Archive for June, 2008

Fucking Hell

June 18, 2008

Fucking Hell

I don’t usually leave the confines of my hovel, unless it’s to buy milk or biscuits. Despite my better judgement, I made the effort to visit the White Cube gallery in London’s glamorous Piccadilly last Saturday in order to see Jake and Dinos Chapmans’ ‘Fucking Hell’. The next room housed their ‘If Hitler Had Been A Hippy How Happy Would He Be?’ It’s the former I’ll attempt to review, as the latter was shit.

So – ‘Fucking Hell’. Firstly – the gallery was crammed – which is always bloody irritating. Trying to poke your head through a couple of haircuts to catch a glimpse isn’t at one with the essential nature of art, surely? You’re meant to be free to contemplate, getting all pensive about the work in front of you and coming to glorious conclusions about the nature of everything.

That’s not possible when you’re getting irritated by the prick with the bad breath and the clear-framed media spectacles whose babbling on like a twit about contextual continuity to his exotically ugly bird. But that’s not really the Chapman’s fault. They need to make The White Cube a bit more oblong to house the ponces who inhabit it.

The nine cases display a vision of hell on an epic, yet miniature scale. The detail is inescapable immediately upon setting your eyes on it. A lot of work has gone into the placement of the figures and the fine tuning involved in painting them. With every slight eye movement there’s a new scenario, set up solely to shock. Skeletal Nazi stormtroopers float on a raft with smiley face paint daubed on them. Stephen Hawking sits in a military wheelchair for no apparent reason. Severed heads on sticks protrude from the ground a countless number of times. Pigs seem to shit out the dead whilst eating severed limbs. Figures wander the terrain with skin half flogged off. Crucifixes hang deformed weird humanoid creatures with multiple heads. Peek through a broken window and bizarre Nazi experiments are being carried out, just a little too far away to be distinct. A factory appears to be fashioning numerous Hitlers from a collection of torn off arms and legs.

It’s all quite horrifying.

But once you’ve seen the first box, all of which are arranged in a swastika formation, you’ve kind of seen them all. The extent of the destruction and plasticated violence becomes irrelevant, serving only to highlight how banal it all becomes. The violence is replicated to some extent – with cloned figures seeming to go through the motions by box nine. There are slight variations on location – a ruined building for one, a factory for another, a church – but the violence pretty much remains the same with minute changes from area to area. There are little touches – Hitler the painter with his easel and palette, the baptised baby with the moustached dictators head etc… that all force a smile, but beyond that it’s carnage for the sake of carnage.

Visiting only out of curiosity rather than to bore people in bars about how amazing I thought it all was, when it came to thinking through what this all actually meant, I could only come up with the following. Jake and Dinos Chapman make art to shock, first and foremost. The fact that they are masters of their craft makes their work entertaining, but in terms of its significance, very little is said here. They play with the shocking imagery of Nazi regalia haphazardly, with no real accuracy or thought. They scatter violence without prejudging the intelligence and sensitivity of the viewer and they make little visual gags among morbid scenes for their own amusement. It’s childish.

Having said that – it is an epic, brilliantly realised and painstakingly constructed immaturity. You can’t help but be impressed by the scale and craftmanship involved in making this nightmare unfold – not least when you consider the first version burnt to a melty pulp in a warehouse. I’m not sure if celebrating glee in the horrific is necessarily a good or a bad thing, but it passed a Saturday afternoon pleasingly enough.


June 17, 2008

As if we weren’t bored enough by it in the first place, Mad May returns to the Square to try and nick Dawn’s fucking baby. Again.

Now – this baby used to be nothing but a source of stress for young, crumple-faced Dawn who would attempt to foist it on any willing baby-sitter going so she could go out with unrealistic best mates Shabs and Carlie on the razz. Now that Carlie’s conveniently disappeared and Shabnam appears to have been locked in a basement, the coast is clear for Dawn to act like a responsible mother again – one who actually gives a shit about her baby. And as we all know, this means guaranteed boredom for those of us who watch this crap as May – the Howard’s Way type actress who looks like she’s on the wrong set – turns the lunacy up to eleven and we’re shown a bajillion shots of Dawn running away from something uninteresting. Hoo-fucking-ray. They’re trailing this rubbish as though we’re all excited about it. It’s a fucking disgrace.

