Laughter can spring from the strangest of places.
Once, I was confronted by a pissed up brick-wall of a brainless bastard for the offence of leaving a nightclub having spent part of the evening speaking amicably to a girl he knew. This had apparently made him furious. Seeing the danger with 20/20 foresight, I attempted to affect the punch & run maoeuvre, whereby an assailant is momentarily distracted and hopefully stunned by a limp thump from a puny fist and the would-be victim (i.e., me) is able to run into the night with something of a head-start. I missed, managing only to punch the thin air between his head and his shoulder. As my fist hung in the vacuum to the right of his incredulous, angry face, I was so desperate to do something to simultaneously cover the embarrassment, quell the oncoming beating and somehow atone for my vapour punch that my brain malfunctioned and it was all I could do to whimper a gurgling giggle. Like an infant being tickled.
I got my bloody head kicked in.
Another time, travelling to sunny Cromer in Norfolk on a family holiday, our zooming car was crammed with three shouting boys in the back and stressed parents up front as the bulging luggage on the roofrack suddenly slipped its moorings and fell backwards, at 70 miles per hour, onto the carriageway behind us. Narrowly avoiding a pile up, my father pulled into the hard shoulder and began dodging speeding traffic as he attempted to retrieve hold-alls before juggernauts crushed them, save the beach ball before it was crushed by a caravan and rescue a polystyrene body-board before a transit van drove over it, wheels blazing. My mother looked faint, my brothers went pale and began pleading with my Dad to let the goods go and, for some reason, I stood there laughing like the idiot child I was (and still am) despite being aware that the situation was actually very serious indeed.
Even when it’s completely inappropriate, I laugh my bloody head off.
This brings me to Ladette to Lady, which is so badly conceived that it’s actually a concern that they expect us to understand the concept without question. The set up is completely contrived. They’ve got the heroes and the villains the wrong way round in this transparently not-Reality piece of garbage and still, despite myself, I find myself hooting like a delighted klaxon when I tune in. It’s complete and utter bilge, but I find it hilarious.
To start with, the eight Aussie girls involved were filmed in their home town by ITV producers and asked to act like violent lushes – flipping the bird, vomiting copiously and throwing punches at bouncers – so that, as the show opens, we can be given an alleged insight into their past. The plan is that they’re then flown to the UK, driven to a country house and supposedly converted to ladies by three stick-stuck-up-their-arseholes toffs.
A word to the wise – you’re meant to accept that they will be converted from the townie tarts we’re supposed to judge them to be into upright members of society via elocution lessons, horse-riding and canape-cooking – and laugh at those hilarious consequences when they revert to type and cause uproar before the disbelieving eyes of their tutors, who are:
Rosemary Shrager
Rosemary is a well-known face already, being as she’s the frontwoman of ITV’s Rosemary Shrager’s School For Cooks. Looking like One Fat Lady melted down and rolled into another, she’s the only vaguely likable mentor of the terrible trio.
Liz Brewer
Uptight Liz ‘has been the Chairman & CEO of a successful event, marketing & personal representation agency for the past 25 years and amongst her clients are Dame Shirley Bassey and Ivana Trump’. She’s a total bore, holds antiquated ideas on the roles of women and possesses a gorgon-like death stare that frequently reduces contestants to stony tears.
Gill Harbord
Gill Harbord’s face looks like it’s constantly pinched, as though she’s a skidmark somewhere on her forehead and is trying to work out which side it’s on. Immediately after uttering any sentence – be it ‘pass the salt’, ‘have you seen my weird-looking dog’ or ‘your foot’s just burst’ – she follows it with an expression of complete bafflement in the way that only truly posh people do.
The judges and all the polite members of society, such as the foxhunters and the public schoolboys the girls are introduced to, are all intolerable dimwits who’re only where they are in society because of their forefathers’ cash-cow. But the show’s saving grace is that the contestants are, to a Ladette, completely likable, witty and self-aware individuals. Yes, there may be the odd manifest alcohol problem, the occasional burst of a hot-temper here and a smidgen of troubling sexuality there, but by and large they’re all winners. You can’t help but laugh at their frankness and it’s impossible not to agree with them when they criticise the pantomime they’re taking part in.
