Two multiplied by 10, plus one, Romeo's Dunn! I'm seething at this news; I mean how on earth those two deluded blondes are still roaming around the house with their attitudes in everyone's face, more than their ridiculous asses, bewilders me. Romeo is a true gent, and just because he chose not to sleaze on any women or pull some pants down doesn't mean he deserved to miss out on a slot in Friday's final. 21 second rant over, now I'm all gravy.
Tonight also saw Nicola McMean get the boot, which she truly deserved for being one of those women who will kiss you on the cheek but hold a gun to your back. I know what it's like to be insecure, and she definitely falls short of that category by a long mile. She remained secure in her leopard print Barbie doll dress and six inch heels; I'm pretty sure Michael has been giving away his animal print clothing, as Dowling was sporting a grrrrreat tie.
Prior to this evenings events; I won't sleep tonight knowing that the only way I can gain access to Romeo's mug is by reliving his So Solid videos on YouTube, the housemates were coping with the aftermath of Pant Gate. When I say coping, I do of course mean ignoring each other, smoking like chimneys and peeling the hell out of a poor potato. Romeo chose to play house mediator, and during my day job as a receptionist for a Barristers firm I know how goddamn boring mediators can be; I live in hope that Romey will saunter through my works door, salute me and tell me I am 'blessed.' Mr Smooth tried telling the twins that Denise wasn't a bad person, well unless you give her a lager and add Michael in the equation.
Once the drama had died down, the housemates began name dropping like David Gest in the jungle. Denise turned the conversation back to her, bragging how she partied with Robbie Williams and was next to Victoria Beckham on a flight from LA; oh how the other half live. Well my dear Denise, your fellow housemate Frankie follows me on Twitter after a blog I wrote for this very site, so that makes us pretty much, erm, even.
The final is only two days away, which makes me sad as my Big Brother blogging days are coming to an end. If I were a betting woman, my money would go on Gareth, as he has shown his true personality and I 100% believe he has been genuine; not a mean feat after coming out of that closet a short while ago. The twins must honestly believe they have a shot of winning, and who can blame them after managing to stay in tonight; dreams of movies, calendars and a slot on Loose Women will fill their heads tonight, which makes a change from Frankie's lewd comments and a whole lot of air.
Big Brother is looking for new recruits this summer and I have been loosely toying with the idea, but then I remember that the world and his wife would see me make-up less, drunk, emotional, on the toilet, and no amount of Heat magazine exposure would ever persuade me to be that open in front of the nation's prying eyes.
I heart Big Brother, but the instant celebrity element of it does wind me up immensely, as I see former contestants landing gigs as presenters, and worst of all writers. Granted, you take every opportunity you can when fame lands in your lap, but if being famous for getting slaughtered and getting your leg over is the definition of a celebrity then I'd of been in OK! years ago.