WRDMonday Night Telly Review

I don't know, one minute you're watching Question Time starring Russell Brand and Nigel Farage on BBC2 on a Thursday night with a few cheeky pints of Pinot Grigio and a massive packet of prawn cocktail crisps, four days later you're watching Russell Brand doing a programme, I think, about how everyone needs to stop getting square about the drugs on BBC3 HD, and then the minute after that you're watching Nigel Farage on Channel 4 getting absolutely fucking paralytic with a couple of posh celebrity try-hards who are only famous for getting terminated in front of the telly on the fucking telly! I love the telly, me.

I'd never heard of Steph and Dom before being asked by Vice to write about them and Nigel Farage doing a programme togetherSteph and Dom Meet Nigel Farage was on last night and, SPOILER ALERT: it was fucking shit. The only reason I'm writing about it is for more digital exposure and some money. I guarantee that I’ll never watch Gogglebox ever again.

I initially offered to write this piece as an essential critique and examination into what could be a dark, purple-nosed heart of currently the most noticeable member of our political class and a potential future Prime Minister. Everyone loves Nigel Farage: I love him, my parents love him, my in-laws love him, all of my English neighbours love him (none of the Poles or the Asians in Northolt have a fucking clue what he’s saying so they don’t have an opinion on him), my Nanny Kath absolutely fucking loves Nigel Farage and she hates everyone, especially “the Muslims” and “the gays”, my plumber loves him, my sisters love him, The Sun loves him and my mate, Draper, loves him but I thought there must be more to him than appealing to the pissed-off English and being photographed drinking people under the table in newspapers. All of my friends and associates on social media reckon he’s properly fucking evil and I’ve always agreed with them in print whilst also thinking, deep down, that he actually seems like a laugh and it’d be funny if he got into power so I thought that something sinister and overtly racist might come out if I watched him on the telly being egged on with seven or eight pints inside of him.

Having now watched Steph and Dom Meet Nigel Farage twice in one sitting, I don’t love him anymore BUT I like him a lot more than the two actors who hosted him at their luxury B&B in Sandwich, and they are actors.


There was a bit at the beginning when Steph and Dom have a fake argument and Steph calls Dom a tit for coming back drunk after a mid-morning wine tasting and spitting event. She looks at the camera crew just before she says the word, "tit". That look, and the millisecond of hesitation, just before the word, “tit”, plops awkwardly out of her blow job hole made me angry for reasons I’m not able to fully explain. It just really fucking narked me off and it summed up the rest of their performance on the show. If Steph and Dom represent Gogglebox as a whole then I reckon it’s just half an hour of fake bollocks by fake people for an audience who think calling a telly a ‘gogglebox’ is funny, but that’s for another boring article.

Steph and Dom are filmed researching some Nigel Farage pictures and YouTube clips on the internetbox. "He looks like a frog that's sat on a nail" barked Dom, who, if you squint, looks a bit like George Clooney so he’s alright to have a pop. Nigel Farage then rolled up at The Salutation in a big black Land Rover car and was immediately offered a drink by Dom, who then hilariously spilled beer everywhere and acted (ACTED) a bit tipsy. The red-faced, silver-haired piss-twat then takes him out back for a general chit-chat about politics in front of his fake missus.

“We won the (European) election”, chortled Nigel, “So did the National Front in France”, smirked Dom with a fag and some booze spread all over his smarmy lips. I’m not clever enough to figure out if that is a really good come-back to a bit of bragging or just a dead lame remark re-filmed after one of the shooting crew had thought about it half an hour after the original conversation was caught. After that, they fuck off to Dom’s local pub for a conversation I switched off on.

"What brings you to Sandwich?" asks Steph when they come back, handing Nigel a glass of pink champagne. “Money, the producers of Gogglebox and the opportunity to push a party political broadcast through the televisions of the many millions who watch this shit every week”, I sneered at my gogglebox with a 25cl bottle of Tesco’s BiĆ©re D’Ornonchalantly swinging from the fingers on my right hand. All three of them go and sit down on the steps in the back garden as Making Plans For Nigel by XTC winks over the top of some shots of Steph and Dom’s costumed slaves preparing a dinner table. On the steps, they press Nigel over his private life. We learn that he worked long and hard to get to the top of UKIP. Steph asked him what he’s sacrificed and the first thing he said was “money, mostly”. Apparently, he earns half of what a local headmaster earns for doing politics. He then said he’s sacrificed time, but we all do that though don’t we? Nothing you can do about time slipping away.

Steph then asked about children and, for the second or two before answering, I honestly thought he was going to say that he sacrificed children. Disappointingly, he continued to say that he has regrets about his children. He had some boys in the 1990s, saw loads of them, got divorced, didn’t see much of his girls and was very coy when Dom asked him if it was just politics that played a part in his divorce. He’s married to someone else now and he was adamant that she had nothing to do with busting up his first marriage. He also talks about being dead fucking sick of the media taking snaps of his new missus. I would be and all, to be honest.

Soon after making a corny speech about wanting to do something in politics, rather than talk about it, he spilled pink champagne all over his trousers. After daring one another to offer him a pair of leather replacements, Steph and Dom gear him up in a pair of stone-washed, ripped denim jeans, and I think he looks fucking cool. Nigel then takes things up a level. Beat this, David, Ed and Nick:

Over dinner, he downs a gigantic glass of red wine, necks another pink champagne and lies through his teeth about not finding Adolf Hitler funny (he is) before saying Mussolini can be quite funny and that he knows Mussolini’s granddaughter AND Sophia Loren’s granddaughter. Very impressive. Not as impressive as the bit I’m about to tell you about now though: He then went on to tell them about how he’s almost DIED three times. He famously nearly crashed that plane a few years ago but at the age of 21 he fractured his skull and almost bit the dust in a massive car crash before following it up shortly afterwards with some ball-reducing ball cancer. He’s a proper hard man.


Steph said to be in politics you need to have balls of steel and followed it up with, “no pun intended”, a wave of her arms and another look at the camera crew for validation. She seems to me uncomfortable and unsure of what she’s doing there, in life. What she should have said was: “Hitler has only got one ball? Farage has only got one ball, lads. Know what I mean?”

A night cap of Irish coffee and port, I think, set them up for a boring climax to what was a boring programme about a couple of boring, fake cunts and a boring politician who only seems different because he’s willing to say “shit” on the telly and get hammered for our entertainment. He probably wasn’t even drunk though, was he? Politics and the telly is all smoke and mirrors.


Fake cunts, and I can talk; I'm just a fucking pseudonym.

I might be wrong, but Steph and Dom behave like they’re in control of the evening, and of the show, but Nigel plays them like Carl Cox plays about six pairs of Technics 1210s at once. Nigel Farage is the posh one, not them. He’s the rich one, not them. (We know he’s not, but) He’s the one who comes across as natural and honest, not them, and he knows it, and if Dylan Wilby jumps on the comments underneath this to nail me for writing a totally insubstantial article, he can fuck right off and read the Weekly Review of Dance Music instead.

  • Pint of beer
  • Another pint of beer
  • Pink champagne
  • Another pink champagne
  • Red wine
  • Irish coffee with port, I think

Fuck me, what a palaver. It's a bit weird, having a television show review on the Weekly Review of Dance Music, out of the blue, isn't it? I wrote it because I wanted to write it and publish it on here though, definitely. If any of you hear about this original article being canned by a major website and magazine because I got the angle and tone wrong, don't listen. That story is BANG out of order.

Right, I'll be back next week with a heart-warming Christmas story: The Christmas Dance Music Miracle.

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