When Zoe turned up to her assessment still half-pissed after stealing booze the previous night, it was a joy to watch her flippantly answering the judges queries with a drunken drawl and without a care in the world. When Maria was evicted and asked to leave, who could fault her for mooning the panel and telling the remaining girls ‘not to let them turn you into arseholes like they are’? When Sarah told Rosemary that she refused to be groomed into a compliant ‘fuckdoll’ to be used by men, a cheer went up in my household. When Nicole said that the foxhunters she’d just met were sexist pigs, she was spot on. And when Skye was told she was ’scum’ by Liz Brewer, I felt like hotfooting it to the countryside to defend the poor, crying sod.
Perhaps I’m falling into their trap and this is how the show’s meant to be viewed. Maybe I’m meant to side with the girls and hope they resist having their lovely creases ironed out by the smothering hotplate of so-called decorum. It may be the entire point of this engineered culture clash. But I can’t help feeling, when I’m chortling like a maniac at the homegrown simplicity inherent in the girls’ wisdom, that I’m laughing in all the wrong places.
I also can’t help feeling that a better show would involve the Ladettes teaching the buttoned up old twats how to live a little, talk like human beings and cease being elitist, sneering fuckwits because moneyed idiots like them give our country a bad name.
71 Comments
I find the ’screaming like a girl’ approach helpful when it comes to self-defence
Turning them from one highly-irritating socially-inept backward member of society into another through horse bothering and speaking like Moira Stewart? Riiiiiiiight.
Aaah, SH, a very similar thing happened to me when I attempted a head butt, the fellow stood back at the critical moment and I landed in a convenient heap at his size 12 loafers. Fuck knows what happened after that.
I love this prog too – I think it’s in it’s 3rd series now and the Aussie twist is an attempt at a new angle on an already well explored format.
I like your description of Gill’s annoying voice. Why does she pause between every word and end each sentence like it’s a question?
In the Clarry household we do… a… very good… impression… of… Gill… Harbord…?
Also, what was the point of asking the girls to help skin a dead horse? I can tell you that posh ladies don’t mucky their hands with that sort of job, the hunt does it for them. AND THEY ALL MAKE ME SICK.
Attention Napoleon! http://www.digitalspy.co.uk/music/a159989/the-nolans-announce-comeback-gigs.html
Hullo Mothers
*waves*
Hope that you are all well, and I haven’t been killed by any of you (thanks for your concern swines). Berlin was acers.
Funnily, i didn’t want to watch any of the one with the British women in it, but this looks much better. However, that old bag calling one of them scum is more than a little unecessary.
My favourite was Maria – and she was the first to go.
I was annoyed.
Yeah, but because she went you got to see her bum SH. A result, surely?
Oh yes, and congratulations SH on your shrewd apprentice pick. S’rallen would’ve been impressed. I didn’t get to see the final, cos i missed it on i-player as well.
Hi Mel! Glad to have you back. Our mam has been out of her mind on booze and drugs all weekend at the Isle of Wight, so she won’t be here today to greet you.
Hi Clarry. We really do have a very cool mam. I love her more for that i think. And, of course the fact that it makes us cyber sisters.
Nice to be back here too, especially since i have no motivation for work today.
It was a result, Clarry. I watched that scene twice and was scolded for it.
Hello Mel!
Also, on catch up, i am loving these podcasts – hilarious!
Although I am a little worried for nappers, who appears to have an odd little Cliff Richard thing.
The podcast is at number 33 in Comedy Podcasts at the moment and is starting to edge into the Top 30. It’s unbelievable.
Who listens to this drivel??
Hello Mel!
Hello everyone. I dun sex on Felicity Kendall’s gardener on Friday.
