Abby Clancy is generally speaking a good thing.
She keeps England’s favourite beanpole Peter Crouch warm, is fantastically easy on the eye and has a very sweet Scouse accent. Abby Clancy on television on the other hand, is a bad thing, as anyone who watched The Fashion Show (ITV) this week will attest. For a start she can’t stay in frame, she can’t read the autocue and she is about as wooden as Edward Woodward chopping wood in Sherwood Forest. Her only saving grace is that she is only the 2nd worst thing about the show. The worst being George Lamb.
Her only saving grace is that she is only the 2nd worst thing about the show
The Lambster, as he probably insists on being called, is a bit rubbish. Yes, I’m sure he is a great hit with ‘the laydeez’ and yes, he does have a natty collection of waistcoats and a fine taste in shoes, which I suppose qualifies him to co-present a show about fashion. What those things don’t qualify him for, is a career as a presenter. Thankfully, from the look of complete boredom on his face on this week’s show, it looks as if he’s going off the idea of presenting as a career anyway.
The show has also made a fairly basic error with it’s main runway, which has garish fluorescent lighting beneath it, thereby making it almost impossible to actually see the clothes being modeled with any clarity. Admittedly, such a gripe is on a par with Grandparently whinges about not being able to hear the lyrics to pop music, but if I’m trying to admire the 60s-inspired cut of a sequined cocktail dress, I’d rather not be so completely dazzled by the fucking floor. Not that I’m into sequined cocktail dresses or anything. They clash with my diamante shoes.
I also caught Miami Ink this week (Discovery/DMAX). Tattoos are a very strange art form to me. Personally speaking, my tastes change very rapidly, and what I like now I may well be apathetic to in a year. Tattoos seem like too much of a commitment – there’s no leeway for error, no room to change your mind. Undoubtedly the tattoo artists on Miami Ink are very talented, but the main reason for watching isn’t to see gnarly inkwork, it’s for that horribly awkward moment when the tattoo is finished and the person is either completely delighted with it, or slightly underwhelmed and immediately regretting their decision. It’s like a more intense version of the look that people adopt when Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen has ruined their bedroom by liberally placing fans of swords and MDF all over the place. The words they say express thanks, but their eyes simply scream, “oh fuck, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, get me away from this now.” Obviously I’m not suggesting I enjoy those moments, but they certainly are compelling.
Obviously I’m not suggesting I enjoy those moments
Some things like tattoos are supposed to be permanent – an investment in something that will stay with the individual forever, to be viewed every day, to be admired and cherished as part of that person. If The Fashion Show were a tattoo it would be tattoo done with invisible ink – you know it’s there but nobody else sees it, nobody talks about it, and pretty soon, you forget you even have a tattoo at all. You just remember it was pretty painful to sit through.