It was entirely unrealistic in the first place. May and her husband could easily have adopted from overseas what with them both being rich, young professionals. Why would they want an infant from a working-class gene pool? If they were going to go for a peasant child, it might as well be an ethnic one, like Madonna’s or Jolie’s.

So what involving storylines have we got to keep us going while all this sprog-theft is going on? Since Bradley and Stacey broke up – nothing whatsoever. It’s enough to make you miss Max Branning.

Heather and Minty and Gal and Shirl and Bobby bleeding Davro can get lost. The Slaters are relying on schizophrenic Jean for laughs, which seems a bit off. Bradley’s starring in the most ill-thought out Indecent Proposal thread going – and even if the Millers ever find that lottery ticket after all this time, I’ve lost all patience by now. Phil Mitchell must’ve exploded, as he’s not been huffing and wheezing behind his bar for weeks.

And in other news – where on God’s green earth is Billy? Apparently he turned up for five-a-side training a week ago and he’s been mentioned in conversation as though he’s been about – but clearly Perry Fenwick is on some kind of sabbatical as I’ve seen hide nor hair of his E.T-shaped head for months. He’s even taken Honey and his kids with him, though admittedly that’s actually a massive blessing.

Despite the fact I’ve said this a million times before and never come good on the promise – if things don’t get spicy – and fast – I’m leaving Walford for good.

Liberal Porn

June 17, 2008

No, that’s not the name of a TV show – although, perhaps it should be. Slow motion shots of Iraqi detainees being molested, fiery rants from religious bigots and the detailed financial histories of American politicians all rolled into one orgasmic cum-escape of righteous indignation and moral fortitude.

A study recently revealed that conservatives are more relaxed than liberals; that rightwingers accept inequality is a requirement of society and thus are more at ease with it than lefties – who can’t justify the inherent inbalance in society. Nothing provokes Guardian readers more than injustice from the Western world, and since there is plenty of that around they are always more stressed. Daily Mail readers, meanwhile, simply get on with it.

Liberal porn, to my mind, is programming that stimulates that debate and reminds people that the bad behaviour of human beings is a result of liberal leanings, but at the same time acknowledges that to suppress it would be against all the positive values our society is built on.

It’s a moral quandary, alright, and one that will never be solved but will always provide entertaining television. To whit; my televisual viewing a few Tuesdays ago.

First up – 9pm on BBC2 was Age of Terror: War on the West. Billed as an incisive look at al-Qaida’s tentative first steps into the business of international terrorism, it was actually a mawkish tear-jerker about bomb victims in Kenya. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying that this story is not an important one, because it is, and I’m not trying to be sarcastically dismissive of the lives ended and destroyed by this terrible act, because I’m not – I just wish that television documentaries would focus less on the horrifying acts and personal tragedies and more on the machinations and motivations of what is, quite clearly, the defining subject of our lifetime.

If the makers of Age of Terror really wanted to discuss terrorism they’d have concentrated less on the minutiae of the day’s events, less on the grisly recreations, less on the administrative blame and less on the emotional handwringing and more on the subject of motivation and history.

We all know, by now, that to be the victim of a terrorist attack is a horrific thing, that the US administration are at best incompetent and at worst despotic and we all know that al-Qaida have some really fucked up ideas – now let’s concentrate on education about the subject so we can best continue from here, and less on how evil the bad guys are and how morally justified we are.

The liberal is now frothing; If another fucking bespectacled pseudo-journalist thinker starts pontificating about global behaviour and then turns his unblinking camera on a blinded OAP talking, in depth, about the day she was nearly blown up and calls it factual news, then I’m going to take up arms myself. The fires were stoked, the indignation was fueled, the emotions engaged, the ego in rage. The world is fucked up! People are suffering! If only they were more liberal and realised that religion was the opiate of the masses, like me.

Next up. 10pm on More4 was True Stories: Taking Liberties.

This is more like it, no stories of deformity or bomb induced blindness – just amusing polemic that merged statistical facts with whimsical personal interest stories. You know the sort of thing – the two grandmothers who were the first people arrested under the Prevention of Terrorism Act for looking at a US Airbase, Mark Thomas and hoards of Big Chill refugees turning Whitehall into a bureaucratic nightmare with a practical joke protest, a trim-bearded dad wishing his daughter wouldn’t get arrested and investigated by MI5 anymore… it’s like Michael Moore but oh-so-English.

