Most Haunted Live: Halloween 2006 - by Liam R and Claire
[Editors note - one fuck per hundred words. I think that's impressive]
]Good evening, afternoon, morning or whatever fucking time it happens to be where you are. For the next few hundred or thousand words or so I, Liam R, will be your guide to exactly what happens during Most Haunted Live. Of course, where would I be if I didn’t get you all up to speed on everyone’s favourite ‘crap masquerading as serious paranormal investigation’ and the assorted behind the scenes guff that I just know you are all curious to know. The last MHL was, to be perfectly honest, a bit shit. So shit that I barely wrote a hundred words on it but I did have a valid excuse – I was house-sitting for a friend and as such didn’t have a TV in the same room as teh internetswebs. Thus everyone was deprived of my scything commentary in the chat room I inhabit during these things.
So to start, we begin with a bit of a bombshell as Richard ‘Fingers’ Felix has been sensationally dumped as the show’s historian. Never mind that he doesn’t have any academic qualifications whatsoever, ignore that he calls himself a ‘paranormal historian’ (what, and indeed the fuck) and certainly discount that he got his nickname through apparently moving trigger objects around off camera and let’s be serious for a moment. A man has lost his job here, and a man who also (rumour has it) is in the financial shitter as well. Now I’m not one to throw fire on rumours, but the official statement Felix made was that Living TV didn’t need a historian as they had one ready made in Lesley something or other who has started appearing on the live shows. This is bullshit as it’s Antix decision as to who works on the show, while Living only pay them for the actual shows. What it all boils down to, just like with original paranormal investigator Jason Karl and dear old Derek Acorah, is that Yvette Fielding felt her status as the star of the show was in jeopardy so she cut him off before he could overtake her. Counter in the fact that he was basically threatened with the sack after having the temerity to ask for a raise (and then grovelling back saying he would do it for nothing) and was shot down in his attempts to do other TV shows on his own, we have a culture of bullying going on that buggars belief.
So as we approach this Halloween edition of Most Haunted, there is a very tangible feeling of anticipation behind it. I would call it excitement, but there is nothing exciting about this show any more. Instead, the anticipation that is growing is how bad the show can fall and considering how terrible it has gotten in recent months I dread to think how far it can sink. As well as a revolving door policy in who seems to work on the show and the clique mentality that has developed amongst some of the staff, the actual show itself has become boring and tedious to watch. The throwing of small objects seems to be the norm, comedy possessions (of which Acorah was the unadulterated master) are down and honest to goodness bollocks seems to be rampant. So how bad can it get? Let’s find out…
Later. Much later. Much, much, MUCH LATER!
Night One
But before we get into it, I have a confession to make. You see, Living TV decided long ago to stretch Most Haunted from one night to three, then from three hours to four and then to five with Access All Areas. Now I am above watching such mind-numbing drivel, so I got Claire to review it for you instead. Take it away my dear:
Its 7.55pm Sunday the 29th October, and I’m waiting for Most Haunted Access All Areas, which is a first. Why would I bother I hear you ask? Well what Liam wants, I tend to give him, so join me, a MHL AAA virgin, in a quest to lose my virginity, and hopefully, not die of boredom..........
As the show kicks off I’m informed that Most Haunted is sponsored by Strongbow. There’s a message here people, I think it means "watch this, and you will need a drink". Cue overenthusiastic audience, many of which are wearing lovely homemade t - shirts (this must fuck Living TV off no end, since they clearly haven’t brought the official merchandise) One woman has a photo of Karl and herself on hers, the words patient, deluded, and mental spring to mind, I’ll let you arrange them into a sentence.
Cleggy (huge of ears, slapped of head, large of moob - Liam) gets a rapturous reception from the audience, some large middle aged ladies appear to be swooning!?!?! That’s the power of TV I guess, any ugly bastard can be a sex symbol. We get introduced to Michaela Taylor, who is in charge of the interactive side of things (she sits with calculator, adding up the amount of cash made from text messages etc) I wonder why she looks familiar, then it dawns on me that she looks exactly like Jon Gilbert (fat hairy soundman - Liam), but with lip gloss. Poor girl.
Now I have to confess I lost interest a bit here, what happens is some bird from "Hollyoaks" sends a good luck message, there are rugby players, don’t know why, but they are not even good looking so I wander off in search of alcohol, sorry, I know it’s not a good thing to do when reviewing, but since I don’t get paid (damn right – Liam), I don’t care.
Wine found, glass full, and we get introduced to resident "historian" Lesley Smith. STOP, REWIND, Historian?? But didn’t Richard Felix get the sack because they didn’t need a historian any more, some thing smells a bit fishy, no wait silly me, that’s just trout faced Lesley. So I’m guessing the reason Felix was sacked was simply because he was more popular than Karl and Yvette could ever hope to be?? Don’t ya just love them Beatties??
