Hooked on Love Island airheads
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MICHELLE Keegan had a gun pointed in her face a few times in the return of BBC1 drama Our Girl on Tuesday. As Army medic Georgie Lane, the military’s most gutsy and beautiful recruit, Keegan has cemented herself as a gritty TV heroine, a far cry from gobby Tina in Corrie four years ago, who we also loved. The episode was jam-packed as Georgie was sent to Nigeria on a training mission and tried to rescue schoolgirls kidnapped by terrorist group Boko Haram. But she was also emotionally fraught, missing ex-fiancé Elvis. And she wasn’t the only one. Elvis, Luke Pasqualino, died in her arms in the last series and no, I’m not quite over it either. SHINY, perfectly fake tanned and by far the most aesthetically pleasing reality show on telly, Love Island is a perplexing phenomenon. On the face of it, who really wants to watch a shrieking gaggle of identikit airheads stress out over a text message or ponder how soon to have sex with each other? Not me to be honest. They barely look like real people. Ken and Barbie dolls maybe. There’s actual evidence. They don’t seem to sweat, or eat, or have any blemish or be capable of human levels of intelligence. “Are you deep?” “Yeah I’m deep.” “Oh my God, I love a guy that’s deep.” What kind of conversation is that? Watching this show – purely for professional purposes, OK? – I think I can feel my brain cells fading into oblivion. It’s awful car crash television. Nothing even really happens. But like studying lab rats in a cage, you can’t look away from this dreadful social experiment.
It was the runaway hit of last summer that got everyone talking and tweeting, and so far this fourth series has pulled in around three million viewers a night. That’s staggering for ITV2.
Fans are loving it, frantically tuning in every single night. And if you’re not watching you’re a social pariah.
OK, I’ll admit, it is strangely fascinating. If only to stare in awe at their marvellous abs and wonder how long their beauty regimes must take. Perhaps at a time of political unrest and fake news, it fulfils a need for something mindless. “Excruciating but fun.” That should be the ad slogan.
It was all friendly at first when the beautiful people met at the Majorcan villa. Caroline Flack sashayed in, with shiny new engagement ring for extra smug points.
But then there were couplings and re-couplings, ridiculous challenges, beds everywhere and a pervading stench of paranoia, jealousy and ego. Who are these plastic people? Why are they happy to stand in a line like cattle to be judged?
But they are the Instagram generation, and this is this quickest route to fame and wealth.
You can see the lure of social media super status in their sparkly eyes, right under the over-plucked brows.
From Dani ‘do you know who my dad is?’ Dyer, to triple-threat Dreamgirl Samira and Abs Adam, hugely comfortable with his self-awarded five star rating. Do they all have a plan?
Remember, this is a game show and one couple will pick up a cheque for £50,000.
Amid the heartbreak, the bitching, the falling out, the making up and the getting dumped, the game is being played. Perhaps they are not so brainless after all?
In the meantime, something is happening to me. I’m eight hours in and, God I hate myself for it but I think I’m hooked. DEATH scene of the Friday week was in C4’s Wilson the Night Dinner when As his dog kicked the bucket. Jim, Mark Heap, eccentric owner I think I stood over him weeping, in my might have had something the comedy eye. Fortunately to usual swiftly returned form with a hilarious RIP farce of a burial. Wilson.
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