Well, it's been mumbles weeks since they entered the house, during which time we've seen twenty-dunno different housemates come and go (unless, like me, you haven't been watching it) but tonight the winner of Big Brother 2007 will be crowned. (In the UK, that is. I'm well aware that other countries exist and have their own versions of Big Brother.)
Now, while Anna Pickard of sometimes-writes-things-in-the-Guardian and little.red.boat fame will be live-blogging the final itself, I thought I'd go for something a bit more inventive.
Besides, the computer's upstairs in my room and the TV's downstairs. It'd be a lot of frantic running and typing, and my housemates would probably think I'd gone mental. But, my bedroom window is just on the other side of the room, right behind me... and I have a swivel chair.
So tonight, Matthew, I'm going to be live-blogging the view from my bedroom window.
Now, since there are no comments around here, the whole blogosphere-type two-way communication thing shall be done via email. Heckle me at any time on email@example.com.
I'll be back in a little bit to begin. (Y'know, this is probably going to end up being a really stupid idea.)
19:12 (UTC—20:12 in Britain)
First of all, let's just use British time henceforth.
Anna's live blog has started, as has one at Digital Spy... but I still haven't had dinner yet—it takes a lot longer to write those Fetch-its than you'd expect (particularly given their quality).
So, I'm gonna go downstairs and make some toast or something. While I'm down there, I'll sneak a look at the TV to see what's going on in Big Brother-land. Meanwhile, you can read that Friday Fetch-it thing I spent so long on earlier, if you like.
Quick window update: it's starting to get dark now—what with the sunset and all. Ooh! And a car just drove into the car park that occupies much of the view from the window. It's a blue Vauxhall Corsa; not a new one—one of the ones from a few years ago. A couple of people have got out, but a strategically-placed tree is preventing me from finding out what they look like.
Dermot O'Leary's talking to Davina McCall about when and how the remaining contestants will be evicted. He was also talking to contestants from previous series of Big Brother; they seemed to be having a right lark, those wacky minor celebrities.
Toast is toasting, kettle is ...kettling.
The one remaining housemate that isn't away is out, so mentalness accusations shall be avoided at least until he reads this. Also, the views from my kitchen and living room are near-identical to that from the bedroom, so very little action shall be missed. ...or present.
Adverts on Channel 4. Nadine Baggott, “celebrity beauty editor from something” was extolling the virtues of some cosmetic product; and then there was an advert for nappies. Clearly, Big Brother viewers are conscious of both their appearance and their children's lavatorial needs.
The toast is done and the tea's brewing—a lovely cup of Equal Exchange Fair-Trade Darjeeling.
At the far end of the car park, someone's removing something from a car boot. I don't know what.
Anna Pickard reckons Nadine Baggot's surname is spelt with just the one T. Who am I to argue? Digital Spy still haven't said a word. Lazy bastards.
The tea's still brewing, probably overbrewing, so I shall go and remove the teabag now. Fingers crossed.
A silver car of some description has come into the car park and driven to the far end. I don't think it's the same one from whose boot stuff was being removed earlier.
Another car, a dark-coloured Ford Focus, has driven out of the car park. It may only be dark because of the fact that it's now night.
The tea wasn't overbrewed, luckily. While retrieving it, some of the Big Brother contestants were making self-important “goodbye” speeches. One of whom, whose accent implied that he's from North East England (hooray!), seemed to deftly avoid Big Brother cliché by saying “I don't love yous, but y'know, I've enjoyed my time with you.” Don't know what that one's called, but I'm now backing him to win.
I say I'm backing him to win—I don't really care who wins.
A big white van is lurking near the car park's entrance. I reckon they're about to do a crime.
Actually, it's stopped lurking and left.
My toast-buttering was interrupted by the sound of someone shutting a car door. They then carried a bag of shopping towards the flats.
I should explain: the car park is for a fairly-big apartment complex. The flats are in a backwards-L-shaped building, with the car park in the space in the middle. I'm at the open short end of the car park, and a row of houses' gardens backs on to the open long side. The car park's entrance is in the middle of the long side to my left.
