureWitch readers on the grounds of John generally being a culture kind of celebrity. He sings and he acts, but he certainly doesn’t write books.
I know, it’s confusing isn’t it? He gets his sister Carole to write books for him. This time it’s Hollow Earth, which is a children’s adventure novel, and that is why I went to Glasgow a week ago to speak to them.
They are crazy, and very nice. The interview is a little crazy too. It sort of rubbed off.
By very strange coincidence I appear to have processed another television hero in the book business. My photographer and I travelled to Glasgow on Monday to witness the book signing for Hollow Earth, the new children’s book by Carole Barrowman and her baby brother John.
I thought it’d be a profound sort of thing to interview John and Carole on their old home ground in Glasgow, although I quite forgot to ask them to switch to a Scottish accent. But we had a great deal of fun anyway, and I’m sure they’ve never encountered the concept of acting their age.
There is no doubt about John’s popularity. As the two of them walked down the stairs at Waterstones in Argyle Street they were greeted like like superstars by the fans, many of whom had queued for four hours.