Right. So the first preview of #FGT was pretty much awesome fun.
I have relented on my intro music. I was trying to be all arty, and whimsical and play music with no lyrics (because I have to talk over it to introduce myself, so it seems rude to have someone singing at that point), but then I realised that given the subject matter of the show, there was only one song that was appropriate. It is horribly obvious, but I play it again at the end, and after everybody has left, I dance around the empty seats for five minutes before the next show bumps in. It's much more fun than sitting backstage looking off into the middle distance.
Last night, a new anecdote popped into my head right at the moment I needed it, which is both amazing and annoying all at the same time. Most of my work happens in what I call "the back office;" my subconscious.
Look, I haven’t blogged in about forever, but this week, I was horrified by something on twitter that I couldn’t sum up in 140 characters or less.
For the past five days, I’ve been given access to Chrissie Swan’s twitter account (@ChrissieSwan), to send out tweets while she’s in the jungle on I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. For the most part, it’s been an enjoyable experience. Cracking gags about celebrities sticking their heads into piles of poo, and being confronted with a meal of an ostrich sphincter. Most of Chrissie’s followers have responded well, sending messages of encouragement and support. Not all of them, however.
Now, I should clarify, that most of the tweets I put out under Chrissie’s name, I signed off with my own twitter handle. I thought that should make things perfectly obvious that it wasn’t my beloved La Swan tweeting, but my own depraved self.