Friday, December 07, 2007

Siamese Geordies

After watching odds and bits of I’m a Celebrity… over recent weeks, I’ve come to the conclusion that I actually quite like ‘Antandec’. (I’ll refer to them as a single entity as their careers are fused together like Siamese twins with any attempt to separate them proving fatal for both.)

Highbrow TV critics have gone into paroxysms of anguish struggling to explain their appeal. This anguish stems mainly from the fact that they’re impossible to intellectualise and their appeal comes from very little more than the fact that they’re thoroughly likeable chaps. They don’t have to be necessarily good at their jobs (though they do them to a perfectly adequate degree) because they have a rare element of likeability. Tommy Cooper had the same quality; he wasn’t a good magician and his jokes were crap, but everyone thought he was ace anyway.

It doesn’t harm that ‘Antandec’ possess an ability to appear perpetually young. Splitting them into their constituent parts for a moment, Dec manages to achieve this slightly better than Ant (you’d almost put money on him having a portrait of himself in his attic which ages at a normal rate), while Ant seems to struggle a little more with the passage of time. I can’t work out whether his forehead is getting higher, or his eyes are getting lower. At their current rate they’ll be around the same level as his mouth by the time he’s 40 and he wouldn’t look out of place in the bar scene in Star Wars.

Despite the strange facial arrangement of one of them, ‘Antandec’ are successful, wealthy, likeable and seemingly immortal. Bastards… Actually, scrub the opening line of this blog entry. I’ve decided I don’t like them anymore now.

Monday, December 03, 2007

Shrinking Choc

“30% less fat!” screamed the legend emblazoned across the wrapper of the “new and improved” low-fat chocolate-orange bar that constituted my elevenses this morning. Co-incidentally, it also happened to be 70% of the size of its predecessor. I’m not fooled…

Monkey Business

While watching a trailer for Peter Jackson’s remake of King Kong the other day (depicting the scene in which the eponymous anti-hero protects his human captive by beating a Tyrannosaurus Rex into submission in front of a savage jungle backdrop), my none-too-impressed wife offered the following light-hearted critique:

“That’s what ruined it: fucking dinosaurs. As if a big monkey wasn’t enough…”

And quite right, too. Once again, she encapsulates in thirteen words what would take me many more.