Text while you Drive, Vernon … only then will I watch your disastrous motor show that should never have made it onto screens
Car-crash new reality series pits celebs, including Louis Walsh and Professor Green, against each other on track
BIT of advance warning here. Some random minor celebrities will be racing identical Land Rovers round a muddy quarry near Peterborough on ITV tonight.
You’ll probably have no idea what’s going on but may just hear Vernon Kay announce he: “Started the night with three girls. By the end, though?”
Well, Vernon will be lucky if he’s got just one.
Same applies, obviously, on Drive, ITV’s first really big disaster of 2016. A six-part motor sport series which actually got off to a bit of a flyer when it was revealed the eight famous contestants were all being sent to Coventry, where I believe Vernon has a timeshare.
And had it maintained this level of innuendo for the duration, then it might just have been a mildly diverting TV show. Instead, though, with almost his next breath, Vernon was opening up a whole new can of worms.
“Louis (Walsh), is this the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
Jeez, well now you’re asking, Vern. Probably not, given the epic volume of dross produced by Louis over the past 30-odd years.
In fact, if pressed, I’d put Drive a respectful distance behind Ghosthunting With Boyzone on ITV2, the Conway Sisters, Jedward, Keith Duffy and Shane Lynch’s rap version of Girl You Know It’s
True — and even Louis’ landmark appearance on the very first episode of Who’s Doing The Dishes? with Brian McFadden.
Finishing just outside the top five of “worst things Louis Walsh has ever done” is no mean feat, though, and it’s reflected in the viewing figures, which have been falling off a cliff since episode one.
Blame, inevitably, has fallen on poor old Vernon — unfairly, in my opinion, given that he does an OK job and all ITV had to do to avoid this shambles was watch The Race on Sky One. This was another Top Gear-fuelled disaster in 2006, starring the likes of Gary Numan and Ingrid Tarrant, that wasn’t just a bit similar to Drive — it was, minus a “boys versus girls” element, exactly the same show and had to be axed after one run.
TV folk either never watch or never learn.
So another Top Gear bandwagon brings another creative brain fart and another bunch of needy, tearful, overly competitive celebrities, who include Louis, weather girl Laura Tobin, Angus Deayton, Ella Eyre, Professor Green and third-person- speaking athlete Colin Jackson, who refers to himself at all times, with supreme affection, as “CJ”.
What comic relief there is comes from Johnny Vegas, who may not be built for off-road buggy long jump but is sweetly devoted to his son and has a neat line in self-deprecation.
Laura: “Why don’t we make a pact not to bang each other?”
“Most women make that pact with me.” Drive needs these moments like you wouldn’t believe, because the darkest Scandinavian drama on the box is currently Mariella Frostrup, the final contestant.
A woman forever on the verge of crying, vomiting or telling someone off.
“She is,” as Louis pointed out, “only happy when she’s unhappy,” and should be on the next plane to ITV’s Australian jungle, where she’d make everyone’s life perfect hell.
That’s all very well for November. Right here, right now?
I’m as baffled and bored as the rest of you watching minor celebrities doing semi-dangerous things.
I’m also perplexed and bewildered they expect me to sit tight for another three weeks without the sort of sniggering, indirect references to Vernon’s private arrangements that Sunday night’s episode of his All Star Family Fortunes so brilliantly supplied.
“Name something people use to keep their trousers up.”
The contact delete button on their mobile phones?
Our survey said . . .
Michael back in Big time
AFTER what feels like years listening to The Last Leg mob rant away about the US elections, without ever providing a decent punchline, I could’ve cast petals before the hippity-hoppity feet of BBC1’s new arrival on Saturday.
It’s Michael McIntyre, a comedian loathed by the left-wing comedy establishment who resent his success and think his observations about traffic lights are trivial compared to their own cosmically important opinions on Jeremy Hunt.
Leaving aside his genuine talent, of course, it’s one reason why the likes of Bridget Christie will probably be playing to about 78 overgrown students in some Edinburgh Fringe dungeon this summer and McIntyre now has this new prime-time venture.
It’s called Michael McIntyre’s Big Show and the slightly confused format seems to be Sunday Night Takeaway At The Palladium . . . On Saturday.
As well as hit-and-miss camera stunts and variety, there’s also a segment – salvaged from his chat show disaster – called Celebrity Send To All, where McIntyre texts the offer of a massage to everyone on Geri Spice Girl’s mobile, then reads out all the replies that don’t suggest “phone box cards” as a better way forward.
Big Show may be unlikely to change the face of Saturday night television, but that’s hardly the point here, is it?
