Claudia Winkleman (Image: Getty)
The term ‘reality TV’ might be the ultimate oxymoron. There’s not much ‘real’ about it. Yanking nonentities and twerps from their dreary lives and plonking them into surreal situations in which they compete with other nobodies to bag a bit of recognition is about as bizarre and incomprehensible as entertainment gets. Why would you?
The X Factor, Britain’s Got Talent, Love Island,… and their iffy ilk are all ridiculous. The worst by far – and about the most compelling thing on television right now if the viewing figures are anything to go by – is The Traitors.
This murder-mystery series that was born in the Netherlands, which premiered here in the UK in late 2022 and which took the US by storm the following year, has become a global sensation. In its second British season for the , it doubled its audience.
The third outing, which kicked off this week, looks set to break every record, as more gather at that remote, cobwebbed Scottish castle to immerse themselves in subplots and strategies as they deceive, outwit and kill their way through the Faithful in their quest for a chunky cash prize. That my three adult kids are avid viewers of it shrivels me with despair.
My mantra when they were growing up was always: “I don’t care what it is as long as you tell me the truth. If I know what I’m dealing with, I can handle it – but if I find out you’ve lied to me, you’re on your own.”
My paranoia over dishonesty doubtless dates back to their father’s abandonment of us. Barefaced lies, backstabbing and treachery are the basest of human behaviours. Why are we celebrating these things? What generated the trend for greed is good, dishonesty is de rigueur and betrayal is the pinnacle of brilliance?
Oh, but it’s all good clean fun, my offspring protest too much – gleeful that I find it all so unnerving. Humanity has long been obsessed with rogues, tricksters, fakers, fraudsters and conmen. Those who bend rules, break laws and get away with it are often figures of glamour and intrigue. Why do lowlifes fascinate us? Is it because, in their shoes, we’d try our damnedest to do the same? Could we, if we had to, conjure their cunning and get one over the rest? The usual motives of the anti-hero are greed and ambition.
The most extreme of their kind, propelled by a perverted sense of adventure, stop at nothing to win. No panto villains, those. They slaughter for real.
Why, when murder, drug- and knife-related crime, sexual offences, domestic abuse and robbery in this country are at an all-time high, do we feel relaxed about feeding our younger generations reasons to find contemptible behaviour desirable?
Such programmes serve only to corrupt our young and dumb down our culture and society. The Traitors actually validates immorality. Just an extreme version of real life, so its fans protest? It’s not, though, is it. It is abusive and grotesque, and should be banned.
If there’s a moral, as its creators will surely claim, perhaps they will cite come-uppance. In the real world, what wrong-uns get away with in the short term is supposed to haunt them for life. Of course I know the difference between fantasy and reality. But what happens when the lines become blurred?
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BBC Radio 2 veteran DJ Johnnie Walker who has died aged 79 (Image: Yui Mok/PA Wire)
the long-serving broadcaster who died on New Year’s Eve following a debilitating illness, was a rocker, a rebel and a maverick. He genuinely loved music for a start. As my fellow author Patrick Humphries remarked, he was one of only a handful of DJs you ever saw at live gigs. That so many musicians counted him as a personal friend is testament to the respect Johnnie commanded for his knowledge, experience and understanding of what makes artists tick.
He invited me on his Sunday afternoon show every time I had a new book out. Through our mutual chum, the late Steve Harley of Cockney Rebel fame, we became friends. Some of our conversations might have made your hair curl. There’s at least another book in that. One day.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
We know all about the Post Office, but what on earth has happened to ? Having not received a delivery since the end of November – no Christmas cards from my nearest and dearest (who always send, and who assured me they had done so this season), a missed wedding invitation and a hospital appointment that had come and gone – I filled in, on the day before New Year’s Eve, one of those irritating online complaint forms.
The very next morning, quelle surprise, a handful of envelopes dropped onto my mat. Where had they all been hiding? I received, that same day, an email from their Customer Support Centre expressing sincere apologies and understanding of my concerns. Well, at least that. Not that it answered the central question: where is the remainder of my lost mail?
I complained again. The response this time was brusque. They must, stated my correspondent, “treat everyone in a fair and equitable manner, as per the agreed guidelines and policies”. With this in mind, she added: “There’s nothing further I can add to what my colleague has already advised you.”
In which case, what are Customer Support Centres for?
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
So farewell ‘Catwoman’, the former billionaire socialite , who has died in her sleep from a pulmonary embolism at the age of 84. She had submitted to so much surgery in her quest to make her eyes look more cat-like that ended up looking absolutely nothing like one, though quite a lot like the Elephant Man. She just wanted to be beautiful and loved, she lamented. So where’s the surgeon responsible for the monstrous result, and why hasn’t their licence been revoked?
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I am sick of the New Year already, aren’t you? Everywhere you look it’s how to lose weight/get rich/find love/discover meaning. TV ads are blinding us with holidays, the supermarkets think it’s Easter and astrologers are giving themselves hernias trying to think up fresh ways to deliver old-hat predictions. You know what’s new about 2025? Same as it ever was.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The real story about and is not that he has quit this coming summer’s line-up because he had uncovered the extent to which the have their mitts in its organisation and management, but the fact that he agreed to perform there in the first place. Yes, he did so 16 years ago, headlining Glasto in 2009.
But the festival in those days was a very different kettle of fish. It still had the overhang of counterculture and an air of spirited innocence. The eccentric non-conformist famous for his part in Crosby, Stills Nash and Young and Crazy Horse has long been known for his resistance of the mainstream and abhorrence of corporate control. His songs say it: This is Nowhere, Rockin’ in the Free World and After the Goldrush. Sort of.
Set to appear with his new band the Chrome Hearts, the gnarled 79-year-old now declares “It’s not the way I remember it being,” and that it is “not for me like it used to be”. Which is kind of the same thing. It is also life.