Television
In with the bad crowd
Edward Heathcoat Amory
Television is modern, it's popular, it's classless, it's Cool Britannia's chosen medi- um, bringing princesses and prime minis- ters into the nation's front rooms. And there is no room in this small-screen world for snobbery. So, to ensure that no elitist prejudices poison our cosy dumbed-down cultural cul-de-sac, all viewers will soon be obliged to pass the Melinda Messenger test before getting their television licence.
You must be able to remember, like and admire that nice girl from Swindon with the surgically enhanced bosom, who romped home in the celebrity guest list stakes after appearing as a stunna for the Sun. Miss Messenger already presents an adventure game show, Fort Boyard, for Channel Five on Friday nights. Now she has been given her own talk show (Melin- da's Big Night In, Wednesday).
Sadly, I am forced to conclude that the lovely Miss Messenger, who of course can do no wrong, has been led astray by those wicked schedulers on Channel Five. How did this innocent girl stray into the clutches of our worst television channel, purveyors of cheap filth like Compromising Situations (Wednesday and Thursday) and nature doc- umentaries such as Pond Life (Tuesday)?
The opening credits show clothes littered across the floor of what the viewer is clear- ly encouraged to believe is Melinda's bed- room. This is what is known as a 'come on', because the lady herself soon appears fully dressed and goes to sit on a sofa. There she was joined first by Tania Bryer, whose breasts, sadly less impressive than Miss Messenger's, were spilling out of an ill-cho- sen costume. Miss Bryer was there to pro- mote her own new programme, soon to appear in a prominent position in the Sky schedules (is there a secret agreement that second-rate channels should co-operate?). This was a show, she told Melinda, about our basic instincts, and contained live footage of a penis extension operation. `Was it really small before?' wondered the saintly Melinda.
Then it was time for the first gimmick, a new development in second-rate chat shows, as producers worry that conversa- tion with a B list non-celebrity may not be enough to hold on to their audience share. Miss Bryer, who also works for OK! maga- zine, was asked a pathetic series of simper- ing questions in the manner of that magazine, a tactic successful only in that it revealed her to be as devoid of humour as she was of style.
Then it was on to the second guest, also slightly-famous for his appearance on another small screen schedule-filler. Hunter, linchpin of the game show, Gladia- tors, was once, we discovered, a printer, and had to endure a series of embarrassing questions about the printing trade, such as `what is a hickey?'. After telling Hunter that 'we're both blond, and we've both got big chests', our neophyte presenter then pretended to be drowning on the studio floor, while Hunter, in the guise of a Bay- watch lifeguard, charged 'through the surf' to rescue her. Cue mouth to mouth resusci- tation, a deeply unsexy moment which left her intrepid rescuer with a large dollop of Miss Messenger's lipstick on his face for the rest of the programme.
Finally, it was time for the lead singer from East-17, a charming former plumber whose music career recently took a bit of a dip when he confessed to taking Ecstasy. Miss Messenger pointed out that both her male guests had trades to fall back on in times of trouble. Miss Bryer, unfortunately, could only come up with studying industrial politics at university, so she could be in dif- ficulties when the fickle finger of fame points elsewhere.
Melinda may well be a nice girl, but she has fallen in with a very bad crowd; horrid, dirty men from Channel Five who want her to play their sordid scheduling games with them. Like all nice girls in a tough spot, we wish her well, and hope she escapes from their clutches soon. Perhaps some shining knight from a more respectable channel will climb the tower, and make her a more attractive offer.
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