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CLEMMIE MOODIE
Man oh man… it’s Saturday night testosterone TV – ITV wouldn’t even let experienced Holly have a crack at things solo
Where is the fresh, new talent? Why aren’t women being allowed to shine, solo?
IT’S official: TV has a Woman Problem.
Inexplicably, in 2024, telly bosses seem to be lingering under the impression that us gals should be seen (preferably dolled-up and behind a stove) and not heard.
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So as both BBC and ITV kicked off their widely hyped winter schedules with the Gladiators reboot and Dancing On Ice, viewers were confronted by man after man after man.
Many of those men being Bradley Walsh and David Seaman.
TEN blokes dominated Saturday night TV and not a single female presenter fronted any of either channel’s biggest entertainment shows.
With the Beeb veritably swimming in Seaman (The Weakest Link, Pointless Celebrities), the only woman featuring front and centre was a murdered one (ITV doc, The Murder Of Ashley Wadsworth). Thanks for that, guys.
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Meanwhile good ol’ Bradley, a 63-year-old male, scored a hat-trick — and he was even due to appear on Michael McIntyre’s show until bosses quickly realised that, perhaps, there really could be too much of a good thing.
Of course, the original Gladiators featured John Fashanu and, hurrah, a woman!, Ulrika Jonsson.
This time around execs searched high and wide for fresh talent . . . and found Bradley’s son, Barney. (Gladiator name: Nepotism).
The Weakest Link was hosted by a formidable woman, Anne Robinson. Alas she was replaced by a bloke.
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Other penised people gracing our telly boxes over the weekend included Alan Titchmarsh, James Martin, Ben Shephard, Big Zhu, Ant & Dec, Joel Dommett, Romesh Ranganathan and Gary Lineker.
In case we still felt a little devoid of testosterone, the Beeb rounded off Saturday night with Ali, a biopic starring Will Smith playing boxer Muhammad Ali.
But HOLLY WILLOUGHBY!!!!, I hear you shouting.
Much was made of the return of ITV’s superstar presenter, a TV event akin to the second coming. (Were it to be set on an ice rink, next to Stephen Mulhern).
Instead of letting Holly — an experienced, erudite broadcaster — have a crack at things solo in the wake of former host Phillip Schofield’s axing, they plumped for the safety of a male sidekick.
We’d hate for Holly to have “women problems” one week, and call in sick, after all.
And what about Davina McCall and Amanda Holden, two women who’ve never knowingly been described as shy, retiring wallflowers.
Well, their light is dimmed by the blokes beside, and in front, of them.
Joel Dommett hosts The Masked Singer, a jewel of ITV’s crown, leaving Davina to dance and clap behind her little table, while Amanda — currently joined by Alan Carr on The Italian Job — will soon be behind her own desk on BGT, besides Simon Cowell, and taking directions from the omnipresent Ant &; Dec.
Claudia Winkleman and Tess Daly are the only big-show female duo out there — for 12 weeks of the year.
Then it’s back to the blokes.
Where is the fresh, new talent?
Why aren’t women being allowed to shine, solo?
There appears to be this weird, outdated view that daytime telly is The Place for ladies.
Lorraine Kelly, Susanna Reid, Alison Hammond — all brilliant, whip-smart, accomplished talents — are fine for daytime, keeping those hormonal housewives happy.
And the Loose Women.
Again, OK’d for a spot of tittle-tattle.
A study published on Sunday showed girls outperform boys all the way through primary school to university.
So why aren’t these girls allowed to blossom into show-stealing Saturday night entertainment hosts?
In an interview in the latest edition of Radio Times, Sandi Toksvig says: “I would still like to see more women in charge of shows.
“And let’s not even start on chat show hosts. Where are the female chat show hosts?”
Over to you, ITV and BBC.
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Laid-back Royals chill to thrill Down Under
ZARA and Mike Tindall are winning plaudits during their trip Down Under.
