Oh baby Jesus I’ve just watched the BBC’s latest attempt to showcase celebrities doing stuff outside their comfort zone. Entitled Tumble it features a bunch of C-listers doing tumbling and simple gymnastic stuff. It’s like Splash! but not as scary or fascinating, which makes it about as much fun as anal warts. It is beyond dire. It’s diarrhoea.
It’s hosted by Alex Jones who’s pleasant but a bit too dippy Welsh if you know what I mean. Everything’s ‘amazing’ when it’s patently not. And the judges are Nadia Comaneci, who’s heavily-accented Eastern European observations are impenetrable, some blerk called Craig Heap who makes Fred Dibnah sound like Brian Sewell, a French chap called Seb who choreographs Pink’s aerial performances (eh?) and Louis Smith who is the only one whose comments are at least intelligible.
Then there are the female coaches who all look as butch as rusty meat cleavers, whilst the male coaches come across as dainty as daisies.
And don’t get me started on the contestants; a boxer, a Sugarbabe and the pissed one from Girls Aloud and another dopey looker from Towie, and the bloody annoying Anthea McLean who I forecast would be crying before the end of the programme and I wasn’t wrong. She is just so painful and a useless tumbler as it turned out, as she demonstrated by being the first one voted out. She’ll be crying on Loose Women no doubt tomorrow and asking the other old biddies yet again why she cannot hold onto a man. Because you’re as interesting as a bowl of tapioca love. Then there are several soap actors/actresses, not many of whom would make it as lumberjacks and, following a theme, the human picnic basket, H or Ian Watkins to give him his real name, who appeared to have shaved and oiled his moobs for the event.
My single favourite bit was when dopey Alex announced the arrival of her compatriot and even more dippy lad from Steps and posed the question what does H stand for? Ermm….. Alex clarified that she was optioning Hurt or Happy. My wife forbade me from pointing out a rather more colourful answer.
This has got to be the last derivative programme in this genre now hasn’t it? We’ve had celebs dancing, diving, dancing on ice, living under one roof, singing, living in a jungle, swapping wives, living on an island, showing off their homes, cooking, losing weight, detoxing, wanking off pigs and well, how can you beat that? Enough already. Any chance that the world’s most admired national tv broadcasting service could offer us something a little more stimulating and engaging on a Saturday evening? And maybe if they could turn the camp setting down from warp factor 5 too. Please. My poor brain can’t take many more images like this…