Our host was Chris Atkins – a stoned equivalent of Jon Ronson – and he surrounded himself with the oppressed masses, the grassroots activists and the right-on politicians and slowly he revealed a staggering argument in favour of our Labour government being more oppressive and legally domineering than any that have gone before it. Yes, it was polemic and yes, it was very one sided, but Atkins made a very entertaining and very convincing film that allowed facts to back up his position.

A few glasses of red wine in, the liberal is now simultaneously defiant and hopelessly lost. Those women who looked after the man who was under house arrest for NO FUCKING REASON were heroes and if only we were more like them then the world would be a better place, but the government already has so much control it’s impossible not to feel beaten and submissive.

Pathos is the emotion of the moment – self pride at simply surviving in this Big Brother state takes over – the liberal now begins to view themselves as a rebel, as a revolutionary… the wine is now 2/3rd down, the foreplay is over.

Finally. Third base. Channel 4+1, Jesus Camp. In a previous life this was an Oscar nominated feature, but what with surrounding confines of Amy Winehouse: What Really Happened and a repeat of Dirty Sexy Money it was cut down to an hour and given, bizarrely, an incredibly jarring Manc voiceover – thank heavens for responsible programming.

It’s a documentary about the fundamentalist Christian summer camp Kids on Fire – the sort of place where parents force their kids hands up when asked ‘who believes God can do anything’, where children use dollar bills as bookmarks in their bibles and where praying at the feet of a cardboard cut-out of George Bush is deemed normal behaviour.

Yes, we’re in wacko territory here, folks – where the liberal viewer can be seen rubbing their hands together in glee at the very sight of these evolutionary fucktards proclaiming Jesus as their saviour. If ever there was a sight better designed to outrage the late night Channel 4 viewer than 5 year olds strapping baby foetus’ to their wrists and crying for the lives of the friends they’ll only meet in heaven then I have never seen it. Unfortunately this TV edit robbed the documentary of much of it’s balance as the previously included opposing views were massively trimmed… instead of a reasoned debate on the interpretation of Christianity we were offered more of a shock-doc; a freakshow of dangerous religious nutjobs rather than an inward look at our world.

Despite all this, it’s actually an incredible documentary; a fascinating and challenging story that really makes you consider the idea of a religious upbringing as a form of child abuse, and how the best of intentions can go dangerous off course. It’s also worth it for when the Pastor denounces Harry Potter as the work of the devil. Hilarious.

The liberal now rests deflated on the sofa; a primordial stew on their trousers. Their views have been challenged, their thoughts questioned and they have come out more defiant than before – they are right, the TV has proven it and they shall continue to keep up their moral indignation under the world is a fairer place.

And now to bed, to dream of unicorns.

I’m a manager of people

June 16, 2008


Watching BB on your behalf

Here’s the lowdown on Mario

Mario – Well, back home where we come from, we have a fan club.
Lisa – Mario was watched by 14 milion people on the Ant & Dec.
Mario – I’m 43 years old, i’ve spent years networking and meeting people, I know literally millions of people.
Lisa – Literally millions.
Mario – That is a literal amount of people.
Lisa – And he’s Project Manager of the biggest toilet installation firm in Warrington.
Mario – I think of meself, as I’ve said before, as a Manager of people. Feel me hair – it’s like a pineapple!
Lisa – His hair, eh? Like a pineapple ain’t it?
Mario – See, I’ve got experience of all this, so I wear me hair like a pineapple. Like they do on the Ant ‘n Dec. See Mikey?

Mikey walks into a wall

Mario – From a Health and Safety aspect, Mikey – that’s a no-no.

Continues to impress himself with tales of his time on Ant & Dec whilst holding mug of tea in manly fashion.


I’m a strong person, yeah?

June 16, 2008

Watching BB because nobody else is.

Here’s the lowdown on Alex.

Alex – Remember I told you
Other – Yeah bu…
Alex – Remember I told you
Other – But you’re just repeating yoursel…
Alex – Remember I told you
Other – Everything you’ve said is nonsensica…
Alex – Remember I told you
Other – But you’re clearly thick as pigshi…
Alex – Remember I told you
Other – That’s not a coherent argu…
Alex – Remember I told you
Other – Bu…
Alex – Remember I told you
Other – Wha…
Alex – Remember I told you
Other – *commits suicide*
Alex – Remember I told you
Other – *silence*
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you
Alex – Remember I told you


