Daytime telly is a haven for insane menopausal hags as Nigella Lawson‘s shell-shocked audience bear mute witness to every week.
It’s probably why Loose Women is in its eighth series having carved out a niche for its "lively mix of debate, gossip, humour and personal stories."
Gigantic flagcracker Coleen Nolan regularly guests on the panel. She once memorably claimed she was passed over for the This Morning presenter job because she was too porky. In the end the gig went to Fern Britton who, as we all know, is but gossamer upon the wind. Next week, Peter Kaye reveals how he was snubbed when Johnny Vegas‘s chiselled good looks got him the ITV Digital ‘munkeh’ ads.
"’Was he anything like Alfie Moon?’ the girls wonder. Well, he married a gobby fat fuck so art has imitated life to some degree."
Colleen was, however, once married to tv love skunk Shane Ritchie which gives her curio status. "Was he anything like Alfie Moon?" the girls wonder. Well, he married a gobby fat fuck so art has imitated life to some degree.
Also holed up in the once-married-to-someone-famous corner is Carol McGiffin. Carol is the unreconstructed cynic of the group, carrying a bitterness acquired from her marriage to Chris Evans. You could hear her derisive snorts upon his getting hitched to child-bride Billie Piper from the space station Mir. The Russians thought it was Mount Krakatoa acting up.
It’s hardly surprising – when your ex trades up the food chain to such a vision of lupine loveliness as Ms Piper you know your tardy carcass was disposed of in one of those cruelly inevitable survival of the fittest relationship evolution moments. And that’s before we even mention Kim Wilde, Melanie Sykes, Geri Halliwell and Anna Friel.
Coleen is frequently the butt of the jokes. There’s a subtle bullying feel to some of the exchanges – Kaye Adams being a successful journalist and McGiffin being a successful producer seem to be intimating to Colleen that she is here on sufferance. Fair enough I suppose, but don’t forget she was in The Nolan Sisters – because she certainly won’t fucking let you.
The first 15 minutes of each show seems to be total freewheeling, talking about whatever comes to mind. This is generally "I was on the train the other day" stories or thrice-removed urban myths. The show is lovingly padded out like an American footballer and about as subtle.
"Its TV for people who live in a world of dunked digestives disappearing to the bottom of their mugs"
Then there’s usually a chat with a woman who hacked off her own leg to use as a paddle to row to safety in the Rocky Mountains or some other true-life survival tale.
Much of Loose Women, in fact, has the same feel of being stuck with the magazines in a hospital waiting room for too long and digesting the adversity overcome, the recipes, the frivolous gossip and, yes, the uni-limbed kayaker.
It’s TV for people who live in a world of dunked digestives disappearing to the bottom of their mugs, who live in a state of perpetual bemusement at life, cracked off their collective bonce on oxycontin or diazepam, wondering if that nice Ted Heath is still Prime Minister.
You may rage against Loose Women for its stupidity, its frothiness, its inanity. My friend, you may as well rail against the ocean, the rain or John Noakes. Such things are merely facts of life. Facts of life your ass is going to have to get realisticalised to.
The best thing about it: When they allow somebody sexually attractive on.
The worst thing about it: When Anecdotes Attack.
The verdict on Loose Women: Airy filler for the masses.
Marks out of 10: 6