Oh brother spare me
ALL right, I admit it. I do not know anything about Big Brother. And I m not talking about George Orwell. It s that ridiculous programme in which we see, I believe the term is, housemates all attempt to outdo each other and emerge as Big Brother s Big Bro
ALL right, I admit it. I do not know anything about Big Brother.
And I'm not talking about George Orwell.
It's that ridiculous programme in which we see, I believe the term is, housemates all attempt to outdo each other and emerge as Big Brother's Big Brother at the end of a seemingly endless series.
What's the point of all this?
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I mean, it's not exactly compelling viewing.
I believe there are a number of reasons for Big Brother.
- 1 Flasher who attacked officers appears in court
- 2 Have you seen missing parrot Charlie?
- 3 New bus and cycle shelters to help bring sustainable travel to town
- 4 Freedom Day: More than half of Herts residents welcome delay to lockdown easing
- 5 MBE is an incredible honour, says Lister nurse Lizzie
- 6 Eight picture-perfect picnic spots across East Anglia
- 7 Motorhome and car involved in A505 crash
- 8 Ex-footballers set for charity match to raise money for hospital cardiology department
- 9 Two lorry crash blocks part of A14 in Cambridgeshire
- 10 Hotel on Duxford IWM site given go-ahead after council re-vote
First, it allows the company which runs such a show (did I say show?) to make money from all those people who phone or text whoever they want to see evicted.
Second, it keeps the tabloid press pursuing a story which, really, will not make the slightest difference to world events.
Talking of which, on the day Gordon Brown became Prime Minister, every newspaper had a Page 1 picture of him outside No 10 Downing Street.
The Star, that second-rate copy of the The Sun, had a Page 1 story on - you've guessed - Big Brother.
The other day The Sun had pages about the programme in what it described as a Big Bruv pull-out.
We were given the details about someone known as pouting Chanelle and the fact that she wanted be a Spice Girl.
And there was a bloke called Ziggy - not to be confused with David Bowie - whose real name is Zac. And there's busty Shanessa and cunning Kara-Louise.
Whatever happened to girls with names such as Brenda or Doris or June or Ann or Julie or Liz or Margaret. You know, real names.
Here's another thought.
There are reporters out there in tabloid-land who have to suffer the trials and tribulations of Big Brother day-after-day.
I suspect that when given a job on a national newspaper they might have expected to be real journalists.
You know the kind, reporting on the important issues or, maybe, becoming involved in investigative journalism.
All they are doing at the moment is nothing more than a pursuit of the trivial.
And when attempting to move to another newspaper all they can say is: "I was Big Brother correspondent."
At least I can say I reported on General Elections, the King's Cross blaze tragedy, the Broadwater Farm riots in Tottenham.
We're only a week away from the return of Match of the Day. Now that is compelling.