The Jeremy Kyle Show

June 16, 2008

Jeremy Kyle

– “Hello, and welcome to today’s Jeremy Kyle show. I’d like you all to meet Donna!”
– “WOO!”
– “YEAH!”
– “Fucking bitch!”
– “Donna, hi, welcome to the Jeremy Kyle show.”
– “Hi!”
– “Now, you’re here because you suspect your boyfriend Lee has picked up a sexually transmitted disease after sleeping with another woman, is that right?”
– “That’s right, Jeremy, yes.”
– “So … not giving him want he wants at home, eh?”
– “What?”
– “Oh, don’t come the bloody innocent with me, girl! I wasn’t born yesterday, you know! You’re barren, that’s the problem here isn’t it?”
– “Barren …”
– “I wasn’t …”
– “Just answer the question!”
– “I don’t know what you mean, Jeremy.”
– “Stupid as well as infertile, eh? Typical! Well I suppose we’d best drag the mutant you’re sleeping with out here …”
– “Wha?”
– “Ladies, and gentlemen! Please welcome Lee!”
– “BOOO!”
– “HISSS!”
– “Lee, hi, welcome to the Jeremy Kyle show.”
– “Alright?”
– “DON’T TAKE THAT BLOODY TONE WITH ME, YOUNG MAN! You might think you can have it your own way when you’re fishing around in this bitch’s knickers back home in whatever cave you people live in, but you’re not bloody-well getting away with here, understand?”
– “Eh?”
– “Yes!”
– “You got a brain, Lee?”
– “What?”
– “A brain! What’s up there, in your head! What makes your arms and legs move! The thing that makes you sleep around behind the massive back of this monstrous ogre you’ve saddled yourself with, you stupid little bastard!”
– “I’ve not done bin sleeping b’yind ‘er back, like!”
– “I’yaven’t!”
– “I … I …”
– “But … I …”
– “I …”
– “Hnnn …”
– “Bu …”
– “Huurr …”
– “Alright, alright! I’YAVE BIN SLEEPING B’YIND ‘ER BACK!”
– “Right! After the break we’ll meet Carrie. She suspects boyfriend Tony wasn’t telling her the full truth when she found a strange phone number in his work jeans!”
– “We’ll be right back!”

The Apprentice 2008 – The Final

June 12, 2008

The Apprentice Final 2008

 I’ve heard it said that the little bit at the end of your CV called ‘hobbies and interests’ is unimportant and irrelevant. The people who say this are misinformed.

If you do your research, it can swing you a job. When I was a useless student, desperate for night work due to being physically unable to rise before midday, I noticed an opening at a 24 hour garage. After a brief chat with one of the staff there, I learned that the boss was, like me, an Arsenal fan. So in my hobbies and interests I wrote ‘avid fan of Arsenal FC’. I got an interview that day, spent the interview talking about Marc Overmars and was working the night-shift on pay and a half that very night – browsing the top shelf pornography and eating the pies in the backroom.

Lee McQueen must’ve been briefed on this little trick. Last night, the remaining contestants were sent out for some posh tucker with a very special guest. Only one of the most high-profile Spurs fans in the country… That’s right gang! It was Alan Sugar!

‘Oo do you support then, Lee?’ he asked the speech-impeded wideboy. We all knew the answer before he’d even opened his mouth. In these opening shots it was clear Lee was going to win no matter what happened in the task as he was gently jibed by the fuzzy millionaire like a favourite pupil. ‘Lee’s paying’, he said, as the bill arrived to indulgent smiles all round.

So – we know the drill by now. A few vox pops were aired in which Claire and Helene declared the size of their massive balls. The phone was answered. Frances was on the blower. They all got dressed in the space of three seconds and then they were off – this time to a massive, empty art gallery. This time, it seemed it wasn’t only Alan who had massive hands – they all appeared to be carrying huge pink claws by their sides. There must be something in the lens that makes fingers look like pinky-logs.

A massive art-gallery space was the base. The task was to launch a fragrance, pour les hommes, withthe assistance of past contestants whilst working as joint leaders – Lee with Claire (clearly the strongest two) and Helene with Alex. 

But not all of the past contestants were involved (as I think has been done in the past). Nope – if you remember, that made the Badger/Dewbury final far too crowded. This time we only get the most TV-worthy dunderheads. Sadly Sara Dadadadhada wasn’t included in the line up. Curses.

So – here’s how they picked their teams:

Claire & Lee: Jenny C
Whaaaa?! The first one picked is the most noxious of the bunch? Nice work on that one Claire. Pick a living, breathing, anvil-jawed failure as your first choice.

