Slips

You know what I was thinking the other day? I was thinking that the world really needed a show hosted by a washed-up late-nineties pop star featuring scallies razzing the crap out of jumped up rust-heaps.

And by God, Viva came up trumps for me by showing a show called Slips.

The show features Huey from Fun Lovin’ Criminals and, unsurprisingly, he hams up his Noo Yoikness and for all the world, believes himself to be a wiseguy from a Hollywood mafia flick. Honestly. He sleeps with a severed horse-head in his bed for faux-authenticity. He probably says ‘capiche?’ to his toaster.

Anyway, he’s given the task of strutting around two scallies who have clearly cut their teeth in illegal race-meets on the country lanes of Britain, broken up only be visits to the hospital to see how the killed passenger is doing and burning great doughnuts on the car-parks of out-of-town retail megaplaces.

They’ve both got the archetypal bangers, covered in speakers and plastic customisations and they’re encouraged in their behaviour in a format that is not wholly unlike Pimp My Shit Tip.

Both participants hand over their keys and ‘slips’, whatever the crap that means, and their cars get vamped up with eye-blitzing paint jobs and engine tweaks, all shot with graphics that make you think you’ve stumbled into some real-life version of Gran Turismo.

However, the show chickens out on a race to the death (which I’d envisioned ending up with some trollop on fire in a Corsa to the strains of Jan and Dean’s ‘Dead Man’s Curve’), instead, proffering a rubbish lap-time event. The loser doesn’t get openly mocked, but rather, is asked to ‘walk home’.

Aye. Like a TV show will actually impound someone’s car. Not even television is that cruel.

The whole programme reeks of a desperate lung to buy into the lifestyle of Britain’s MerrydownClass, which makes me wonder what else TV has in store? Perhaps we could have a show where people have to wriggle free from their ankle tags in an attempt to be the first to land a bag of dirt-weed hidden behind a bus shelter, turning our chavs into wannabe Anneka Rice types? Or maybe we should hope for a variety show where women fire out babies into the arms of disinterested fathers who are scowling at the imagined horror of Polish people ‘taking’ ‘their jobs’?

Either of these shows would be infinitely superior to this dross, headed up by the most charismaless dolt you could ever hope for.

Slips? ‘Shits’ more like.

  • BBC One
  • BBC Two
  • BBC Three
  • ITV1
  • ITV2
  • 4
  • E4
  • Film4
  • More4
  • Five
  • Fiver
  • Sky1