....Says Masterchef’s Gregg Wallace. Err what? Come again? For the love of God, how delusional do you have to be to look like Mr Potato Head and still come out with a statement like that eh? I mean, has he had a good look in the mirror at all lately? Crikey, it seems old King Edward head has no difficulty getting all manner of women to take their kit off for him. The phrase ‘pass me a bucket’ slips easily from my lips.
I like Masterchef, I like it a lot and the format is exponentially better than when whiney old Lloyd Grossman, or Gross Lloydman as I used to call him, with his mid Atlantic accent used to prance about on it, but let’s face it, the real talent on that show now is John Torode, followed by quite a few handsome and talented male contestants, followed by some of the uglier contestants who hail from small villages where the gene pool choice is seriously restricted, followed by some gnarled looking turnips that need a wash, followed by a Monkfish and somewhere down the line, holding up the rear, would be Mr Wallace sporting his face that looks remarkable like a slapped arse or a kilo of tripe in a string bag.
Now there is no doubt that some eejit with a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle and suffering from severe myopia with an IQ of 80 might just find Mr Wallace the hot bit of stuff he claims to be. Celebrity has its way of attracting a certain type of person who craves fame, fortune and attention and it doesn’t really matter what the target celeb looks like, or whether they have talent or integrity, just as long as they are ‘off the telly’. Given the criteria just detailed, Mr Wallace’s conquests may be, as he claims, as young as 21 but that’s bugger all to brag about really; Perhaps I am being unfair here, for I could have mistaken him talking about their average IQ rather than their age. Moreover, I’d be inclined to wonder if these nubile young conquests of his still had a pulse or not. Or perhaps he’s indiscriminate and even has dalliances with the older lady because their ability to be grateful makes him feel philanthropic. I just hope he took along a mirror for those octogenarians to make sure they were still breathing too. Whatever their age though, it’s no guarantee that they are fit looking women or whether they are intelligent enough to know what they are doing or indeed if they can walk and chew gum at the same time without falling over. I mean are they capable of using reason to deduce that one day they might just live to regret sleeping with reality televisions’ equivalent of a ‘two bagger’?; That’s where you put a paper bag over his head and one over yours just in case his falls off during sex. Now that’s what I call using protection during intercourse, well that and donning a suit that would require having to use a tin opener to get to me if it meant I had to sleep with Mr Wallace. It's a shame he felt the need to boast about cheating so much on his wife within weeks of marriage and heaven's knows what his kids will think of his comments too. There doesn't seem to be any remorse that he hurt his family deeply and now he's boasting about his many sexual conquests and how one in particular, the 21 year old he picked up, bored him.
But, to be fair, ugly people need love too and as nature abhors a vacuum, it is understandable that alcohol was invented to aid them in their quest to bag a bonk every now and then. Let’s face it, how many of us have donned our beer-goggles after a night of overindulging? Perspectives change to the point that even the most discerning of us will find the allure of a greasy late night kebab from a white van in a lay-by a veritable banquet that slips down the throat with immense ease – not to mention finding it slipping back up the throat with even greater ease later on. Of course, our impaired judgement doesn’t end with dodgy food. Alcohol has the immense ability to mind-alter the repulsive into the deeply desirable. There you are laughing your head off, feeling witty, more attractive than you ever thought possible and quite simply the most entertaining person that ever lived. If only. If only you could see you as others do right there, ten sheets to the wind and on the make to snare that gorgeous catch in the corner. And then, somewhere down the line, you wake up.......
.......Cue eyes opening that are crusty and half welded shut with mangled mascara and as your vision makes a return from blind drunk, and sobriety and bright unforgiving daylight does its work, you realise that you have entered the realms of Coyote Ugly. Your hear a scream of horrifying proportions but nothing comes out of your mouth and then you realise it was a silent scream, an involuntary cry for help as you focus on the horror that lies snoring and dribbling beside you. Oh dear God, NOT COYOTE UGLY, not again. For the love of God, what the hell is up with me you ask yourself as you fight to quell the rising bilge in your stomach, unsure as to whether it’s a hangover of severe proportions or the mere sight of the monster muntah lying next to you in bed. The shame is just too much and slowly you attempt to make a move, to extricate yourself from this fate worse than death. Praying for a break, you slowly try to pull your arm free but realise it's well and truly lodged under his shoulders. To make any more effort would be to wake your ‘bedmate from hell’ and you have no option but to take drastic action, to chew your arm off and make a getaway before said muntah makes a recovery and asks for your number. But hey, you can kid yourself on but the reality is you might just be his Coyote Ugly muntah date from hell so getting away first is probably more damage limitation of your emotions than anything else that might be going on in your thumping dehydrated head.
But alcohol isn’t the only aphrodisiac at the disposal of the aesthetically challenged. Let’s face it, television has enchanted many a poor sap into thinking that because someone stands in front of a camera then he/she is loaded, must be God-like in some way and clearly has magic powers so that they attract the permanently bewildered or the ‘Gold-diggers R Us’ brigade. How else would people like Mr Wallace be able to have sex with something other than a blow up rubber doll and a foot-pump? He cheated consistently within weeks of his second marriage and as long as he was home before the kids went to school, he seems to think that was acceptable. God, what a catch eh? To think I missed out on snaring him. I think his wife had a lucky escape when the marriage crumbled. He clearly knows his celebrity is the pull and not his dashing good looks and devastating personality. You’d think the follicle challenged bespectacled eejit would keep schtum about that little fact.
But you know, it isn’t how he looks that truly makes him ugly for on the whole, he isn’t an ugly man. It’s his lack of discretion, his vanity, his self belief that he deserves to sleep with all and sundry and that his cheating is a right of passage that makes hum deeply unattractive. I like quirky looking guys, I’m not attracted to the classic male model groomed to the hilt look and I can see beauty in any face that shows kindness, laughter lines, love, joy and wisdom. Beauty is truly skin deep and no one is really ugly unless is seeps out from a bad heart. And beauty is subjective, let’s face it, maybe each and every one of us has been or might be a Coyote ugly moment for someone else. You hope to God not, but hey, that’s life.
‘So Gregg Wallace, are you really the cooking woman’s crumpet? Somehow I don’t think so; to me you’re more like a deflated soufflé. There’s nothing more unattractive than a kiss and tell merchant, someone who brags about their conquests. But like attracts like and I suppose that you get what you deserve in life and perhaps the females that he is so boastful about bedding don’t care about his huge ego and fragile self esteem. Perhaps, they find skirting around the edges of celebrity with a z-lister is enough of a springboard to capitulate them towards their real goal of being hangers on in a world that offers glitter and dubious fame and for that, the price of a bonk with a rather sadly delusional old fart of a man is a price worth paying... Shame, I quite liked him until I read his interview.
P.S. I never had a Coyote Ugly experience in my life, too much of a Catholic goody two shoes and I was never interested in a hit and run bonk, too busy drinking and having a lugh for that, but a couple of my colleagues did on those far away foreign trips we went on. This is my tribute to their ability to survive it and move on in life!
