So Big Brother started last night. The biggest bunch of no-marks yet in Big Brother history. An all girl house. Yawn. Didn’t see that one coming right enough, after the 9th girl went in. The biggest question I have is what the fuck is up with Ravey Davey Gravy, otherwise known as Tracey the cleaner. Bird or bloke?
Too much ecstasy in the early 90’s has quite clearly scrambled her tiny little mind. Anyone who communicates using only three phrases “Ave it”, “Proper large” and “in a bit” really isn’t deserving of national television fame. Saying that, she’s probably the least plastic out of the lot of them which is disturbing. There’s a girl in there who spends her whole life trying to look like Victoria Beckham for fucks sake. Beware America, once the Beckhams hit your shores next year, your home towns could also be full of Victoria Beckham wannabes.
So, rant over. What is the agenda for Mark today. Well, I will mostly be having a swim in the gym at lunchtime. Swim in the gym. I’m a poet and I don’t know it. A right wee Rabbie Burns for the 21st Century. With talent like that, maybe I should apply for the next series of Big Brother.
Oh, I forgot. I’m not an attention seeking fuckwit.
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