Over on Big Blogger, voting has commenced for the first set of evictions. Happily for me, I’m exempt from this week’s vote, having earnt my immunity by being the first housemate to complete the (somewhat controversial) “dodo and bacon sandwich” task. However, I have a nasty feeling that this might turn out to be a poisoned chalice, as everybody decides that it will be “only fair” to vote for me en masse when next week’s vote rolls around. We shall see.
Much as I’m enjoying the experience, I can’t help feeling that, as a group, we’re all at that early stage in the contest where – just as with the TV version – half the occupants are still bouncing excitedly round the place in full “performance” mode, while the other half are quietly biding their time until the numbers settle down a bit. Consequently, it’s still all a bit frantic over there – and not all that easy for the casual visitor to make much sense of. (K visited yesterday, and pronounced himself quite baffled.)
On the other hand, I’m personally enjoying the borderline-hysterical “cabin fever” aspect of the experience. We might currently be playing more to each other than to the outside world – but we’re having loads of fun while we’re doing it, so why the hell not?
Oh, and my tip to win the thing? Vitriolica‘s fantastic illustrations should ensure that she goes far, but (as ever!) the smart money has to be on Zoe: a woman with “winner” stamped all over her. (Having shared a jacuzzi with her, one gets to know these things.)
Originally posted at Big Blogger:
June 9th 2005: mike has a plan.
In the absence of smelling salts, Mike reaches for the little brown bottle that he has stashed away in the secret compartment of his Samsonite Executive Premier Plus Trunk (with built-in Vanity Unit).
“If this doesn’t bring the silly old queen to her senses”, he mutters, unscrewing the cap and wafting the bottle underneath Peter’s nose, “then nothing will.”
The housemates hold their breath. Which is just as well, considering the fetid aroma of old socks that is now permeating the bedroom.
A faint growling noise begins to rise up from the bed, as Peter’s face assumes the colour of a particularly fine Chateauneuf Du Pape.
With this keening howl, Peter’s body suddenly snaps into an upright position. Wild-eyed and flailing, his howls grow ever louder.
“GLORIA! I THINK THEY’VE GOT YOUR NUMBER! DUH DUH DUH DUH WANTS YOU! WHY ISN’T ANYBODY CALLING! WOOO! DON’T BOGART THE POPPERS, MARY!”
The housemates look at each other in consternation.
“Darling, is he all right?”, asks Zoe, anxiously.
Mike smiles, knowingly.
“Laura Branigan. Gloria. Got to Number 6 in December 1982. One of Peter’s favourites. She thinks she’s back in Fire Island, dancing on a Saturday night. Give her a couple of minutes, and she’ll be as right as rain….”
June 10th 2005: big blogger asked us for a picture…
…and so here is mine. Hello housemates! Hello viewers! My name is Mike. Goodness, but these posts are flying thick and fast this morning. I do hope you’re all managing to keep up.
As mentioned yesterday, I have somehow managed to squeeze all of life’s bare essentials into my Samsonite Executive Premier Plus trunk (with built-in vanity unit). Yes, I know that Big Blogger stipulated a small suitcase only – but believe me, this constitutes “travelling light”.
Not being one of life’s natural packers, I asked my partner K for some assistance in choosing my outfits for the next seven weeks (should I survive that long). It took us a while to “theme” my look, but we’ve plumped for Classic with a Contemporary Twist. So expect plenty of crisp whites, hot pinks, cool candy stripes, and bold, funky checks in wittily contrasting shades. And that’s just the shirts.
Oh, and not to be outdone by Miss Mish in the millinery stakes – I’ve brought my new hat. (John Galliano, but we don’t go by the labels.)
Other items include:
- A comprehensive selection of Molton Brown grooming products, including a bottle of “Arctic Birch” bath and shower gel (with pump action dispenser) which is my gift to the house. Please feel free.
- A 40gb iPod, with headphones (for private contemplation) and speakers (for early evening cocktail jazz, and late night disco dancing).
- Several slabs of Green & Blacks chocolate (very good for the heart), which I shall be divvying out after dinner each night.
- A mysterious little brown bottle, labelled “room odoriser” (not so good for the heart), which I shall be keeping in the fridge. This has already come in handy.
- A hand-made “Big Blogger” mix CD, which I shall be leaving behind as a prize for the eventual winner.
As for personal qualities: I would like to make one thing clear, right from the start. There is far too much nonsense talked on these sorts of shows about “being yourself”, with everyone singling out “being two-faced” as the greatest of all possible sins. To which I say: phooey. For what you might call “being two-faced”, I call “having good manners”. For that reason, I shall be conducting myself like any normal, civilised human being: bitching about people behind their backs (but only to trusted confidantes, as and when the need arises, and never gratuitously), whilst continuing to be courteous and respectful to their faces. It’s the way of the world, people. Don’t knock it. After all, I’m just being myself…
Looking around at my fellow housemates, I see some old friends (Miss Mish, Gordon, Zoe, JonnyB, Vitriolica and the perpetually recumbent Peter), some familiar acquaintances (Clair, Alan and The Girl), and some brand new faces (Grocerjack, Mr Hair, Dr Rob, NML and Vicus Scurra). As is usual in such situations, I have so far been clinging to my familiar little clique, whilst gazing nervously over at the others. Who is going to make the first move and break the ice? Do we need some “getting to know you” games? And why is The Girl licking her lips at me like that?
