Due to it being November, one of the strongest contenders to Worst Month of the Year, I feel perfectly entitled to have a moan. Not only is it all of a sudden Arctic weather, but Gillian McKeith is back on our screens. Now, for those of you lucky enough to have glided through life without knowledge of her existence, let me briefly fill you in. From what I have gathered (myself being privileged enough to have never felt the need to watch her show) Ms McKeith is vaguely famous for faking a doctorate and poking about in people's poo. For some utterly bizarre reason, ITV deemed this enough to earn her a place on I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. Although I usually couldn't care less about the show, this year I've given it a go. First off, let's start by saying that this woman has a fear of insects, heights and water, not to mention she's a vegan, so why the absolute fuck would you go on a program in the middle of a sodding jungle that requires you to do physical challenges involving, guess what! lots of insects, heights and water. And then we get on to the fainting...this woman faints at every given opportunity. Not only does she faint, she actually swoons, hand to forehead and everything. She has claimed to be 'hearing voices'. No shit sweetheart, you are in a jungle filled with huge amounts of crew. Now rumours are surfacing that she's claiming to be pregnant. This is coming from a 51 year old woman with apparent mental issues who resembles a camel's vagina. Anyway, Brett Domino has summed up my feeling perfectly, in his surprisingly catchy 'Gillian McKeith Song'. I recommend a listen... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqGGrO5hjy8&feature=related.
Now we get on to X Factor's Katie Waisell. I cannot be bothered to express my hatred for this woman-child any more, let's just say FRODO and move on.
Exercise. Right, this is pretty unexplored territory for me, but today I decided to have a little bike ride. I sailed down the roads, trees flying past me, wind in my hair, nothing to it, right? I couldn't have been more wrong. Whilst getting to my destination was no bother, I had failed to consider the torture I would go through on the way back. After 10 minutes of furious peddling, my legs has turned to jelly, my cheeks were an unhealthy shade of scarlet, and and I was huffing and puffing like the wolf in that little story about pigs. So after that tiresome ordeal, I have decided cycling is definitely not the sport for me, and I shall be sticking firmly to dance mat, because that counts...
Whilst I eagerly await the delights that mark the end of November, I am currently perfectly happy being a grumpy little shit for six(or is it seven?) more days.
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