Big Brother is watching you . . . Or rather, you’re watching it — in your droves. The reboot of the reality show earned its best figures in a decade, with 2.6 million tuning in for the ITV launch on Sunday.
As 16 shameless fame-seekers sashayed into their new Teletubby-esque house, it was like the Year 2000 all over again. Next we’ll be shopping at Jane Norman, listening to Craig David and playing Snake on our Nokias.
I get the nostalgic appeal — but isn’t it time we left these old reality TV formats behind?
It’s not only that they’re tired these days, it’s that we know what harm this long experiment in reality entertainment has done to those taking part, many of whom — like 18-year-old Hallie in this season of Big Brother — are very young.
Globally, dozens of suicides have been linked to appearing on reality TV shows, including two former Love Island UK contestants.
The reboot of Big Brother, the show that brings together strangers in a house (pictured) to record their every move, earned its best figures in a decade, with 2.6 million tuning in for the ITV launch on Sunday
Many have complained of the mental-health fallout as their fast-earned fame begins to fade; only this week, former Big Brother winner Anthony Hutton described how he ‘got to a really dark place… a horrendous dark place’ in the years after the show.
Some contestants will forever be seen a certain way because of the way they spent a couple of weeks in their youth.
Think ‘Nasty’ Nick Bateman from the first series of Big Brother, or Kinga, who in series six was filmed performing a sex act with an empty wine bottle.
Of this life-defining incident, she has said: ‘On Big Brother they want you to go crazy so give you loads of alcohol.’ Indeed.
I shudder to think how close I came to reality TV humiliation.
In the early 2000s, then just into my 20s, I was enjoying a pint outside a London pub when a woman approached me and explained she was scouting contestants for a BBC Three reality TV show called The Bachelor UK.
The concept was simple: one eligible man was up for grabs. Around 20 young women would compete with each other to snare him.
One by one these would be eliminated until the final lucky lady remained, to be swept up into the hunk’s arms. Was I interested in taking part? I was young, silly, single: Hell, yes!
Things moved swiftly. The first step was an interview with the producers, who grilled me on how I pursued the opposite sex. Having watched a lot of reality TV, I knew they wanted a character: The B****, The Sweetheart, The Quirky One.
I decided to play The Predator. Channelling Joan Collins in Dynasty, I purred: ‘If I want a man, I will stop at nothing to get them… I’ll play dirty… I’ll do whatever it takes… ’
Clare came all too close to joining the cast of a dating reality show in her early 20s. Luckily, Clare’s crush saved her from that fate by admitting that he liked her too at just the right moment
Eyes agog, their pens scribbling, they knew they had someone who would make good telly (i.e. someone who would make a fool of herself).
I was through to the next round, in which wannabe contestants were asked to come to a smart hotel dolled up to the max. In an emerald-green skirt and a black boob tube, I tottered into a vast carpeted room, towards a panel of interviewers.
They asked me to stand up and turn around a couple of times while a camera slowly panned up and down my body from top to pedicured toe.
Later, I got the call: I was in! I was to be flown to a tropical island (or was it Tenerife?) for a few weeks.
Fame and fortune beckoned…
Then real life intervened. Within days of agreeing to take part, someone I’d had a crush on confessed he liked me too. I was giddy — and no longer up for doing the show. I called the producers to pull out and apologise.
Though the relationship didn’t last, I reflect with a sigh of relief that I never appeared on that show.
What might have been committed to film, for ever? Me drunkenly trying it on with The Bachelor in a jacuzzi? Me ugly-crying with mascara streaming down my face as he eliminated me?
And with the perspective of age, I think it rather cruel that young people are still being seduced into appearing on these shows.
Aware of such criticism, this time around Big Brother bosses have made it clear that all housemates will see mental-health professionals before, during and after their time in the house.
But if someone has been humiliated on a TV show watched by millions, I don’t think a few counselling sessions are going to cut it.
And the situation for former contestants is immeasurably harder now than it was in the early days of reality TV, thanks to the vicious culture on social media.
Can people really know what they’re signing up to when they agree to appear on a show like this?
My own experience tells me not. Which is why it would be better to leave these shows in their heyday of the early Noughties.
Anita’s dress had the Ex Factor
Soon after announcing she had separated from her husband, TV presenter Anita Rani stole the show at the Pride Of Britain Awards in a plunging sequined dress
Wow. There are dresses and there are dresses.
Fresh from announcing her split from her husband, TV presenter Anita Rani turned up to the Pride Of Britain Awards in a plunging, semi-sheer number.
It reminded me of another striking black number: the ‘revenge dress’ worn by Princess Diana shortly after the then Prince Charles admitted to adultery on TV.
Clothes are a language — and both dresses say ‘I’m doing just fine’.
My soft spot for Angela Rayner
As a long-time Conservative, I’m one of those whom Angela Rayner once called ‘homophobic, racist, misogynistic… scum’.
Yet I have developed a curious soft spot for Labour’s deputy leader.
This Boudica in bovver boots might not be to everyone’s tastes, but her directness is appealing. She shuns the double-speak that is the language of 21st-century politicians.
Best of all, she adds a bit of fizz to Labour — and Lord knows, the party needs it.
Clare admires the deputy leader of the Labour Party, Angela Rayner, for her directness, a trait which very few 21st-century politicians share
Labour has announced a plan to punish water firm bosses who allow sewage to be dumped in our rivers by blocking their bonuses.
How about making them take a dip in the Severn, Britain’s most polluted river?
Clamp down on more than XL Bullys
Hurrah for the forthcoming ban on XL Bully dogs, but can we go further?
Clare is happy about the forthcoming ban on XL Bully dogs, which have been linked to several human deaths in recent years
Each day I go to the park playground with my children (aged five, four and two), and each day I’m struck by a throat-tightening fear that they’ll be attacked by one of the big, seemingly untrained dogs rampaging around.
‘Bonzo!’ cry the owners, while their mutts merrily ignore them.
Isn’t it time many of the bigger breeds were muzzled — or dog licences were introduced?
News that A&E is full of people with coughs and backache isn’t a surprise, given how hard it is to get a GP slot. Last week, feeling off, my mum chose to see a private GP.
It’s lucky she did: an infection in her leg needed urgent IV antibiotics. Happily she can afford to go private. What about those who can’t?
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