Well done, but erm thanks.
I guess we all do, but we are few.
bit quiet today. Where is everyone?
Roszsz – your blog made me hoot.
This gardener sounds ace.
Hi Roszsers. What do you mean Felicity Kendal needs a gardener?
*illusions shattered*
YOu are a pulling queen of late. Amazin’.
Oh, and i am having a few crap blogger issues. I will sort them out and register tonight i promise (I need my boyfriend to help me, cos i am completely technically inept)
I KNOW! She IS ace. I love her. And will therefore probably never see her again. Oh well. Que sera sera as zey say en france.
I am still hugely disappointed that a lady that got famous on the goodlife and then stayed famous in Rosemary and Thyme needs a bloody gardener. TSK.
This has made me agree with nappers about their anihilation now.
At the risk of running the gauntlet of hoots of derision, what is the URl of your blog, roszsszzss?
Only three comments on iTunes for WWM, y’say? That IS disappointing.
Perhaps you’d like to help us change that by being BLOODY NICE in the review area on the iTunes page?
Go on.
http://tinyurl.com/wwmpoddie
Roszs – have you arranged anything? If not, say the word and I’ll leave her threatening phonecalls until she meets with you again.
4* – it is northbysouthwest.blogspot.com, but it is locked down due to PSYCHOTIC BEHAVIOUR from an ex. If you would like to read my witterings, feel free to drop me your email add to rosbanks at gmail dot com and I will happily add you to the readers. It is really not very interesting though.
SH – we have swapped some emails since, her written english is atrocious to the point of surreal genius. I should have stolen something of hers so that I could say that she’d left it at my house. DAMMIT.
Tee hee Roszs – you are sweet. I imagine you to be permanently in love with a string of mildly unsuitable characters.
Tell me – did anyone watch BB this weekend? How unreasonable is Lisa?
I have had a weirdz weekend. I’m glad it is Monday.
Roszs you are too modest. Your witterings are FUNNY.
As are yours swines, before you start to feel left out.
Clarry – what sort of weird? BAD weird?
And yes, that is about the state of it at the moment! LOVE IT.
(and fanks Mel)
Hmm, just weird (not bad or good). I had to spend an entire weekend with people I didn’t really know out of politeness.
I hate that sort of weekend, Clarry. I relate.
It’s the pits and impossible to fully relax and be yourself in that sort of sitch.
P.S Hands have made a remarkable recovery.
SH – BB?
Gmornin all
Was gonna watch this but then didn’t. I tend to do that a lot, which is why WWM is so useful.
Swinging Clarry?
I’ve yet to watch last night’s, Clarry – but the only one I can bear is Freddie. And he’s a tit.
Weather’s been nice, what, what?
i just watched saturday’s bb. it’s only the second episode i’ve watched.
full ‘o self-aware pretty boys and bullies, innit?
morning all. i have a Day Off. tops.
Well it seems like I will have to step in and give Piqued, and SH some Karate Lessons. I’ve found this one helpful.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MkNAOgkaUeE
There is some headbutts, and quick strikes (no running though SH).
SH – They have been dreadful to Freddie. I know he’s annoying, but if I were him i’d have gone MENTAL by now.
No, no swinging for me E. Just spent the weekend with a girl (bride 2b) whose boyf was on his stag do with Mr C. It wasn’t easy.
Hi Nap, I was saying /\ up there, that my hands are shit loads better. Phew!
Clarry – Hello there. That’s good to know. You can now refocus on being a lunatic.
Lovely day out there and I’m sat in here, inexplicably wearing a bobble hat.
i’m also inside, sh, hiding from a trio of magpies who are having a shitfight, but mostly cause i’m practicing ukulele.
no bobble hat, but. might help the old playing if had one.
Oh, and i done read that Breeks has a new job. Well done. Very pleased, but a bit surprised, i thought you were staying put?
Even though i have a verycool job, today i hate my boss.
