I was sitting on my sofa the other night, munching
on Malteasers, casually watching tv, finding myself getting all worked up about
how many idiots there were in the world. I was thinking ‘where do they find
these people’ ‘I hate them all!’ but most importantly… ‘Why am I watching
this?’ This occurs night after night, it’s like an addiction, the addiction
that is Big Brother. Throughout the programme I’m tweeting my disgust for
Lydia, my hatred for anyone who says they want to go home, and how crap Scotts
hair is looking. Basically if I didn’t love Malteasers so much they’d be thrown
at the tv! And I’m not the only one, it seems to be something that is catching
on. Everyone who is tweeting about it is commenting on something they hate about
it. I honestly dislike 90% of the people on the show and more often than not,
after the hour of attention seeking has finished, I find myself just annoyed
and irritated at the world.
Why do I do it to myself?
Like 200,000-odd others I follow heatworld on
twitter, and I spend a lot of my time thinking ‘NOBODY CARES!’ to the stuff
they tweet. Josie Gibson, winner of Big Brother a few years ago has a new beach
body! Really, Heat Magazine? Does anyone really want to know?… well yes, it
seems. I find a lot of what they say
incredibly annoying, the way they get overly excited when they are stood in the
cold at a premier (you’re journalists and work for one of the biggest gossip
mags in the country, surely you’re used to this by now?!) But yet, only
yesterday I found myself sitting in the park after handing over my £1.65 for
130 pages of Z-list CRAP.
I could easily click unfollow and it will all go
away, no more boring tweets about Michelle Heaton’s baby weight, or Joey Essex’s
love life. I could easily spend that £1.65 on something I actually need…like Malteasers.
But I just can’t do it.
Facebook is another one. I hate it, I really do.
I hate being constantly reminded of people I used to know and don’t speak to
anymore. There’s a reason we lost touch so why do I need to see what their baby
did today?
But have I deleted my account? Course not. I
have tried limiting my friend list to just people I talk to in real life but
even then it still drives me mad. What is this generation’s fascination with
sharing? (that’s a whole other blog entry entirely…) I describe Facebook like
going to the fridge when you’re skint and hungry, you open it over and over
again, but there’s still nothing there worth your time. But the fact that I still
log into Zuckerberg’s masterpiece everyday must mean something.
Maybe I like having something to moan about? On
some level maybe it makes me feel better about my life. Maybe it’s a case of schadenfreude,
I just like seeing things go wrong for others. So I continue with this
addiction on the off-chance something great happens, I just don’t want to miss
out!
I’d like to think we all do it, I hear people
moaning about the tabloids every day. Yet these papers are still very big
names, even after all the scandals. I see people expressing their hatred for
the Daily mail, yet tweeting their articles constantly. It’s just the stuff we
love to hate. These companies know what they’re doing, they don’t care if we
like them or not, as long as we’re still making them money.
I hate Bluewater, but I still go. I hate the tube, but I’m on the northern line
on a regular basis and honestly if someone took it away I’d cry. It’s even the
same with food chains, ‘All you can eat Chinese
for £4?! Wow it’s going to be delicious!’ A couple of hours later and I’m
rolling around moaning about a stomach ache that I just cant understand. I’ll
moan about the place to anyone who will listen but give it a month or 2, and
I’ll be back, and I’ll be appalled that they’ve had the cheek to put it up for
£4.50!
Recently I went into McDonalds, I wasn’t even
hungover so I had no excuse. But even though I know their food isn’t exactly
like going to the Savoy, I went in to get a burger. Each time I have high expectations.
‘This is going to be the one , the burger of burgers. I’ll never pay £15 for a
burger in a gastro-pub again!’ And I’m greeted by a battered box of grease and
some sorry looking lettuce. I sit down and moan about how miserable the person
serving me was, the ‘types of people who love this stuff’ and how I’m
surrounded by cretins. I’m telling myself I’ll never grace the golden arches again,
but not before saying ‘shall we get a Mcflurry for the road…?’