Do you see that ominous, fleshy shadow on the horizon, bulging like an elephantine balloon full of half-digested cheesy-chips and flat Coca-Cola? That, my friends, is something called obesity, and one day soon it’s going to kill us all. We have one chance to avert this impending, chocolate-milkshake flavoured disaster. His name is Jamie Oliver, and he alone can hold back the tidal wave of mayonnaise that’s about to engulf the world.
This isn’t true. The reality of the situation is that some people are fat because they eat too much and then don’t run anywhere. This is pretty straight-forward. Do we really need a faux-Cockney to tell us this in a condescending tone? No, we really don’t. Here are some more things about the fat-tongued bore that annoy me.
I usually don’t care about what the top of your head looks like, but the reason Jamie Oliver is an exception is because it’s obvious he’s trying to do something with it. Thought and planning has gone into it. There’s been a meeting with a hairdresser at some point and someone has asked (presumably) for a shaggy almost-mullet that can sort of be spiked up into a quiff/mohawk. What is that? Does it even exist as a haircut? Whatever it is, it makes me wish it was possible to send people letters laced with contractible alopecia.
You’d think, given the awfulness of his hair, I’d be happy about anything that would cover it up. But no, it gets worse. Again, I feel there have been meetings about this and his choice of mock-shabby trucker caps is intentional. Covering up his hair with those hats is the equivalent of finding a dog poo under your sofa and hiding it beneath a thick layer of vomit.
The constant weeping
I’m specifically talking about his TV series, Jamie’s American Food Revolution. It was only marginally more successful (from our point of view at least) than the actual American Revolution, and that’s only in the sense that there weren’t as many fatalities in Jamie’s version. As far as damage to national pride goes, I’d say they’re about the same. Kids like chicken nuggets. Have a cry. A dinner lady doesn’t want to spend an extra three hours slowly sautéing garlic for tomorrow’s clam chowder. Have a cry. You haven’t seen your family for two whole hours. Have a cry. Just cut an onion. Have a cry. Geez. Think of all the droughts his tear ducts could have prevented if they’d only commissioned Jamie’s Ethiopian Food Revolution instead.
His public demonstrations
Imagine a quantity of sugar large enough to fill a school bus. That’s a lot of sugar, right? Oh wait… What’s wrong? Are you having trouble picturing that? Is it too much sugar for your mind to handle? How thoughtless of me to presume you’d understand that when I said ‘a school bus full of sugar’ I meant ‘loads and loads of sugar’. Thankfully, Jamie is on hand to explain this nigh incomprehensible idea. To demonstrate that a school bus full of sugar is A LOT of sugar he literally fills a school bus with sugar. To me, that seems like a big unnecessary waste of sugar and a school bus.
You see, if someone were to say something like, “That guy’s tongue is as fat as eight whales,” I don’t need a visual demonstration. I’m familiar enough with the number eight and the approximate size of whales to know this person is saying that this guy has a really, really fat tongue.
That he has the audacity to lecture people about healthy eating when he is actually quite fat himself
No one likes a hypocrite.
His awful, awful band
When Jamie Oliver was 13 he started playing drums in a band called Scarlet Division. They carried on for OVER A DECADE, touring and even releasing a single that got all the way to the heady heights of number 42 in the charts. If I’d stuck with things I thought were cool when I was 13, I’d currently have two complete sleeves of Tim Burton tattoos, the world’s largest collection of Warhammer Orcs and a room in my house dedicated exclusively to my N64.
I’ve just spent about an hour going through (hopefully) all of Scarlet Divisions’s videos on YouTube and now feel informed enough to have a valid opinion. And it is this: Jamie Oliver’s band, Scarlet Division, play the blandest kind of music there is and if Jamie were to make a soup that represented his band, he’d just fill a bowl with lukewarm water and call it a day. Obviously this would involve a lot of hand gesture acrobatics and spluttering, so by the end it would be more like a bowl of lukewarm water with a light drizzle of saliva. Yum!
Jamie’s Dream School
There was enough wrong with the trailer for this – let alone the actual series – that watching it made my blood pressure get so high I thought I was going to explode like Stephen Dorff at the end of Blade. Let’s break it down into the moments with the highest chance of giving me an aneurysm:
0.00 – That’s not a picture of a school. That building could be anything. It looks more like a textile factory. I guess that’s the point he’s trying to make, that normal schools are dull and boring (much like textile factories). Luckily, he’s written SCHOOL so there’s no confusion. Jamie hates confusion (see the sugar/school bus debacle above). Thanks for clearing that up for us, Jamie, because we are all thicker than medically brain-dead shit.
0.14 – “What would happen if you could turn a school into a dream school?” I know I was giving him a hard time about over explaining the obvious earlier, but this is such a meaningless, vague question it makes me want to bite out chunks of my own arm. All the dreams I ever had about school involved surprising amounts of nudity on my part, and even more surprising amounts of disregard for said nudity on everyone else’s part. So in answer to your question, Jamie: I would come in everyday completely oblivious to the fact I am totally naked and then, perhaps naively, hope none of my classmates notice. And that little camp, self-assured wave at the end as if he’s just asked the most poignant question since Aristotle popped his sandals made me go into a four-day long rage coma.
0.19 – He got on the phone to the most amazing teachers he could think of. Like David Starkey, everyone’s favourite casually racist historian. Nice one, Jamie.
0.30 – Simon Callow I’ll allow. He’d be a pretty good English teacher. Better than the one I had when I was 16 at least. Mine had a toupee and once, he tripped up, bashed his head on a nail and had to wear a bandage on his forehead instead. For two months. Quite possibly the greatest two months of my life.
0.36 – “For some of these kids, it might be their last chance.” Whoops. How did this slip through? Jamie you said ‘kids’ when you meant ‘C-list celebrities’ (excluding Simon Callow, he’s at least B+).
0.39 – Ellen MacArthur? This is dangerous, Jamie. What if she can’t find her pen and you get a paper cut at the same time? You’ll both start bawling your eyes out and we’ll have a lot of drowned children on our hands. (More specifically, YOUR hands. I want no part in this).
0.45 – Next up to tell your children what to think is Alistair Campbell. I checked with the internet and it told me he was unequivocally evil (and a secret alcoholic).
0.55 – “Nothing to do with me, Miss.” Never a truer word spoken, Jamie. You’re just the chubby face of this terrible, terrible idea. What are you doing around schools anyway? Aren’t you a food guy? Maybe leave teaching kids to people who professionally teach kids.