The TV downstairs seems to be making drumroll-like noises. I'm finishing buttering my toast instead of investigating.
The toast has gone somewhat cold by now. I don't mind, though—I quite like it when the butter doesn't melt. On this first slice I also have peanut butter (crunchy). Yes, butter and peanut butter.
Person in jeans and a dark top is walking the length of the car park, towards me. I hope he hasn't figured out that I'm effectively stalking his flat block.
OK, he's disappeared. I'd assume he went into a car, but I haven't seen one leave.
Oh! There he is—he was in a silver Vauxhall Astra, hiding behind one of the white vans on the right of the car park. He's driven out now.
Engine noises... a silver VW Golf has arrived and gone to the far end. Meanwhile, someone's milling about on the left side of the car park.
A dark car, possibly a Ford Escort, has just left from the far side of the car park. Thoughtfully, the driver used their indicator to indicate that they would be turning into the exit and not continuing into the other wing of the car park.
First slice of toast has been eaten. I'm thinking cream cheese for the next one.
Another figure in blue jeans and a parka has got out of a car and walked to the far end. The car's parked opposite the entrance which may explain why I didn't see it come in.
A blue Citroën Saxo entered, pointed the car left towards the far end, paused tentatively, then reversed and drove into the near end. While I was typing that sentence, the car made its way to the far end of the car park.
The Saxo's now parked—they did want to head left after all—but no-one's got out yet.
Cream cheese toast was tasty—Aldi make good cream cheese. This is their medium fat cream cheese—they also make low fat, but not high fat.
Man in blue jeans and white top seen walking towards far end of car park. Presumably came out of the Saxo, since he was walking a bit ponderously.
Simultaneously, a red Nissan Micra (again, one of the old models) entered and parked right in front of me. Man who exited wore a grey sweat-top and walked far more confidently than Saxo man.
The dark Focus is back. It may actually be one of the new models of Fiesta or Fusion—they all look the same. Occupant wasn't seen exiting the car; demeanour could not be judged from walking style. However, they were revving the engine fairly heartily.
Two men have got out of a car that's hiding behind one of the white vans nearby on the right. (The nearer van is actually silver.) One of them is possibly the man who left earlier in a silver Astra. They swaggered.
The amount of activity in the car park over the last hour has surprised me. What hasn't, however, is the lack of activity in my inbox.
More drumrolls from downstairs. I guess that's the second housemate being evicted.
A silver Ford Focus is reversing towards me. It's trying to park in one of the spaces on the left.
Still trying to park. Gender of driver shall not be commented upon.
...It's parked. A man and a woman exited; a red van blocked my view of which door each came out of. Driving-related gender stereotypes are once again unsubstantiated.
I'm having a second slice of Aldi cream cheese on toast. A fourth slice remains; it'll probably be peanut butter since I'm starting to run out of cream cheese.
I saw a car driving to the far end of the car park. Then a car, possibly the same one, drove to this end and parked out of sight. Meanwhile another car entered and drove to the far end.
Two people have gone into the nearest flat block; I think they may have come out of the first car. The second car has yet to finish parking.
So far, Digital Spy has written three updates, the first of which was two lines long; the other two were one-liners. Anna has written a total of fourteen updates comprising about 28 decent paragraphs. Yay her.
Big Brother contestants entitled “Jonty”, “Carole” and “Ziggy” have lost so far. This leaves three more contestants, of which one is a pair of twins who evidently only count as one person. The repercussions of this on anti-murdering laws as they apply to identical twins are unclear.
The second slice of cream cheese toast was as tasty as the first.
I have received an email from a Mrs. Trellis of North Wales. She says:
At the start of this entry you promised a discussion of the weather at your location. So far, your meteorological insights have been far from adequate. I'd even go so far as to say they were nonexistent!
Yours patiently, Mrs. Trellis.
Well, Mrs. Trellis, when I started this entry I forgot that it would be completely dark after about half an hour, making it quite difficult to track the antics of the clouds outside. I do recall that when I started, there was a moderate-sized grey-ish cloud visible above the flats. Now, the cloud cover is somewhat more comprehensive.
