Insight into fameseeking

By Jason Kennedy

FOR ten years, a certain show has caused infinite controversy. It has created stars and ruined people’s lives. It gave us all an insight into the mindset of the craziest people in Britain. That show is Big Brother, and with only one year left to go there was only one thing to do to see how the fruitiest personalities are really picked: Audition for the most hated show on television.
The auditions were only starting up when my friend Tighearnan and I meandered into the RDS. We waited in the queue, along with former Big Brother tartlet, Noirin, who seemed to take a shining to yours truly. When the photographers wanted picture, she grabbed on to me and another hapless loser and posed. She then managed to trip on top of me. For the duration of my time with the reality TV loser, I couldn’t help but think of the amount of magazine I saw her nude in. Classy bird, our Noirin.
After around half an hour in the queue, Tig and I begun our team building exericises. We were split into two teams and had to complete a number of harmless tasks, like over-under and passing the balls without the use of our hands. However, the losing team had to complete an embarrassing forfeit, like pretend to be a farm animal or do the Single Ladies dance, glee style.
After this, the real work began. We were split into groups of eight and given a partner. We had to get as much info from the person about themselves and then tell it to the group. I was paired with Becky, a 22-year-old Airport Security worker from Ballymun, who used to work in Mountjoy with her twin sister, who also tagged along to the auditions. From then, we had to rank ourselves in how much we deserve to get on the show. I told the group about my encounter with the scientologists, my recent break-up and all those interesting things about my life. I managed to come second in the group, which I’m not sure is a good thing.
Following this, came the difficult dealings. We had to pick two people from the group to be ‘evicted’ from the auditions. We chose a loud-mouth woman, who cheated on her fiancé of six years with his best friend and a guy who was barely able to speak and was shaking quite a lot. The motor mouth woman was not impressed and began to say how we were all boring and she was the star. However, it was all a big joke. The skank and the quiet guy were still in with a show of being a Big Brother 11 housemate.
Then came the news of who, if any, progressed to round 2. This was decided by one of the producers, who would give a stamp on the person’s hand, which featured the infamous Big Brother Eye. So as the stamp came out, we all had to stick our wrists out in front of us. I found myself being nervous. I really wanted to see what was up next, behind that mysterious black curtain, where the successful candidates were gathering. So next thing people were getting stamped and then wham; a big eye stamp appeared on my hand. I was though round one, but unfortunately for Tighearnan, the day was done. The only other successful candidates from our line was the cheating loud-mouth and a 23-year-old devout Christian virgin, who had never been kissed, which leads me to ask what the hell is wrong with me?
So then, the three of us were rushed behind the black curtain of mystery. There we faced round 2: a seven-page questionnaire of extremely personal information and a contract to sell our rights away. I read through the contract which stated that we could not hold liable for embarrassment and they could use our character. My journalistic integrity signed my life away to Endemol UK and Channel 4.
Next came the questionnaire, which such gems as ‘where’s the strangest place you had sex?’, ‘what do you not want to talk about today?’ and ‘what’s the biggest lie you ever told?’ I was honest and filled out the form like I would any legitimate survey. A producer read through it, which would then told me if I was abnormal enough to go on to round three. She gave me the thumbs up and I was rushed upstairs to wait for a video interview in a mock up diary room.
Another producer led me into the room, where a bog-standard seat, black curtains, a big camera and a pleasant woman met me. She asked me about my answers to the questionnaire, and I answered her as humorously and eccentrically as I could.
After this I was led to yet another waiting area. I then met the stereotypical English producer I was expecting. He thanked me for coming, but said that it was the end of the road for me. I breathed a little sigh of relief, I may be odd, but at least I’m not that odd.
So, come Summertime, when Davina McCall is ushering in the last batch of wannabees, I’m hoping a little Irish Christian virgin goes in there. I have no idea how far he got, but he seemed like an interesting and friendly young fella, who was actually genuinely interested in going onto the show, and not just taking the proverbial, like Tighearnan and I. However, for her own sake, I hope the cheater is kept away from that house. She would be eaten alive by crowds baying for her blood, and, frankly, maybe she deserves it. I find the fact that she tried to use her infidelity as a springboard to become a z-list celebrity absolutely despicable. Imagine how crap that guy would feel, watching his ex boasting about that on international TV.
Nevertheless, whether you loved or hated Big Brother, this time next year it will be but a distant memory, to be replaced, undoubtedly, by another reality show. So, I may not be going into the most infamous house in Britain, but I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people ready to humiliate themselves for the nation’s amusement before the house closes their doors for good.