Winch, Poke, Aye Right Then No Chance

Sorry for lack of blogging. I have lots of excuses lined up for you: I've been applying to university; I've been applying for funding; I've been covering tonnes of shifts at work for a girl who I don't particularly like (she thinks that all muslims come from "pakiland", she doesn't know what a stew is, and she only shits once a week).

If I hadn't been so distracted , I would have blogged much sooner about Snog Marry Avoid. I actually saw (what I now realise was) the pilot for this programme at the beginning of last summer, and was disappointed when I didn't see it again. I live on a street which is littered with 3 things: doner kebabs, seagulls, and ideal candidates for Snog Marry Avoid, so it's been fun to watch the people on the programme then look out my window to find one of their doppelgängers in close proximity, who I can then mentally make-under. And I mean mentally in both senses of the word; sometimes I'm in such a bad mood that my mental make-under involves dousing them in bleach and dressing them in underwear from Barnardos and clothes from Bonmarche.

The thing that makes this programme so entertaining is Jenny Frost's embarrassing presenting style. If you haven't seen it, imagine your 9 year old self as a TV presenter, all hand-actions and nervous grins and head-bops. That aside, it's hard to take her advocation of natural beauty seriously since she's visibly fried her hair, slathered on the fake tan, and quite obviously had a boob job. If the producers want to go for irony, they may as well go all out and get Ru Paul as the next presenter.