The One with the Girls on Film

A rainy Monday night and for whatever reason, I’ve booked (free) tickets to be in a television studio audience of a dating show. I had asked The Husband if he wanted to come. Bearing in mind that I have previously dragged him to the first taping of Britain’s Got Talent I wasn’t entirely surprised when he gave me a gentle ‘nah, you’re good’ response. Once bitten and all that.

And yet, as I love seeing how these things are put together (University Challenge for example does not stack the contestants on top of each other), I still wanted to go. I needed an accomplice. Local Manchester girl about town, Red, had never been to a studio taping and was vaguely curious. So she came. What a good sport.

The premise of the show (hosted by Brian McFadden) is that there are four guys and forty girls. During each round, the girls find out a little more about the guys and based on whether they like what they hear, they stand in a queue for the guy. The guy with the biggest, ahem, queue then gets to choose a lucky lady to take on a date. This is really a poor girl’s Take Me Out, I know.


I told Red there would be beer. And I was half right. There was fake ‘stage beer’ in plastic bottles glued to the tables – not even enough to get us fake hammered. Sorry, Red. Being a single lass (shocking, I know!), I also encouraged her to sign up to take part in the show, but thankfully she declined. You’ll see why shortly…


Cameras not strictly permitted in the studio, but by the time I took these shots I was bored enough to actually want to be kicked out. Anyway, this will give you an idea of the contestants on the show. Full of scantily clad fame-seeking attention whores, pouting incessantly whenever a camera was in front of them, scowling like a woman scorned when it wasn’t. Dancing to the club music, trying to look sexy, it’s what I imagine the inside of Tiger Tiger looks like at 3am right before the fights break out.


The stilettos caused so much damage that the production team were frequently gaffer taping the floor back down. Given how often the contestants were collapsing in aching heaps on the floor, I can only imagine what the shoes were doing to their feet. The show took a bit longer than expected to record; could have been the newness of it, the challenge of directing a group of girls who were all sharing a single brain cell or the fact that Brian McFadden is not good at reading an auto cue. Or all of the above.


Eventually a winner was announced and they were awarded a night out at a curry house. For reals. I’m not making that shit up. It wasn’t even a holiday to some shitty part of Tenerife. No wonder the 39 little darlings who didn’t win were pissed off; they’d just spent four hours standing around in uncomfortable shoes while an ageing boy band member made fun of their tits, voting for some guys who would eventually reject them. And they didn’t even get bus fare home. A sad day for forward-thinking women everywhere.


It was enough to make you weep into your fake beer.

Still, I got to see the Countdown clock. And that almost made it worth it.
Buddum, buddum, budda-ba-dah….booooo!

25 thoughts on “The One with the Girls on Film”

  1. Having briefly dated a girl in Manchester, I am painfully aware of the paucity of choices available to anyone with a mental age greater than an artichoke and a requirement for entertainment to no be billed in terms such as “starring Big Brother Series 7’s runner up….”, but seriously?

    Did your toenails not need clipping that evening or the local college run out of places on the basket-weaving course?

    1. Did you ever put salt on a slug to watch it writhe about in pain for your amusement then realise it wasn’t that entertaining? I think that’s what I did.

      1. I’ve just had another look at the photos. Did they only invite weightwatchers members?

        Was the warm up act The Lucky Numbers?

  2. I will always take the time to read an article when there are picture like these accompanying them, I guess I must have been affected by the pommy page 3 gimmick as a young boy.

    Meanwhile down here in Brisbane some of the smarter and appealing millennial girls are doing things like inventing apps designed to meet the requirements of that age group. This one below which is under development supposedly solves the common position of “dunno” that plagues their generation. They probably wouldn’t get the curry thing either although you could put an option in for curry, kebab or Chinese.

    1. Just checked it out. Now there is an app that really solves a problem that never existed.
      Maybe I’m decisive by nature, but I cannot imagine consulting my friends about such minor decisions. Unless maybe it was ‘fold’ or ‘scrunch’.

      1. Its all about the young uns these days (including fashion) and they can be very indecisive and incommunicative, so I am told.

        Just think how good you would feel if you suddenly obtained a means of overcoming dunno!

        PS I agreed with the restaurant choice.

        1. Uncommunicative? Tell that to my buddy whose crotch- fruit ran up a thousand quid bill on her blackberry by messaging her friends. Today’s youth are more connected than ever, cannot move for multiple pouting selfies that look identical. Had to unfriend.

          I do not have a ‘dunno’ problem. Other than what would I use that app for? Dunno.

                1. That one actually makes *some* sense. It reminds me of a previous boyfriend who tracked everything he spent in our relationship to the last penny. For reals. If he spent 38p, it went on his little list. Annoying.

                  1. That makes sense as I also classify sheilas as a recurring expenses. Although I tend to only put diamonds, pearls and champagne on the sheet.

      2. “Unless maybe it was ‘fold’ or ‘scrunch’”

        We have banned our kids from taking their iPhones into the dunny.

  3. Dancing to the club music, trying to look sexy, it’s what I imagine the inside of Tiger Tiger looks like at 3am right before the fights break out.

    Says the girl who recently went to The Ritz. The Ritz makes Tiger Tiger look as exclusive as an oligarch’s private club in central Moscow.

    1. Agree, The Ritz as a venue is a shithole, however I’ll go anywhere there is decent music. Tiger Tiger does not have decent music.

  4. Tell that to my buddy whose crotch- fruit ran up a thousand quid bill on her blackberry by messaging her friends.

    I thought the whole appeal of Blackberry was that the messages between units were free. Maybe her mates had iPhones?

    1. Regardless of the device, the father had purchased a text bundle which seemed far beyond what he thought she would use. It wasn’t even close, and each text sent above the bundle threshold was charged at premium rates. Ouch.
      You are probably right, may not have been BBM, I just assume only people either under 20 or above 50 use those handsets.

  5. Oh, and on the subject of Countdown…never liked it, mainly because it allowed the entire country to assume that being able to do mental arithmetic quickly automatically made Carol Vorderman some kind of genius and henceforth hold her up as the benchmark of intelligence. She got a fucking third in her degree, FFS. Half of my engineering course were smarter than her, yet she was wheeled out to explain the odds of the National Lottery when it launched as if nobody else could (and she failed to point out that it was a tax on those who are shit at maths).

    I preferred 15 to 1, whose contestants were genuinely knowledgeable.

    1. She got a THIRD?? Fuck me, a chimp in overalls can get a third.
      And yes, I’m more of a University Challenge kind of girl. I feel clever if I’ve understood the question.

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