Alex & Helene: Raef
Good choice. Well liked by contestants and judges alike and generally quite successful in tasks.

Claire & Lee: Michael
Awww… they’ve broken up bum chums Sophocles and Raef. The utter sods. That’s just mean.

Alex & Helene: Kevin
Just don’t let him give a pep talk. Even better – don’t let him talk at all.

Claire & Lee: Simon
Can’t believe he was picked so late. As far as I could tell, he was the hardest working of the lot, if a little flimsy when leading.

So, Jennifer was sent to work with Alex and Helene as she was picked last. Don’t laugh – some of us know how that FEELS.


Helene buttered up Alex saying how she was soooglad she’d got him to work with as he stuffed one of his lips up a flared nostril in smug delight. Once again, in a well-timed vox pop, Alex felt the urge to remind us of his age – which is 24 years old, in case you’d forgotten.

In the meantime, Lee and Claire got down to business, discussing the target demographic for their parfum. Lee was on autopilot – getting right into the brainstorm. We’ve seen him outdo himself in this scenario before – suggesting ‘Snot’ for tissues and ‘cuppa tea’ as an ice cream flavouring. This time, he didn’t disappoint. Their target audience was a 22 year old metrosexual what shaves ‘is balls.

When it was time to come up with names, they pulled some right shit out of the bag.  ‘Pssst’, ‘Dollar’ and ‘Primal’ were all blathered into the ether until possibly the worst suggestion was hit upon and seized – their aftershave was to be called ‘Roulette’. Nice.

Helene got talking to some painter and decorators about the aftershave the men’d actually rely on their wives to buy them, thus rendering their focus group a waste of time. No names were decided upon though the rubbish ‘Connect’ and ‘Enigma’ were shouted. ‘Girth’ was one I particularly enjoyed.

In the midst of all this pandemonium, Lee started babbling like a boiling baby and lost the ability to pronounce his own product. ‘Woulette!’ he screamed. ‘Thas warram talking abairt’ he went on, possibly for the last time ever on British television.

Kevin rolled his sleeves up and got stuck in when the bottle was being designed, reeling off ideas for a concept from the part of his mind that deals with how to control going poo poo. He suggested a stressball texture to the bottle. How about a rubik’s cube shape? Something simple like that overtly complex idea. Alex was so stressed on the phone to Helene he needed that god damned stressballaftershave bottle. So stressed was he, that he let the designer come up with the concept, thus losing him the match on away goals.

As we watched the commercial being filmed, things seemed to be going well withAlex and Helene. Seasoned viewers know this is a terrible sign. Nick’s championing of the concept didn’t help – his praise alongside the presence of that idiot Kevin represented the proverbial kiss of death.

Their ad went smoothly where Lee and Claire’s was a 70s nightmare, straight out of the Hai Karate era. The only downside to Dual – the name Alex and Helene decided on – was the fact that they hadn’t designed it themselves and Helene had made it smell of old chocolate. ‘It’s certainly different’, said Raef, ever the optimist.

Despite things going well for them, Alex and Helene continued to bust up. ‘Conflicting against each other’ is how they othey put it in their garbled business logic. We’d already learned that a good business mind comes at the expense of the ability to communicate using recognised idioms – this, then, was the proof. The 11th hour rewrite of the script didn’t help, yet all seemed forebodingly to be on course for success.

To compound one team’s success, Lee was looking shaky. High drama! He couldn’t talk as he prepared his pitch and stumbled like a tit over every word.

And finally, the pitches themselves were both pretty awful. Where Lee’s dancers were geriatric, glowsticked, juggling freaks, Alex and Helene employed karate-kicking nutjobs. Lee and Claire started their pitch withthe words ‘Gambling is important’ – which sent a shiver down the spine of everyone who was considering how they might market this bit of tat. By promoting gambling! Great idea!

‘I know a little cheeky chap’ said Lee, talking about his demographic. It was, in Sugar parlance, a bluddy shambles. ‘The metrosexual is dead’, they incorrectly asserted. They stumbled over their words. They were laughed at. It was very, very poor.

