Bat­ter-both­er­ers are a bunch of master­bak­ers!

Midweek Sport - - BATCHELOR ON THE BOX -

LIKE its view­ers’ ar­ses, get­ting fat­ter.

From 10 con­tes­tants in the orig­i­nal se­ries, up to 12 in the fol­low­ing two, the BBC be­he­moth now boasts a whop­ping 13 bat­ter-both­er­ers for se­ries four.

Not that it was hard to source an ex­tra hope­ful. A stag­ger­ing TEN THOU­SAND ap­plied.

With such a large pool of wannabes, you’d think they would find 13 re­ally tal­ented am­a­teur bak­ers to take part, right? Er....wrong.

In her quest for in­clu­siv­ity, Aun­tie was clearly more con­cerned about box-tick­ing than such tri­fling mat­ters as the abil­ity to cook.



From gay guy Glen to mousy house­wife Deb­o­rah, from glamorous granny Chris­tine to army wife Beca, from gor­geous stu­dent Ruby to kooky gar­dener Lucy, ev­ery con­tes­tant is clearly in­tended to “rep­re­sent” some group or other.

For ex­tra Guardian points, they even found a Mus­lim. Ali is a like­able young Brum­mie of Pak­istani ori­gin, who cheer­fully ad­mits to be­ing a messy cook.

“When I’ve fin­ished in the kitchen,” he laughed, “it is like a bomb has gone off!”

I wouldn’t put that in any emails to Amer­ica, pal, or they’ll ex­tra­dite you be­fore you can say “or­ange jump suit”. With so many berths to fill, BBC1 even found room for a hand­ful of straight white men: kitchen fit­ter Mark flies the flag for White Van Man, rocket sci­en­tist Rob rep­re­sents mid­dle-class eg­gheads and zany Toby is in the over­grown stu­dent cor­ner.

All of which would be fine if this cross-sec­tion of mod­ern Bri­tain could ac­tu­ally bake.

Mark – a kitchen fit­ter, re­mem­ber – can­not work an oven.

Ruby weeps at the slight­est mishap. At least five of them can­not be trusted with sharp im­ple­ments. And, as for zany Toby, he should not be al­lowed within 50 feet of a kitchen. In just one episode he cut him­self THREE times, failed to work an oven timer, used salt in­stead of sugar, and gen­er­ally f***ed up ev­ery­thing he touched. It was his late mother who had taught him to cook. Clearly, she was taken too soon.

And so, in the end, was Toby. He was the first to go, no doubt leav­ing a trail of blood.

The win­ner was the in­tel­li­gent and un­flap­pable Rob, who re­ally is a rocket sci­en­tist.

“That guy’s not a sci­en­tist,” smoul­dered host Paul Hol­ly­wood, “he’s a baker.”

No, Paul. He’s a sci­en­tist. It’s a much harder and more im­por­tant job than fan­ny­ing around with pas­try and pok­ing soggy bot­toms.

Now, go knead some­thing for all those frus­trated house­wives, dough boy. Be­cause ap­par­ently you’ve got the cream....and they’ve got the horn.

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