The loud-engined, dark Focus, which I now think is probably a Fiat Punto, has left the car park again. Its biscuit-tin-fart-like engine was clearly audible speeding away towards the main road, along the side road that the car park and my street come off.
Digital Spy now have five updates, all of which are one-liners except the first, which is one line and three words. In their defence, those extra three words are
clutching his monkey, which somewhat mitigates their updates' lack of volume.
The fourth slice of toast is, as expected, peanut butter. About half of my very large mug of Darjeeling has been drunk; the remainder is now somewhat luke-warm. Might have to brew up a new cup of tea.
The car park is mostly quiet, except for another dark-topped, blue-jeaned person I saw come out of the flats and walk towards a car a few seconds ago.
The near-full moon is sporadically very clearly visible behind what's evidently quite thick clouds.
The dark-topped, blue-jeaned person has returned to the flats carrying two yellow boxes, approximately large enough to hold a garden gnome each. I doubt that they do hold garden gnomes, however, as I don't think the flats have their own gardens.
The clouds, which were moving left-to-right quite quickly before (that's north-to-south for Mrs. Trellis) have slowed down to about a quarter their earlier speed. They're now sauntering gently in the moonlight.
Through a break in the clouds, it's become apparent that although the moon is nearly full, it is distinctly gibbous.
The tea has definitely reached “lukewarm”, though the Darjeeling flavour makes this less unpalatable than with most ordinary teas. A fresh cup is still, however, on the cards.
There's been no apparent activity out the window for a good few minutes now, and there's bouncy music emanating from the TV. I'm going to investigate and make more tea.
The kettle's on again. It transpires that The IT Crowd has been on Channel 4 since half past; the bouncy music remains unidentified but it may well be that programme's incidental score. As I left the TV to write this, that bit of the episode that you've already seen plenty-four times because it was in the advert that they've shown far too often over the last week was on. You know, at a funeral:
I'm sorry for your loss...move on.
The tea and toast have been finished; there's a Snack Noodle in the cupboard (like a Pot Noodle, only cheaper and from Aldi) that shall provide further, non-toasty-though-nonetheless-carbohydrate-rich sustenance.
The tea is brewing and the Snack Noodle...“cooking”. I succeeded in emptying the latter's little soy sauce sachet into the pot rather than the mug—that could've spoilt an otherwise-very-nice mug of Assam. Assam's quality whilst lukewarm remains to be seen, but I doubt it'll be as not-unpalatable as Darjeeling.
On The IT Crowd, a man in a white suit marched into the funeral and—as far as I could tell—punched the man that was reading
a poem I saw on Four Weddings And A Funeral. The canned laughter on that programme is far too loud, which always leads me to assume that the programme itself must be terribly unfunny, no matter how funny it actually is.
The IT Crowd has finished; Big Brother is back on next. “Liam” has also lost, according to Anna. “Brian” and the duo variously dubbed “Samanda”, “Samandamanda” and “Sam and Amanda” are still candidates to win the £*cough*,000.
Digital Spy has written some more words, and broken the three-line barrier in one of their updates.
The car park has been tranquil for a while now. The clouds around the moon have ostensibly come to a halt. (They're not actually around the moon—they're around the position in the sky that would cause them to be in a direct line between me and the moon... but that's a bit excessively wordy.)
A couple of people have spent the last minute or two slowly wandering from the far side of the car park to the near side. I think they may have got into a car.
Another drumroll. The winners of Big Brother may be being announced. Note the plural as a subtle nod to the suggestion that the outcome is a foregone conclusion.
No, the couple are wandering back to the far end of the car park.
The Snack Noodle is fairly tasty. It's “Chicken & Mushroom” flavour, but doesn't actually contain any part of a chicken—it's
Suitable for vegetarians and the front even bears the slogan
Ain't No Chicken.
There are bits of mushrooms in it, though—fairly big ones actually.
I just saw a lonely figure walking stealthily towards this end of the car park. He may have been a ghoul.