Finally, to those of you who have been wondering how we’re all going to cope over the next few weeks – cooped up in our own little space, cut off from outside reality – I say: hey, we’re bloggers, remember? Welcome to our world!
June 13th 2005: save quickos!
Mike is awoken from his slumbers by a gentle, furry tap on his shoulder. And is that the sound of muffled sobbing that he can hear in his right ear?
Pausing only to wonder why he still appears to be referring to himself in the third person, Mike levers open his sleep-filled eyes… only to see a moist-eyed, trembling Quickos, gazing mournfully down at him.
“Goodbye, Mike. Quickos has to go now.”
“But… Quickos! You can’t leave now! Mike was looking forward to playing so many games with you today!”
“Quickos has no choice, Mike. Big Blogger has told Quickos that he has to leave the house NOW.”
But WHY, Quickos? WHY?”
“Quickos doesn’t know why, Mike. But he’s sure that there must be a very good reason. And Quickos always does what he’s told, even when it makes him sad. So good luck, Mike. And remember: Quickos will always, always love you.”
“NO, Quickos! STOP!”
Not wishing his little puppet friend to see him in the nude (for if there’s one thing he doesn’t do, it’s pyjamas), Mike reaches for his dressing gown, hanging on a hook behind him. But when he turns round, Quickos has vanished.
A tight knot of anger begins to form in Mike’s stomach. Quickly wrapping his dressing gown around his slender naked form, he leaps out of bed, and – without so much as checking his hair in the mirror – makes straight for the garden.
Within seconds, and before anyone can stop him, Mike has clambered onto the roof of the Big Blogger house.
(Standing directly below him, Clair makes the mistake of looking straight upwards as Mike performs his final leap, the tails of his dressing gown billowing in the breeze. Clutching her hands to her mouth, she dashes straight back indoors, visibly blanching.)
“THIS IS AN OFFICIAL PROTEST!”, shrieks Mike, wild eyed, tousle-haired, and dangerously un-moisturised. “QUICKOS MUST BE SAVED FROM EVICTION! HE HAS HARMED NO-ONE! I SHALL NOT DESCEND FROM THIS ROOF UNTIL HE IS SAFELY RETURNED! HOUSEMATES, ARE YOU WITH ME?”
The other housemates look at each other in consternation. Should they join Mike’s protest, or should they try and talk him down from the roof? And whatever will Big Blogger say?
June 13th 2005: faint heart never won fair glove puppet: mike’s rooftop protest runs aground.
The story so far: In a last-ditch bid to save Zoe‘s so-called “stowaway” housemate, the irrepressibly lovely Quickos, from eviction (and possible incineration), Mike has been staging a rooftop protest all morning, calling upon his fellow housemates to support him in his struggle. Now read on.
Immediately upon hearing Big Blogger’s stern warning, Mike stops performing his energetically improvised “Save Quickos” freedom dance. Gathering his robe carefully around his rapidly chilling loins, he crouches cautiously at the roof’s edge, and addresses his fellow housemates.
“Er… guys? Are you… um… with me, or what?”
The housemates (except for Clair, who is still being treated for post-traumatic shock in the Diary Room) shuffle nervously, staring at their feet (for reasons which have already been made abundantly clear).
After a long pause, Alan is the first to speak.
“Obviously Mike you have our full support. Er… moral support that is. Yes, yes, definitely lots of moral support.
Oh, and you can have my athletic support as well, cos the wind keeps doing a Marilyn on your dressing gown and it’s making Miss Mish a bit overly frisky.”
“What about the rest of you?”, Mike demands. “I’ll ask you one more time: ARE YOU WITH ME?”
After receiving an curt nod of assent from Vicus Scurra and Grocer Jack, Dr. Rob pipes up.
I would be with you of course, being once almost a member of the Socialist Workers Party, and practically a card carrying revolutionary, but first I need to call a meeting, get down the pub, have a few beers, discuss the dialectics of the whole action, put it to the vote, declare the vote illegal, discuss it some more, then have it ratified by Castro and then, only then dear comrade will we join you in your glorious struggle.
“I see. Does anyone have anything else to add?”
Gordon can hold himself back no longer.
Oi mike, while you’re up there… gonna throw down that frisbee… cheers!!
“Very well. On your own consciences be it, but I cannot fight your battles alone. Instead my protest shall continue, um, indoors. After I’ve showered, dressed and eaten, of course. Now, can someone give me a hand down? If I can just get my leg across this… hang on, where’s everyone gone?”
Finding himself suddenly alone in the garden, all Mike can hear is muffled sobbing from the Diary Room, and muffled giggling from the living area. And was it just the rustling of leaves in the trees beyond the perimeter fence, or did he hear someone inside the house mutter the dreaded words “attention seeker”?
The very thought.
June 13th 2005: task 2: extinct
My ten-year old daughter Katie tells me that she saw a strange bird on our back lawn on Sunday morning. It was a rather plump and clumsy bird: about 9 inches tall, with blue-grey plumage, a black bill, small wings, and a tuft of feathers on its rear end. According to my daughter, it was showing great interest in the discarded remains of her bacon sandwich!
I have tried to find some information on this bird, but all my findings would seem to suggest that this is the long extinct “dodo” bird, last sighted in the C17th. A ridiculous proposition? Or have you had other similar sightings?
Many congratulations on your excellent show.
With kind regards,
Update: Does this count as WINNING?