Rage Against the Machines

So, a golden age of TV is nearing its end. If by 'golden age' you mean 'the state of the four channels available to me, because I haven't sorted out cable, being stuffed with reality shows populated by hateful idiots'. This is, of course, my favourite telly. Whilst it may be fun and educational to watch lovely David Attenborough telling you all about the evolution of Komodo Dragons or somesuch, and to have BBC costume dramas on a Sunday evening, with big bonnets and handsome men in breeches making you feel vaguely cultured, there is a particular joy to be gleaned from waging a twelve-week hate campaign against those who've chosen to stick their heads above the reality TV parapets.

This autumn, I have been spoiled rotten. There's been Strictly, the X-Factor, I'm a Celebrity AND The Apprentice! I've barely had enough hours in the week to fit them all in. I'm drowning in a sea of bile and internet gossip about all concerned. I'm keeping myself warm by stoking the fires of wrath generated by Katie Weasel, Stuart 'The Brand' Baggs, Gillian McKeith and the like. And the brilliant thing is that you're part of an instant community - every Monday sees most of the office chatting about X-Factor (a show which I generally avoid like the plague - it's just karaoke with bigger production values - but which this year has been off-the-scale bonkers). The Guardian does some fantastically funny liveblogs about all the shows bar I'm a Celeb (well, they might have done that too, but I could only take so much of Gillian in the end). And the MMMC and I have regular text battles when it comes to who we fancy on Strictly - he seems to have an alarming fondness for the professionals with fake boobs, whereas my heart belongs entirely to Matt Baker.

So, in terms of People to Hate, who's given it 150%, and who's been lacking in meal-winning stars?

The Apprentice - now an out-and-out comedy, with no pretence that it's in any way a reflection of business acumen or the current state of the business nation. The contestants spend all their time either inventing rubbish products (sausages made out of string, sawdust and minced-up CVs; strange things to enable you to read paperbacks on the beach - er, that's what your hands are for, surely?) or having to sell other people's rubbish products (dresses made of old ties; DVDs of kids pretending to ski or drive round Brands Hatch). The other available hours in the day are dedicated to spouting absolute crap in the board room and bitching about each other in the car when the teams split up to tackle different parts of the task.

This year's crew of eminent business brains (and Stuart) have been hateful numpties to a man (and woman) - although I have a sneaking fondness for Posh Chris the Investment Banker because I think he looks exactly like the director Chris Nolan, when I was at school with him. Also him telling Stuart to 'Fuck Orf' this week was hilarious and I applaud his restraint in not hitting him, when offered the chance.

Winner: Stuart, for this week's total cringe-fest in the boardroom, when he devolved into a simile/metaphor (my brain was so addled I've no idea which it was) about a field-full of ponies as an example of how much potential he had, which had me actually hiding behind a cushion and screaming, 'Oh God, STOP TALKING', but which LordSirAlun somehow fell for, causing Bambi-eyed Twiglet Person Liz to get the Fired Finger instead. I can only think that LSA has allowed Stuart to progress to the interview round because of its unlimited potential for pure comedy.

I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here - again, a show which I never usually watch because I think the idea of making people eat insects and be shoved into coffins with rats is inhumane and hateful, and the idea that it's peddled as prime-time entertainment shows how morally off-kilter we all are these days. But that was before Gillian McKeith decided to get involved. She was terrified of everything that moved, including her own shadow. She had no team spirit whatsoever. She was given to shrieking like a banshee and fake-fainting every time someone asked her to do more than tell them her name. She gave every impression of being a deranged witch, with no sense whatsoever of how massively irritating she was. 'You don't understand phobias!' she'd screech whenever one of the other contestants asked her why they weren't going to get anything to eat that night because she'd failed to even contemplate attempting another task.

There's only one question available here: why on earth would you go on this show if you're phobic of anything with more than two legs? Does your husband (who's, coincidentally, also your manager) want to cash in on your life insurance so badly that he'd actually finish you off on (semi-live) telly? It's a sneaky way of murdering someone, I'll grant you.

It gave rise to a brilliant comedy song, but I stopped watching almost as soon as I'd started, so Gillian did her best in the hate-stakes, but everyone else seemed OK. Especially eventual winner Stacey Solomon - you've got to love a girl who's just so cheerful all the time.