Alex and Helene, on the other hand, were targeted withspontaneous applause. Their work was ‘coherent’ and ‘extraordinary’. Only one drawback was mentioned – that being the cost of the bottle to manufacture. This prohibitive cost was the black cloud that followed Alex and Helene to the boardroom. As Sugar made it clearer who the winner might be, Sophocles swung his head jubilantly like a happy little Pinnochio and Jenny’s enormous paving-slab jaw seemed to expand – though this could of been her way of smiling.

The rest is history. There was a little comic relief regarding SImon’s metrosexuality – met with his denial – though Christ knows how his hair gets that shape if he’s not… 

Then Alex and Helene were swiflty kerb-kicked, and very unceremoniously, too. Helene was realistic in the cab home whilst Alex wept his little eyes off, biting those lips that had so often betrayed the inner-workings of his nubile mind. Poor lad. He’s only 24, remember.

We kind of knew he hadn’t made it as his CV’s been very publically onlinefor the past month.

And then Sugar decided between Claire and Lee. Claire had evolved, he said… into some kind of whale/simian hybrid it seemed to me. Sugar bewilderingly said her pitching skills were superb. They weren’t. He said Lee was a very convincing candidate (despite the stupid dinosaur impressions, illiteracy, lying on his CV and bullying Sara).

He picked Lee. It was all over. A sigh of relief. A little trump came out of Alan’s bottom as he sat back, overwhelmed by the magnitude of this underwhelming conculsion. It was an abrupt ending, accompanied by the sound of the nation flicking over to BBC2 to watch ‘You’re Fired’.

They surpassed themselves this year, the BBC. It was a great series. Let’s hope they don’t push the audition process for anyone toogrotesque next time round. They should repeat exactly what they achieved this time round. Taking overconfident, arrogant numbskulls and pushing them into industries they have no experience of, then filming the bickering mayhem before editing it into appetising hour-long chunks.  

Ep. 1
Ep. 2
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Ep. 4

Ep. 5
Ep. 6

Ep. 7
Ep. 8
Ep. 9
Ep. 10

Ep. 11

Preview 1
Preview 2

Coming Soon …

June 11, 2008


With the credit crunch starting to bite, Watch With Mothers looks forward to some of the new shows while we’re waiting for the bailiffs to take away the television …

Negative Equity, Negative Equity, Negative Equity – Kirsty and Phil show dead-eyed homeowners around a delightful selection of caravans, bed & breakfasts and Christian missionary hostels as the bank forecloses on the dream home Kirsty & Phil advised them to buy five years ago. This week, a shit-spattered caravan park in South Wales is the destination for a couple who previously owned a lovely detached cottage in the Cotswolds. With scenes of barking Alsatians, children in jumpers picking their noses, and clogs.

Through The Letterbox – Lloyd Grossman invites a panel of minor celebrities to guess who’s banging on the door of a 100% mortgage home. Could it be Alan Jackson from Excelsior Credit Solutions? Or is it Barry and Colin Fisher, certificated bailiffs for Rawston Debt Recovery Ltd.? Contains scenes of abject despair.

You’ll Eat What You Can Afford To Eat – In a radical turnaround, appalling Scotch harridan Dr. Gillian MaKeeef advises impoverished Britons to cram their bellies full of bread, beans and chips. A table groaning with healthy organic produce is used to illustrate what the show’s guest used to be able to afford to eat; a new table containing half a bag of TESCO Value chips, six fish-fingers and a packet of ASDA 2p sausages replaces it now the credit card’s been maxed out. Contains scenes of painful shitting.

Not Particularly Grand Designs – Kevin McCloud follows the trials of Poppy and Harry as they struggle to build a breeze-block and corrugated iron shelter on the site of a former chemical reprocessing plant. Will they get the roof on before it starts raining? Or will Guildford council get wind of the scheme and stop the ambitious project in its tracks?

What You’ll Have To Wear Now – Lisa Butcher and Misha Paris advise women who wasted thousands of pounds of someone else’s money on clothes they wore once that it’s time to start fishing in bins. In the first episode, heavily in debt secretary Jackie forgoes expensive clothes shops like Primark and Donna’s Discount Market Fashions, and instead finds a flea-ridden pullover near her local canal. In the unveiling of her new look, Jackie has a nervous breakdown.

Help! My Dog’s Got To Go For Glue – Beloved family pets are taken off to the knacker’s yard to be turned into glue. The glue is then sold for bread by a family that really shouldn’t have gone on that two week holiday to Disneyland courtesy of Capital One. Contains scenes of bawling children, women biting their bottom lips, and pedigree dogs being boiled down to make glue.