Letters From London
Humorous Views on London Culture, Royals, Gossip and Politics
Seven Days of Narcissistic Vacuity - 24 September 2010

Some of Channel Four’s new ‘reality show’ Seven Days cast:

Laura = wants a music career and unconditional praise

Sam = Make Me a Supermodel model, flat mate of gum-chewing Laura

Javan = naked chest-bearing jobless rapper

Moktar = Muslim student and youth charity worker

Cassie = mother airline pilot

Philip = misogynist airline pilot husband

Tara = Cassie’s sister

Malcolm = proud short dreads property developer

Nikki = Malcolm’s assistant

John = hairdresser/gossip

The synopsis:

“To capture the national conversation.” That must be ‘moi,moi, moi’. “Tell them what they should
do next.” That is assuming they are so thick they need instruction on how to brush their teeth...
which they clearly are.

“Anything can happen in seven days.” Only if we dump the solipsistic lot in the rubbish bags, set
them on Portobello Road and ring the council to have them carted off to the nearest  landfill.

Some of the not to be missed dialogue:

Laura: “I
swearrrrrr on my life.” After hitting her scrawny leg on a chest. Sam had to kiss it to
make it alllll better.

Sam: “I wouldn’t even wear that dress for
sick children.” Even if they were willing to die to see it?

Javan’s aunt: “You don’t have to go out there and rob,” after Javan threatens to sign on.

Malcolm: “You remind me of a cat...” to his girlfriend following his monologue about him keeping
his favourite dead cat in the freezer for years.

Had enough yet?

Cassie: “I want to be pregnant for evvvvvvvvver...without children”  which she and her sister find
riotously amusing. She had three IVF children from the same frozen sperm cell; twins and a third
one later.

Tara: “Men are more coordinated than woman.” What an idiot.

After having lived in the heart of Notting Hill for 10 years, shoved off the pavement too many
times by unnecessarily-tall-hair-tossing-blonde-American-bankers’-wives loaded down with
shopping bags, I moved 2 minutes away for toff relief.

Notting Hill has been over forever. Ubiquitous chain stores have replaced independent
shops/designers/antique dealers, more than 40 stalls have disappeared, new residents moved in
after ‘the movie’. The charm is gone...clearly the charmless have arrived.

The legendary Notting Hill Community leader, Frank Critchlow - the first black to set up a
restaurant in ‘the Grove’ in 1968, falsely imprisoned, won a record £50,000 in damages in 1992
against the Met, helped create the now famous Notting Hill Carnival must surely be turning in his
grave. He died a few days ago. Perhaps he didn’t want to listen to the camera-obsessed
narcissistic new reality show contestants droning on and on and on and on and on and on. Only a