Right… That’s it. My love affair with Deal Or No Deal is officially over and bearded dwarf, Noel Edmonds, is no longer my friend.
At first it was magical, oddly hypnotic and the stuff of which cult TV dreams are made. People watched in bewildered awe, baffled by the enigma that was ‘the banker’ and stunned by Edmonds’ bizarre ravings about tactics in a game which appeared to be nothing more than random number picking. It breathed new life into the daily schedules of students, jobless smack heads and bedridden pensioners with a vigour not seen since Bargain Hunt. It had the makings of a Countdown or a Fifteen to One. It could have been something big. Something special.
But no… it all went horribly, horribly wrong. Once the bright young darling of Channel Four’s daytime line-up, Deal or No Deal seems to have now taken on a strangely depressing, sinking quality. After over a year, it has become blindingly obvious that no one ever wins any real money and it looks like no one ever will. The contestants seem to be getting increasingly desperate. Once bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, enchanted by the strategically-shaven majesty of their re-born host; they looked like they really believed. In recent weeks, though, they appear dishevelled and seem to be more disillusioned with Edmonds’ unwavering confidence. Broken and lacking in spirit; they have come to reflect the sorry nature of the unemployable, Pot Noodle wielding masses who watch them on a day-to-day basis.
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Don’t blame the contestants though. They’re innocent. The reason I think Deal Or No Deal has become unwatchable is not them, but the tiny man at the centre. Like some unbearable, hairy TV Machiavelli, he has wormed his way back into our living rooms. He should have been lynched for Noel’s House Party, but he wasn’t. He just went away, festered for a bit then came back when no one was looking and seemed to be even more sickeningly pleased with himself than before. Deal or No Deal has been hugely successful. He must know this and seems to have convinced himself it is single-handedly down to him. His pieces to camera are getting longer, more flamboyant and to my mind becoming mildly creepy. I can’t help wondering if he has been tempted to coyly mention the idea of re-naming the show ‘Noel’s Deal or No Deal’, I bet he considers the entire project ‘his baby’. Noel Edmonds has now twice become the most irritating person on national television (surely setting some kind of record) and he must be stopped. Immediately.
Okay… I’m done. Now, as promised last week, my tips for the best places in London to get relaxed, chatty and confident followed by embarrassingly emotional, then aggressive and suicidally depressed before being violently sick in your own lap (my pub guide). Now if like me you’re a well-dressed foppish-dandy looking for a place to get a bevvy in east London, but you’re sick of trendy Hoxton bars and at the same time don’t want to risk getting your head kicked in by locals who might jokingly refer to you and you girlfriend as “a pair o’ lesbians”, head to The Approach Tavern in Bethnal Green. It’s an honest boozer with good music and good food, and is refreshingly lacking in the pretension and naff, characterless decor of so many modern bars. Though it looks like an old-fashioned pub inside, it’s just hip enough to avoid feeling like the scene from American Werewolf in London and you needn’t worry about getting chinned for wearing your sister’s cardigan.
Up the road (heading towards Hackney) is The Dolphin. It’s a classic little gaff. Originally a proper east-end boozer, it has been half taken over by Hackney art students looking for a place that stays open till the last person standing falls over and is dragged out unconscious and bleeding. The locals have stayed though, and the pub now exists with a weird fifty-fifty balance of young trendies and people who look like they might stab you for looking at their pint in the wrong way. Despite this, the atmosphere is fine and I have never stayed late enough to see it shut. Highly recommended!
My official new favourite boozer in London, though, is The Faltering Fullback in Finsbury Park. Lured there by a borderline-alcoholic acquaintance on the strength of its Monday night quiz, I discovered a haven of traditional pub décor and friendly staff (apart from the quizmaster who did become mildly infuriated by our constant shouting). Another agreeable feature is a juke box that includes an impressive array of eighties stadium rock. You know it Makes sense! Don’t expect to see me in there though… I’m barred!
Also advised for cheap drinking are the numerous Samuel Smiths Pubs in Soho where you can indulge in the guilt-free necking of Alpine Lager at £2 a pint. These include The John Snow (not named after the newsreader) and The Red Lion just off Carnaby Street, which is often frequented by rebel darts collective, The Arrows of Destiny (featured next week).
When I wasn’t getting pissed this week or watching Deal Or No Deal, I was dancing at White Heat, strutting at KoKo and generally getting my little rocks off all over town. Next week look out for Headless at 93 Feet East and the Love Music Hate Racism night at Fabric featuring Babyshambles and The Mystery Jets.
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Michael Wylie - Harris (www.myspace.com/wyliekayote)