Judging by Anna's description of “Liam” as
Geordie, I'm guessing that he's the one who refrained from expressing exaggerated and clichéd feelings of love earlier. Apparently, he also wants an ocelot, but I think that's just because he thinks the word is intrinsically funny. He's come third, or fourth if you consider identical twins to be individual people.
Not strictly out-the-window news, but hey: I've just noticed a moth, about a centimetre from head to back-of-wings, sitting on my wall. This is probably because it's dark, my light is on, and I have the window open. Mahmoud, my window-spider (kind of like a doorman, but a spider and for a window) has been building reasonable webs across the entrance for the last few days, but I think I've opened the window a little bit too far for him this time.
More drumrolls, but I'd rather talk about Mahmoud.
Further investigation shows that he has built a web of roughly the same size as usual, but since the window is open wider, the gap from the immovable pane to the hinged pane is larger, and so the same area of web doesn't come down as far from the overhang of the roof. (The hinge is on the right side of the right pane.) So the web is less effective at deterring flying insects from entering. (Is a moth technically an insect?)
Evidently it was “Brian” who won, despite the other contestant having two personalities with which to gain votes.
The moon's moved quite noticeably in the sky (due, of course, to Earth's rotation rather than its own actual movement)—I now have to bend down so that my head is roughly at seat-level to be able to see it. There's no trace of a cloud near it.
I said earlier that the flats were in the shape of a reversed “L” and the car park was in the open space within that shape. Actually, the car park itself is another reversed “L”, rotated 180° and interlocking with the flats; so there's a gap between the end of the flats and my street.
Through this gap, if I stick my head out my window and look left, I can see a section of the side street that the car park and my street come off. A car has just driven along it towards the main road, which is odd, because at the other end of the side street is a river.
(There is a loop at the end of the side street, mind—and plenty of space to park cars. So it's not really that odd.)
Digital Spy's updates now only just fit on one screen.
I can hear a familiar advert emanating from downstairs. I think it's the one where the Peugeot 207's in-built satellite navigation directs a driver to go via a twisting road over lots of hills, when he really just needs to get to Glasgow as fast as possible because his wife is in labour.
OK, that last bit's made up, but it would be pretty inconvenient to have a 207 when you're in a hurry.
And now the familiar tones of Sunny Afternoon can be heard, as per the Magner's Irish Cider advert.
I'm glad the car park wasn't this serene a couple of hours ago. I'd've probably given up yonks ago.
I just re-read some of the earlier updates above... it seems like so long ago now [nostalgic sigh]. I should clarify that in the final paragraph of the 20:22 update, by “housemate” I meant the people that I live with—not Big Brother people... 'cos that just wouldn't make sense.
The doors opened, the crowd screamed, the fireworks went bang, the ticker tape twinkled under the lights, and after a brief salute and wave and moment of victorious arm-waving, Brian suddenly crouched down, as if his legs had buckled under him, over-whelmed by it all. Then, standing up, and hooting like the Essex wideboy he is, he went to meet Davina and his adoring public.
Brian emerges. There are those fireworks again.
The last of the Snack Noodle has been consumed. It was definitely worth the thirty-odd pence.
The lukewarm Assam isn't quite as pleasant as the lukewarm Darjeeling was, but it's still pretty passable.
A thin veil of cloud now surrounds the moon. I've spotted the first star off to the left—damn light pollution.
Action! A red Corsa, of the same age as the blue one from eight o'clock, but without the metallic paint or colour-coded bumpers, reversed quite sharply from the far end of the car park and sped out the exit. It wasn't going quite as fast as the loud-engined Focus-Punto earlier, though.
Quite pleased with the circularity of beginning and finishing with an old Corsa entering and leaving the car park respectively—even though not actually the same Corsa—and not wanting to go out with a whimper, and given that Anna gave up five minutes ago, this is where I shall conclude.
I think we've all learned something here tonight: you that I have a window-spider called Mahmoud; and I that I don't actually have any regular readers, vindicating my not-bothering-to-include-a-comment-form stance.