McIntyre’s material fits this slot perfectly and he also provides one of the most important services on television. P***ing off Stewart Lee to the point he bursts every last bloody vessel in his face.
It deserves to make him rich and happy beyond his wildest dreams (BBC1, Saturday, 7.15pm).
—TESS and Vernon format suggestion of the week. Bring back Just The Two Of Us . . . but with Rhian Sugden and call it Just The Three Of Us.
No? OK. Back with another next week.
— I WANT My Wife Back? I want half an hour of my life back.
— GREAT Sporting Insights. Ledley King: “The young Spurs players have a great future behind them.”
Thierry Henry: “Leicester have a never-give-up adjective.”
Charlie Nicholas: “For Wenger, the solutions are getting harder to solve.”
And Good Morning Britain’s Sally Jockstrap, Charlotte Hawkins: “Leicester secured a late win against West Ham. The game finished two all.”
(Compiled by Graham Wray.)
— RE: British Army Girls, enemy fire training, recruit Jessica May: “You’re sitting in shell scrape, freezing cold, thinking, ‘What am I doing here when I could be at home, in front of a fire, watching EastEnders?’” Will swap freezing cold shell scrape and enemy fire for EastEnders.
— FILTH Corner. Eurosport, weightlifting, David Goldstrom/Michaela Breeze. “Katarzyna Kraska. Mum of a two-year-old daughter.
“She took her time in the bottom receiving position.” But clearly got the hang of conception eventually.
Lookalikes
THIS week’s £69 winner is Weekly Wipe’s unfunnywoman, Philomena Cunk, and Queen Thistle, off Ben & Holly’s Little Kingdom.
Sent in by “Mongo” from Chesterfield. Picture research: Chloe Rivers.
— RANDOM TV irritations. Two and a half souffle-crushingly dull hours of MasterChef every week. The BBC trying to recast professional poison-dripper Alastair Campbell as a celebrity.
That Swedish t**t who thought Wogan “ruined Eurovision”. Hacked Off smugbucket, with the “take me to your leader” eyes, Evan Harris actually making me warm to the relatively adorable Piers Morgan, on Good Morning Britain.
And Channel 5 deciding to plug an invisible gap in the “camp, OTT chat show host” market with Rylan bloody Clark (clothes by Austin Reed, teeth by Austin Powers).
— TV GOLD: Keeley Hawes ensuring Line Of Duty maintains its “best show on TV” status.
Bradley Walsh’s masterful handling of ITV’s Palladium show. Normal For Norfolk clashing with Human Spider Sisters. Chat show timebomb Miriam Margolyes telling Phillip and Holly: “Eamonn’s put on a bit of a weight.”
And another heady series of The Royals concluding with Liz Hurley screaming at King Cyrus: “The man who married you . . . was my gynaecologist!”
To be continued, I very much hope
Not the gospel truth
BRITAIN’S Got Talent auditions re-started in Liverpool, on Saturday, with David Walliams parping away at a trombone and Simon Cowell asking: “How do I turn this off?”
Quickly, turned out to be the answer.
Not the way ITV saw things, obviously. It could not have been more thrilled, in fact, by an act called 100 Voices Of Gospel, “the likes of which you’ve never seen before”.
Unless, of course, you’re one of the 200,000 people who’ve already bought one of their albums or caught the ensemble’s 350-date world tour.
Simon and the gang also seemed equally taken by pub crooner Wayne Woodward and magician/soldier Richard Jones, who got polite applause for serving his country, followed by a wild ovation for successfully reading Amanda Holden’s mind.
What did that leave? Not much in the way of original entertainment. Though I quite enjoyed the stilt-walking one-man band, who works for the UN (clearly wired to the Ban Ki-moon), and Roberto Carlos, the Mexican mouth juggler, who prompted Simon to announce: “I would like to remove my X, please.”
At which point Roberto went through to the next round and Tony from security shoved Sinitta head-first down the theatre’s service hatch
— IN a break with usual form, I’m forced to present the great TV truths and understatements of the month.
Loose Women, Katie Price: “I’m really quite needy.”
The Last Leg, Josh Widdicombe: “Our viewers are funnier than us.”
Paloma Faith: “I wish this wasn’t The Voice at the moment.”
And The Island, Erica Roe: “It’s hard work getting wood, I can tell you.”
Well, harder than it was at Twickenham, 34 years ago.
—WILDLIFE encounter of the week involved a surprisingly well-hung sea barnacle, Alastair Campbell and BBC2’s Gordon Buchanan.
“So, would you like me to show you the biggest penis in the animal kingdom?” Gordon asked the barnacle.