The Week on the Telly: September 23 2011 by shoutingatco.ws

71 Degrees North, ITV1

NOTE: There were many times during the ensuing hour when I wondered if I was in fact the only person watching this programme.

ITV, ever keen to break new boundaries, has sent a group of celebrities (I use the term loosely, as the group included celebrity hairdresser Nicky Clarke and gardener Charlie Dimmock, who scarred me as a child with her compulsive bra-less-ness) to the Arctic. They are racing deep into the Arctic Circle. Presumably this show is the result of a painfully intense coffee-fuelled brain-storming session between increasingly desperate ITV interns. Needless to say, it is presented by Paddy McGuiness and a generic woman companion who says nothing. Luckily everyone is wearing too many layers for it to be apparent whether Charlie wears a bra these days.

Its day 4, and Martin Kemp, enjoying a break from having to use deodorant everyday, feels refreshed. Unfortunately, today’s challenge is to jump off a ship into the icy water and swim half a mile, so it looks like Martin will be getting a bath after all. Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea that could result in death? Oh, it’s OK, there’s a team in a dingy to haul John Thompson to safety when he almost drowns. WHAT A RELIEF.

Charlie is a gardener, and has to go up ladders to prune trees. Unfortunately this in no way prepares her for an eight foot jump into freezing cold water, and she fails. I’m kind of astonished that, after all these years, she still has an agent. Former Hollyoaks actor, Sean McGuire manages the swim, but he isn’t happy. A researcher asks him why he has such a defeatist attitude, and he has a tantrum. This is very different from his life in L.A. It’s at this point that I find myself longing for the cheery faux stoicism of Bear Grylls.

After a two mile hike, the group reach camp, where Martin Kemp reveals a disturbing constipation secret (it’s been FOUR days), while, John Thompson feels emasculated because he didn’t get to do the fire. This is about as exciting as it gets.

It’s the next day, and time for more Arctic walking and abseiling. Old man Martin falls in the snow and twists his hip. ‘I carry a few sporting injuries,’ he informs us, ‘from fifty years of life.’ Fifty, Martin? I never would have guessed.

The abseiling is next.

‘I maybe should have sorted out my will before I left,’ whispers Angelica Bell, her face fearful as a man checks her harness. Behind her several more professional looking men sort out all the ropes and karabiners, and oversee the abseiling. No celebrities will die on ITV’s watch after all.

The tension is palpable as both teams near the finishing line, still pushing the mystery box. Yes, the mystery box! Haven’t you noticed the mystery box? This is not literally the first time it’s been mentioned! Anyway, the red team win! Hurrah! They open the mystery box to reveal a reindeer carcass. Their disappointment turns to joy as Paddy explains that the carcass will be prepared by a top chef in a luxury cabin, because carcass tastes all the sweeter when you’ve dragged it through the snow yourself in a box. Meanwhile, the other team have to sleep out in the cold AGAIN.

They even have to pitch their tent themselves. This is the final straw for John Thompson. He’s an actor, not an Arctic explorer you know.

Another day brings yet another endurance challenge; for both celebrity and viewer. Paddy and his lady-friend buzz around smugly above the contestants in a helicopter, as the celebrities are suspended off a bridge by their own hands. If they let go, they plunge to their death….well, to the end of a rope. This leads into an arbitrary eviction for no purpose other than to make this all seem a bit like a competition.

*waits*

JOHN THOMPSON HAS BEEN VOTED OFF.

HOLD THE FRONT PAGE.

Downton Abbey, ITV1

It is the greatest sadness of my life that I will never be able to stride self-importantly into the garden of my stately home, clutching a telegram in my trembling hand, to tell my assembled guests that Britain is at war. Alas, the invention of the smart phone has crushed all the drama out of delivering bad news. At best, I might be the fifteen hundredth person to re-tweet it on Twitter. Thank the gods then for Downton, basically a soap that it’s acceptable for middle-class people to like, fulfilling all our posh people go to war needs. Downton is often slow moving and dull, with endless scenes of people holding tea cups and discussing entail, but its World War One now, so we’re pretty much guaranteed someone getting mangled in the trenches, after knocking up some unmarried girl back home.

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