The former was pictured in an Australian mall, shopping in cut-off denim shorts, Birkenstocks and sunglasses perched insouciantly on her head.
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She also wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, and looked great.
If only Kate and Wills could be more Zara and Mike.
At a time when under-30s are finding the monarchy less and less relevant, how refreshing would it be to see Kate ditching the Boden and pearls and dressing like a normal 42-year-old woman.
Sure, we don’t necessarily want to see the next in line shuffling around in velour tracksuits, but trussing up Prince George like Little Lord Fauntleroy seems, well, faintly silly.
Mossy is still boss at 50
HAPPY birthday to Kate Moss, who turns 50 today.
Sadly, I wasn’t attending her recent reported celebrations in Mustique, in the Caribbean.
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Which, frankly, came as something of a surprise to us both.
That poor woman has seen me gatecrash at least four parties as a cub showbiz reporter.
Twice I’ve joined the supermodel at The Ritz in Paris, plus at London’s Dorchester hotel and Claridges.
One year at The Ritz, I was even moved to the hotel suite opposite hers, after management accidentally cocked up (you can imagine her joy at seeing me in pyjamas marauding the corridors each morning).
Her parties weren’t for the faint-hearted. One year saw me slumped at the bar at 7am as she, somehow, mysteriously, powered on for 36 hours.
“Why are you at every bloody birthday I have?,” she once asked, sighing resignedly. “You’re EVERYWHERE.”
Soon after, I bumped into her in the loos.
“Oh God, here we go again,” she deadpanned, tottering into her cubicle, for a while.
Most stars would have had me unceremoniously thrown out.
Not Kate.
She grinned and bore it.
And not once had her friends glare at me, or tell me – which she had every right to do – to f*** off.
A proper star and the likes of which we should rightly be raising a glass to.
Fear not.
Today I’m there in spirit, Kate x.
GEORGE Clooney has described his stunning, uber-successful human rights lawyer wife Amal as “homely”.
As my colleague said of her husband: “If he ever calls me homely, he’ll be getting dog food for dinner.”
Ozzy's snorty 'n' nice
OZZY Osbourne says he feared getting hooked on ketamine, a horse tranquiliser, after being prescribed it to aid his ongoing medical treatment.
This from a man who has, by his own admission, tried every drug going.
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And bitten the head off a bat while high on them. (Haven’t we all).
I interviewed Ozzy at his sprawling Bucks mansion in 2014, while I was hobbling around on crutches, shortly after reconstructive surgery on a knee ligament.
He excitedly asked what post-op drugs I was on. It was the only moment in the entire interview that his little eyes lit up. (Possibly, also, something to do with my interview technique).
Anyway. After explaining I was on heavy-duty oxycodone, he asked if I had any with me – and smilingly suggested we nip upstairs to try some “hillbilly heroin”.
A cursory Google revealed that wasn’t difficult to do.
He was joking.
I think.
IF you’re reading this, you survived Blue Monday.
Well done you.
Except, apparently, this is patronising, and the whole concept of the most depressing day of the year is, in fact, “trivialising” mental health issues.
We can’t win.
Milking us dry
AS regular readers will know, largely because I’ve banged on about it endlessly, I’m 15 days – long, long days – into Dry January.
Last weekend a visit to the pub with my similarly self-flagellating friend saw us order two Lucky Saint non-alcoholic beers.
£14 later, and sans absolutely any kick, I was raging.
A recent report showed cynical retailers have upped the cost of the fake stuff, just in time for Dry Jan.
A zero per cent “gin” often costs more than the real thing.
Which is ridiculous.
For those trying to reduce their weekly units, and get healthy, where’s the incentive?
It’s certainly not to be found in the bottom of a Lucky Saint beer glass.
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Off his Facebook
FACEBOOK boss Mark Zuckerberg says he feeds the cows on his Hawaiian estate a diet of macadamia nuts and beer.
Never has the phrase “lucky cow” been more true.
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