I’m now clearly too depressed now to carry on with this, so I’m off to the Bad Psychics chat room, let the mocking commence, and Liam, you owe me big time babe.
Night One
Hello, and after that primer from Claire I am Liam, your eternally miserable host for the recap of three nights of supernatural thrills (well, maybe) and spills (of the alcoholic kind). This spectacular of spectacular shows is also the twenty first show in Most Haunted Live’s history and so it seems only good and right that we have a highlight package of the best bits of the previous twenty. And what highlights they were, though Derek Acorah’s “one man ballroom dance will desperately not trying to shit himself” from Elstree or London is strangely absent. Shame.
Paul Ross is again our host, who still mixes the knowing with believing (which are to completely related things which are also unrelated. I know that makes no sense but work with me here) and he introduces us to the whole team which is minus Richard Felix (see above). Leslie Smith (I’m not even sure if that is actually her name) is also present and according to my good self “you could imagine her on the other end of one of those 0898 adverts you find in Soho phone boxes” – you see I am funny. Our investigative journey starts in the Blair Street Vaults beneath the streets of Edinburgh so let’s crack on shall we? No? Tough shit motherfuckers, cos if I go down you bastards are coming with me, screaming and on fire if needs be.
avid Wells immediately picks up on a man or dog sniffing, my notes aren’t too clear and neither is my memory. He then picks up on a woman singing and just thirty minutes in I am contemplating suicide, but trust me it gets better as we go on. Illustrious rigger Stuart Torvil And Dean is then made the focus of the night (SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT! SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT!) as he says that he had nightmares about the vaults and is also feeling sick. Indeed, his feelings are so strong the he is thinking about picking up Yvette Fielding and throwing her against the wall (SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT! SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT!). My next set of notes comprise of the words squatter, tappings, spring-loaded and bouncer. Fuck knows what that’s all about and then Wells got hit in the arse, but we all know that’s not the first time he’s taken a hit in the arse.
I am claiming that David Wells might be a homosexual
Ya wai!!1!11!11!1!!!eleventy1
In the break, of which there are many and the shortest of the short short variety the new cameraman whose name is unimportant was hit in the face by a rock, there is some more banging and then we start a séance. The séance provides sweet diddly fuck all in the way of concrete evidence no matter how man crew members scratch underneath it and again my notes fail me. This may not be the world’s greatest review, I should just warn you now. I had also best mention Julian Clegg (and his ears, mobs and ill-fitting shirts) and his interactive crew and also the viewing public. How he can keep a straight face when showing some of the truly appalling drawings and insane messages people send in I do not know. Especially when ‘nutcase from chavtown’ writes in and says that ‘a feather appeared in bedroom, or their cat has gone mental, or the team need to be strong or that a spirit called Pussy McTittyfuck will make itself known.
The next period in time concerns an unbelievable amount of bad fucking language, lots of fucking prodding and fucking poking, some fucking more bad fucking language and some fucking noises which apparently every fucking person in the fucking world can fucking hear except for fucking me. And when Yvette complains of a funny smell, the chatroom dissolves into the sixth level of hell as someone mentions Vagisil (I don’t know if that’s how you spell it, I’ve never had a problem down there what with me not having a female down there set) due to Yvette maybe having a problem with “feminine freshness”.
During the break (SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT! SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT!), more bizarre stuff happens as some bottles used as a trigger object experiment are hit by a rock and a piece of a horseshow. Golly fucking gee, why does EVERY FUCKING THING happen during the break. Stuart’s dream comes back again and off camera he attempts to rugby tackle Karl ‘Samurai Pizza Ninja Cat Pussy’ Beattie into the same table. Apparently “his eyes went” according to Karl. Where did they go then? Fucking Benidorm? The show starts towards its end as Karl faints, Jon ‘Fat Bastard Number Two’ Gilbert faints, Yvette faints and the crew leave someone called Wigan alone in the vaults. When they cut back to him, he starts swaying as if he’s going to faint… and that’s your lot until tomorrow. Sorry about the length (or lack of it, but not in the bedroom sense if you know what I mean) but it really was two hours of complete tedium coupled with a final hour that was verging on Pendle Hill levels of stupidity. Not bad, but not a patch on the lunacy of before. ***.
Night Two
But before we start, the lovely Claire takes you through the pain and suffering that is Access All Areas. Take it away hun!
Why, why, why oh fucking why am I doing this again?? I now firmly believe that Liam is either drugging me, or using mind control. If anyone else had asked me to do this I would simply say "fuck off". But he asks, I do it, the guy has me jumping through hoops. I am officially a fucking idiot.
