They teased us with The Hoff. They tempted us with Kilroy. They name-dropped that antique-dealer tranny freak like Courtney Love name-drops Mel Gibson and Prince Andrew. They whispered rat-boy Federline's name into our ear-holes. And what did we get instead?
Someone's girlfriend. Someone's brother. The one man in Britain who makes Pete Doherty seem like a decent houseguest. OK, I shouldn't complain about that. He might prove fun if he stops being such a cliche. (have you HEARD the single of his, though? Truly awful.)
But I definitely felt cheated watching BB last night. I felt cheated watching the live feed and seeing Tourette boy chatting with H from Steps (did he REALLY only just come out? I feel like I've known he was gay since I was about 16.) Where's the other indie totty? Or even just any man aged between 20 and 40 who's even midly easy on the eye? The boys have got a few young bits of fluff to ogle. We get A PISSED UP TRAMP! Grrr! Davina, Queen of Chavs, you sold us out.
Even worse, there are too many old folk in there. OK, a journalist may stir things up, especially that Madge/Heather hating old boot. The film director looks fun for a bit, but can you see him doing an obstacle course through chicken guts? Dancing to Jackson 5 hits for an all-night stint? Nah, me neither.
Dunno why I'm fussed: I never like Celeb BB anyway. I much prefer getting to know non-entities. I just don't want to get to know celeb non-entities.
But I WILL! Of course I will. And I'll like it! Eventually.