Taking the Mick

Before I (re)start this Plog, I feel I need to assert my credentials. I read widely - everything from 18th century fiction to each year's Booker Prize list to the occasional non-fiction book about World War II. I don't generally watch trash TV. I am not a fan of America's Next Disabled Wife Swap or Celebrity Farm Factor.

Until now. I have been conned, conned and tricked into watching this series of Celebrity Big Brother. You may leave at this point. I won't judge you. I am too busy judging myself for having graduated to chav scum. But I also have a confession. I am loving it. Loving it, loving it, loving it. But I hate myself for loving the stupid rows and ridiculous situation. It is a kind of self-directed schadenfreude (see?). And surely anyone who can use the word "schadenfreude" should be exempt from your loathing?

My favourite character (because none of them are real) is La Toya Jackson. She is brilliant and seems really sweet. Really sweet in the kind of "make sure you give her the blunt scissors and the non-toxic crayons" kind of way. I'm not sure if she's a compulsive liar or living la-la land, but so far she's claimed that she was forced to get married (she told the official she didn't want to, but she was made to go through with it. Uh-huh). However my all time favourite claim is this one. I'm paraphrasing, but not much:

"So yeah, me and Michael were Jehovah's Witnesses, and we'd go around, you know, like knockin' on doors and stuff, and Michael would be all like, 'Hi, can I talk to you about God?'"

Wow. Hold on a minute. Michael Jackson has been superstar famous for pretty much all of his life. Are we really supposed to believe he could trot door to door trying to pass off a copy of The Watchtower to unsuspecting punters?

I had my first Jehovah's Witness last week. So to speak. I was home from work sick, sick, sick and I answered the door because I thought it might be my Wii Fit arriving. It wasn't. It was a very friendly lady who handed me a copy of her magazine and asked me if I thought Gordon Brown could solve the economic crisis. I wasn't sure what this had to do with God, but didn't ask her why, as I had no desire to prolong the conversation.

But I can definitely picture Michael Jackson doorstepping for Jehovah:

Child answers door.

Michael: Hi honey, is your mommy home?

Child: Not right now, no.

Michael: See, I'm here to talk to you about God and stuff, but - hey - you know what'd be fun? Real fun? We could go back to my house and play on the funfair! Wouldn't that be fun? I have a chimp! We can play all day!

Jehovah's Witness: Michael, Michael! We've talked about this before. Put the child down. Don't touch him there. You know how difficult you find it to get those marks out of your white gloves.

Michael: You're ignorant. Ignorant!

I won't write any more about the TV programme. I promise. Probably.