‘I’m Desperate – Get Me Publicity’ - Your cut out & keep guide to the showbiz event of the season

Until a few generations ago, our forebears measured the passing of the seasons by the ripening of their crops, the migrations of the birds, and by noticing how bloody cold it was in their unheated hovels.

Now we know that Christmas is coming because X-Factor’s on, the Easter stock is in Tesco’s and a group of people that you half recognize from the pages of Hot Stars magazine are about to go on a pretty disappointing holiday. For money.

You can’t be bothered with all that nonsense though can you? You’ve got glamorous parties to go to, and The Walking Dead to watch.

Here, then, to save you all the tedium of watching 'I’m Not Quite A Celebrity, Please Remedy This' are the celebrated individuals to whom Ant and Dec will be feeding the ghastliest canapés in Christendom this Winter

Elsewhere on the Web: Josh Burt EATS the X Factor for Sabotage Times

The practically peerless Josh Burt has got some revealing insights into next week's X Factor show.

Well, insights or some of those wicked American pain-killers that make you see little MC Escher lizards crawling around in your wallpaper pattern. it's hard to say which.

Either way, it's a fun read:

Next week, the favourite, Matt, who oscillates between wearing a hat and not wearing a hat, before singing songs initially intended only for women, will do a version of “My neck, my back” by Kia, cleverly redubbed “My penis, my beard”.

Aiden will continue in his quest to monopolise the misunderstood demographic by singing in the style of a man bleeding to death. Cher will start by singing, before whipping a shiv from her tracksuit top, and rapping from the side of her mouth like the woman in those hilarious having a stroke adverts.

Paige will remain outwardly unoffended when Louis Walsh tells him – without irony – that he reminds him of Lenny Henry, Luther Vandross, Frank Bruno, or Kris Akabusi.

Spooks, cookery and the nature of reality

I’m no fool. Or, rather, I am – but not in the following context. I knew that it would be practically impossible to avoid discussion of the eighth and final episode of the current series of Spooks as part of my daily discourse with the great and the good on Twitter.

So, fresh from the Call Of Duty: Black Ops launch I settled down with a rum in hand and a good deal of Activision’s complimentary beer coursing through my bloodstream to watch the endgame for Section D’s identity-stealing field commander.

One might think that, given how much I had deliberately befuddled my critical faculties it would be a confusing hour but I found the show surprisingly easy to follow.

Spooks likes to flatter its audience with twists, turns and double-bluffs designed to make them feel clever but there was none of that last night. The pursuit of the team’s former leader was straightforward enough and within the context of the show’s established rules ‘plausible’.

There was of course the shooting of some unknown innocent on London’s streets that we all agreed to forget about and some time-saving IT jiggery-pokery from Tariq but the show’s an hour long as it and some of us had to get some sleep. It’s only reasonable to take a few short cuts.

This time-saving has connected in my mind with a directive sent to the BBC this morning about their content. They have been chided about the number of identikit programmes the produce about members of the public antiquing with their mothers in Eastbourne or buying houses to put all their crappy antiques in.

Rightly so, in my view. Reality shows seem to me to be part of a general societal trend towards de-skilling. The people perpetrating this crime against competence tend to talk about ‘democracy’ a lot but essentially reality shows are part of the trend to employ cheaper labour.

After all, reality shows are scarcely about reality. They’re fiddled with and edited and key parts are re-enacted to make reality seem interesting. If you were to film real reality, it would be as dull as Andy Warhol’s interminable art film about the Empire State building.

Without the realism.

Spooks, the Likely Lads, and the return of Lady Mary's Deadly Vajazzle

So for the first two days of this blog’s short life I have been rattling on about how social networking toys – most notably Twitter – enhance and expand the television-watching experience.

But there is of course a downside.

I’m very fond of Spooks. More specifically, I’m very fond of #spooks. That’s the hashtag that brings together a temporary online community which takes enormous delight in every improbable plot twist or convenient technological shortcut thrown up by BBC 1’s fast-moving and deliciously daft spy drama.

However, I have interests apart from watching the telly. Oh yes. I quite like brutally violent videogames too. Tonight I’m going to a press launch for Black Ops, the latest iteration of the Call Of Duty franchise.

I’m very pleased to be attending but of course that means missing the last Spooks episode of the season. It’s bound to be packed with incident and accident. Every twist and turn will be faithfully chronicled and discussed by that community on Twitter.

How will I remain ignorant of the outcome until tomorrow night when I can catch up on the iPlayer?