Its Cleggy, there’s an audience, there’s clapping, I swear these people would clap a turd in a box. Cleggy goes straight into pleading for texts/psychic art etc, why don’t they just give him a bloody collection tin?? The lady Jon Gilbert is here again, raving on about the hundreds of ghostly animals that were picked up on the webcams last nite. Squirrels? Elephants? Chipmunks even?? No idea, she didn’t say, bloody shame.They expose us to a quick re-hash of last nights "activity", which in the cold light of day looks even worse than I remembered. Now I do love the "celebrity" good luck messages, mainly because the word "celebrity" does not actually represent the idiots that do them. Our first one tonight is from former "new kid on the block" Danny Wood, its pure class, I swear I laughed so hard I nearly peed (nearly too much information – Liam).
Its night two of the Most Haunted highland games (you couldn’t make this shit up) I missed last nights haggis eating competition because, well because I wasn’t interested. But tonight there is a severe lack of shit to talk about, so I decide to pay attention. They are tossing witches brooms tonight, so who's the biggest tosser?? My money is on the bald headed bastard, but no, it’s David "Staypuft" Wells (you will never, EVER compare that fat bastard to the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Consider this a warning – Liam). Woooo! So can the next "celebrity" good luck message be funnier than the last one?? Surely not? Oh my fucking good god, it’s Shabazz from Big Brother, now I do need to pee, tooooo fucking funny! Those Beatties have friends in high places don’t they?
Its 8:45 , I want to cry, it’s that bad. Karl and Yvette are on the couch with Cleggy, plugging the new series, and well its all a bit blah blah really, except Yvette claims her and Karl want to go and live in a haunted house for a week and film it, and she’s trying to convince Living TV it’s a good idea, so she asks the audience, do they want to see that?? Much applause, and shouts of YES! Of course the do, they are all fucking mental. Well the only booze I have left in the house is champagne, so I’m going to make a start on that, then I’m going to track down Liam and kill him ....... bastard.
You can try and track me down, but I AM NINJA
Primed, pumped, jacked? Get your hands of you sex bits and concentrate REALLY hard as this one is going to be a bit short. But before we get into it I’d best make my feelings clear, so let’s do that instead. Now back in the early days of Most Haunted I have to admit that I was scared like a little puppy. As the series piled up that scared feeling was replaced by a sense that maybe all wasn’t what it seemed so I viewed it as more a sociological or psychological study into the power of suggestion and fear or another combination of big words nerds use on occasion. Also, I have just realised that this review is really fucking late so I had best shut the fuck up and start reviewing.
We are live! Again! In the Kiddry Street or Niddry Street Vaults! Again! In Edinburgh ! Still! It’s worth pointing out that Most Haunted have actually been to all these locations before because I don’t know if I did earlier. Anyway, I missed a bit of this due to playing five-a-side and getting myself all soapy and naked (steady on kids) afterwards so you can imagine my surprise when I walk back into my room, flick on my TV and see all sorts of Satanic paraphernalia on a table (SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT! SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT!). Gee, you wonder why or what that’s for but no doubt it will make more sense after the shortest break in the short history of shortest breaks.
Our first touch with the paranormal (don’t laugh, you have to work with me) is when Wigan says that he has a pain in his chest like “after a good training session”. No I don’t like to call people chunky or anything, but I doubt any of this lot have seen the inside of the gym in forever. There’s more tits on display than a lesbian porn flick (of which I am a connoisseur) and that’s just the blokes and there’s more bollocks coming out of their mouths than the average gay porn flick (or so I’ve heard. Oh shit…) so I guess that all balances out in the end. Where were we?
I think this may have been where David Wells picked up on the spirit of Bessie Belfour – Supernatural Construction specialist or Bessie Belfour – Supernatural Distributor Of Yorkshire Puddings. As you may have noticed, none of this crap is relevant and nor is this list which I present to you now of the Top Ten Women I Would Like To Bang AND Make Breakfast For In The Morning:
10. Pamela Anderson – yeah , she’s looking more leathery than a DFS showroom, and the whole contagious disease thing but you still would. Besides, I think her boobs have got bigger.
9. Scarlett Johansson – Fuck me, I spelt it right!
8. Lindsay Lohan – Old FIRECROTCH herself. Sure, the chance of me catching crabs is high, but this is offset by the fact that she has probably picked up a few tricks along the way.
7.(Can’t say that either)
6.(Another one)
5.(Really could get in trouble with this one)
4. Amy Lee – I don’t think I’ve found a woman that wouldn’t
3. Sunrise Adams – Yes it is quite disturbing not considering how much cock she’s gone through (as a pornstar), but the fact that she’s younger than my brother. Still I have the grudge orgy scene in ‘Last Girl Standing’ – man that’s good porn.
2.(I can’t say that)
1. Rachel Leigh Cook – sigh…
DON'T YOU THINK I FUCKING KNOW THIS?????