SH – *snickers* Take it off, off, off. Take that bobble hat off. Take those acid-washed jeans, bell bottomed, designed-by-your-momma, off. Please? Please!
Yes Nap – Being a lunatic can now be my priority once more, until the dreaded tapioca returns.
It’s thundering here. And raining. A bit of a contrast to yesterday, which was lovely.
i just don’t know anymore, fifi mayhem. it’s a job for twice the money but guaranteed for only half the time. risks, innit. but i’ll probably go for it.
is it a gren bobble hat swines?
I imagine you woud suit a gren bobble hat.
Are you playing that game you used to play as a kid, where you get a bar of chocolate and some gloves and hats and that and then have to roll a dice and get a six, then dress up in the hat and gloves and eat as much of the chocolate as you can using cutlery before some other git rolls a six?
That was a very long sentence.
*green.
Bloody hell.
I totally forgot about that game. WHat a weird game, eh?
Well, good on you breeks. I thought it sounded wikid, so am really chuffed for you that you got it.
No-one has a job for life anymore, so I guess it is no riskkier than anything else.
well, except i’d be leaving a job for life to take it. but yes, you’re quite right.
thanks.
*is well scared*
Yes, i think it would keep the kids at parties busy for a while, so the adults could all go off and get pissed clarry. I bet Mam used to use that game at parties.
Still you might get a shot at stuffing your face with all dairy milk, so it wasn’t that bad.
Mel, that game sounds mental. Is that the much vaunted “using your imagination” to play that oldz go on about all the time?
“No-one has a job for life anymore”
Doctors
Nurses
Police officers
Firemen
Paramedics
Teachers
Etc.
in australia we played that game but with frozen chocolate. lasted approximately 6 hours, that game.
I’ve never played this game because it doesn’t actually exist.
Gratz on the job Breeks. Just don’t look down and you’ll be fine.
I said DON’T LO.. shit.
it so does.
btw, sh and nappers, should you need some uke for your wwm podcasts, call me. i’ve now got a playlist of about ten songs (each of which last about 30 seconds).
aces. i’m a star.
3 Feet High and Rising, what an album Clarry
No ex, it was a cheap way of getting kids to compete ruthlessly for some chocolate. It was hard, because you had to throw a six in the first place, and then getting dressed up and trying to eat chocolate with hands in gloves that were always waaaay too big, and then using cutlery, meant that you didn’t get much, and that a large bar of dairy milk could last for ages. The chocolate was real, and there was not a lot of imagination required, as i recall.
NC – being a copper doesnt guarantee you a job for life any more (and you have to retire after 30 years in, unless you become a chief inspector or above), and the way the NHS is going, being a doctor or a nurse is no guarantee either, if the medical blogs are to be believed.
Sounds like a lot of effort to keep kids occupied.
*plugs brain back into FakeLifeQuest*
Breeks – The last podcast fucked up thanks to Skype being a big pile of shit and me not living in London. It’s a shame because you’ve missed out on me turning into Richard Littlejohn and Piqued’s disturbing shitting anecdote.
It was a bloody mess. We will conquer threeway podcasting tomorrow!
Mel – You’re wrong because you’re a woman.
*wins*
*and is paid more simply for being male*
big shame.
lesson 1 – you should live in london
lesson 2 – i should’ve been on it playing uke
all piqued’s shitting anecdotes are disturbing, to be fair.
Ex – the kids make all the effort. All the adults have to do is provide the hat glove scarf dice cutlery and a big chocolate bar. Simple.
And while the kids are all playing it, the adults are free to get all pissed.
Seems like the perfect solution.
NC that is the lamest excuse you have tried to win an argument yet, and i win *because* I am a women
*Wiggles chest and flutters eyelashes*
See?
New Post features the resurrected lunchtime challenge, btw.
Mel – Balls! I win because there’s no glass ceiling for the likes of me.
*wins*
Nappers, I don’t have a glass ceiling, because i work for an NGO, and we sorted that bollocks out ages ago.
*wins back*
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