Strictly Come Dancing - generally speaking, other than finding Tess Daly dead behind the eyes, and wishing that they'd send Bruce Forsyth to a farm in Wales and get someone who's not a billion years old as co-presenter, there are few hate figures to be found on Strictly. Some of them aren't very good (hello, Peter Shilton), some of them stick around, inexplicably, for ages, whilst not really improving (hello, walking mahogany wardrobe Gavin Henson) and some of them seem like they're actually getting quite a lot out of it, so you root for them (Patsy Kensit for me this year). But this year started well for those of us who love to hate, with odious little creep Paul Daniels dancing with poor Ola, who won last year, so got punished this year. I hate Paul Daniels. I've always hated him. And him dressed in spangles wasn't going to change that. But luckily he was shoved off the Strictly floor, and has disappeared into obscurity once more.

Then, the megalith that was Ann Widdecombe became every reality TV producer's worst nightmare (or wet dream, depending on whether you're trying to uphold standards at the BBC, or you just want unlimited coverage for your show across all media outlets). She refused to try; her routines revolved around moving her arms by twenty degrees max, and being hauled around the floor by a rictus-wearing Anton du Beke (perhaps being punished for requesting a payrise this series or something?) She saw off dancers who were pretty good, and trying hard, who really wanted to stay. She refused, once the joke wore thin after week three to quit (like John Sergeant) and seemed to believe that she was hilarious. I got so worked up with hating her, and everyone who was voting for her, that I nearly blew a gasket.

Please, next year, can we not have a 'comedy' contestant on Strictly? Because it's really painful to watch, and you can't underestimate the viewing public's idiocy when it comes to voting for people like that to stay in.

Talking of which, the X-Factor has beaten all-comers this year with its Top Ten of hateable freakazoids. In no particular order, there's been:
One Direction - Justin Bieber clones who can't carry a tune around in a bucket, poor lambs. They will probably be ludicrously successful, despite having no USP whatsoever. I await the 'drink and drug shame' stories, whilst also feeling rather sad for them. Let's hope a couple of them manage to earn a bit through a two-year stint in Les Miserables.
Mary Byrne - a woman who believes that bellowing every single song somehow makes it better. Is in no way 'relevant', as Simon would say. She doesn't even have terrible hair and a tragic backstory like Susan Boyle (who can actually sing). She will probably be fine for the next five years, 'singing' on cruise ships and will front a collection of chiffon-sleeved black tent dresses for 'the more mature lady' in the back pages of You magazine.
Cher Lloyd - a girl who looks as though she'd first bully you out of your lunch money, then steal your boyfriend for good measure. Grow yourself some eyebrows and eat a pie, love. Then stop rapping because it hurts my ears. The judges, for some reason, adore Cher and seem to think she is edgy and a pop sensation. I remain bemused.
Wagner - the most demented thing I've ever seen on TV. Even Sharon Osbourne looked alarmed when confronted by him in the judges' house round - which is an achievement, given how much Botox she's had. Leonine, mad for bongos and 'ladies', with little to no grasp of any song he was singing, Wagner looked thoroughly confused every week when voted through to the next round. As were the viewers. Even Jedward looked more entertaining to me than Wagner. They had to have a double eviction, just to get rid of him. He'll definitely be on the Talk Talk sponsor ads next year and on Never Mind the Buzzcocks in some capacity.
Katie Waissel - surely the Grande Dame of hateable telly figures, Katie bestrode the world like a peroxided colossus. She was so irritating she ended up getting death threats, which, I admit, was a tad extreme. After all, she was just a middle class girl with a huge sense of entitlement and a belief in her own abilities that wasn't really reflected in her actual talent for singing. But there are loads of girls like that in Britain. Killing them all would be quite an arbitrary way of reducing the population and would take ages. She resorted to trying to boost her popularity by cutting her hair off and dying it brown, so that she looked like a Hobbit. This had the unfortunate side effect of making you realise she had disproportionately large ears, like a bat. I wanted to keep her in so that, closer to Christmas, they could re-christen her Katie Wassail, but I think that's a gag only I would've appreciated. After about four million increasingly plaintive 'sing offs', she was finally given the boot with Wagner. She'll probably end up replacing Christine Bleakley on Daybreak, or Christine-clone Alex on The One Show.

So this weekend, it's all over for the X-Factor pop poppets (a snore-off between cuddly Matt Cardie and good-but-searingly dull Rebecca?) and the Strictly guys and gals (it's Matt all the way for me; Kara is a brilliant dancer but seems to have no personality; Ssssssssssssscott tries too hard to be wacky and Pamela's piggy eyes annoy me, even though I think she's fine at dancing. Also, yes, I know she's married to BILLY CONNOLLY. Please stop telling me that). And just a week more of the Apprentices. Then I shall have to transition awkwardly into the 'goodwill to all men' frame of mind required for Christmas. Ah, it was such fun while it lasted.