Okay, we’re back and someone has texted that their VCR has just ejected a tape. Aside from the usual reasons for this, premature ejection is a problem that doesn’t get enough scientific research directed towards it. If we all band together, we can rid the world of premature ejection forever. Back to the vidjuals, and Big Mac Wells picks up on five hooded figures who are attempting to conjure up a hooved beast (SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT! SLEDGEHAMMER OF PLOT!). Lesley The Trout Faced Historian (copyright Claire) then slurs James The First by calling him an ugly raging poof who had clumpy fingers and drooled a lot. She also says that Bessie Balfour – Yorkshire Pudding Construction had a daughter or something who wasn’t a witch at all. God, with all this suggestion flying around you’d think something big might happen. Does it?
Dunno really, as Big Mac Wells says that a male spirit “is trying to push in but I pushed him out” which isn’t the first time he’s done that. Ahem. He then curses out the spirits and their “Beelzebub bollocks” and then the lunacy starts. Stuart Torvil And Dean leaves the room, comes back and starts screaming like a little bitch. He takes his tops off (PASS THE EYE BLEACH!) and lo and behold he has some deep scratches that look like they were drawn with red biro. Then Fat Sweaty Sound Guy says that his leg is on fire and lo and behold, he has a deep looking gash on his leg. Which barely bleeds. A few minutes later, he gets another one on his thigh. Yvette says that she is getting fucked off with this and so am I. She even breaks down in tears to ram home the point.
Now there is part of me which desperately wants to believe that all of this scratching and stuff was real, but this shower of shit have faked so much bollocks in the past that the only conclusion is that they set it all up. It never gets mentioned on the next night because apparently OFCOM (TV regulators) received a few complaints about it. And where the fuck were Health And Safety? Well for comedy value I’ll give it **** minus several million for insulting everyone watching.
Maybe Yvette should follow this advice, permanately
Night Three
And yes, everything from the night before is conveniently glossed over so we are no heading to Queen Mary’s, no King Mary’s, no Mary King’s Close which is a subterranean city beneath the streets of Edinburgh . Much like the last two venues, and aren’t there any other places in Edinburgh to visit? We kick things off straight away with a load of knockings and rappings and tappings which the crew, the studio, the audience and people watching can hear. Except me that is. Also, they claim that the floor is moving, though I’d put that down to… oh I don’t know the dozen or so people walking around the fucking building. Jesus H Fucking Christ I know I’m fucking stupid but not even I’m that dumb. Even if I am a dirty blonde (hair colour, not sexual depravity kids).
The next word I have written down is FLUFF! Which hits the ground so loudly everyone gets scared by it. Oh for fuck’s sake, they’re not even fucking trying now are they? We get more rapping and then Yvette and Big Mac start free-styling like they just don’t care. I did have a rap of my own to serenade them with, but I neglected to right it down. Feel free to write your own ones and email them to me, and I’ll print the best ones before stealing them as my own as I embark on a career as a hip hop superstar. And as if that isn’t bad enough, they do a funky experiment whereby whenever Yvette touches Karl there is a corresponding (my favourite word ever that is) knock. For the love of fucking all that is fucking holy please make this shit stop right now. Also Big Mac Wells picks up that the Close was used as a dumping ground for bodies in the plague, and Lesley The Trout Faced Historian claims that people’s bones were used as ceiling plaster. I don’t know if it’s me, but I really wish this was scripted because even a team of one bajillion monkeys could come up with more believable crap.
However, all this is made pointless by the next segment as the team find a hole. David then fists it good, right up to the elbow, then Karl fists it. Yvette refuses to, but Stuart Torvill And Dead fists it and says it tickles. The audience member fists it, and then Ciaran fists it. And there you have it – live fisting on national television. And you thought that they couldn’t go any fucking lower. After the team have finished fisting, it seems that someone has paid the hole as some coins in a bowl are warm. Which is glossed over in place of replays of the fisting. So possible paranormal activity isn’t as important as fisting. Glad to know where their priorities lie.
Big Mac Wells then says that the chief naughty man from last night is back, but not before he does the impression of what can only be described as a MOO COW, complete with scraping his foot on the floor and little horns. It would be cute if it wasn’t being done by a sweaty psychic with an addiction to pushing men out and fisting. We then go to a séance where David says he sees zombies with bits falling off of them. I wish I could be making that up, but I’m not and as such I am bidding this one adieu. I’ve had alls I cans stands ands I cants stands no mores.
The end bit
You could desperately see that they wanted to go back to Pendle Hill levels of stupidity, but they are under such a colossal microscope that they can’t do that. They tried with the mass ‘faintings’ on Night One and mass ‘attacks’ on Night Two which were so poorly done it was untrue. If you want to watch a proper live paranormal investigation, get the live Ghosthunters show from America . If you want a piss poor imitation of the BBC’s ‘Ghostwatch’ then watch this. ** for the whole sorry mess.