Single Reviews 06/07/09

We had planned to pitch our Single Reviews as a Wimbledon-free zone, on account of there being approximately zero media outlets not gushing shamelessly about Andy Murray (incidentally, the most boring creature on the face of God’s green Earth). However, with him now out, we shall take the opportunity to gloat in his defeat and in the general dullness of tennis overall. Now, let us stop slagging off sport and get back to slagging off music...

First up are the reliable yet constantly surprising Franz Ferdinand, with a dimly-lit oddity of intelligence in the form of Can’t Stop Feeling. Filthily squelchy bass and disco beats further indicate the dancefloor-beckoning oeuvre the band have addressed on their third album, and while it may not be on a par with previous stuff, there’s little to find fault with.

We’ve never minced our words about Lady GaGa previously, but the hapless exercise in electro-cliche that is Paparazzi only gives us further cause to spew venom forth. If this were an offering from her second album, fine. But the sheer contrived cheek of a then-unknown whinging about press intrusion only cements what a cheap, disingenuous, manufactured tramp Lady GaGa really is. Is anyone even surprised?

The vigorous indie clout of Tin Man makes Saaf London collective Animal Kingdom well-deserved recipients of Single of the Week. A big, swirling, atmospheric rock gem, there’s a distinct correlation between how high the volume is and how good the song sounds. Mind you, transpose the specifics and the same could be said of Lady GaGa – she sounds fucking awesome with the sound right down.

And only just missing out on the aforementioned title is the magnificent VV Brown, though we’re sure she won’t mind, given that we’ve heard her album and it’s a strong contender for best of 2009. In the meantime, new single Shark In The Water is a lilting indie-pop ditty making way for a marvellously noxious chorus, serving as an ad for both her eclecticism and her utter brilliance.

Single Reviews 29/06/09

We were going to use this little paragraph of nothingness prior to the Single Reviews this week to lay into Perez Hilton, but frankly there are more important matters at hand. Although, what can we say about Michael Jackson that hasn’t already been said? Perhaps that he would’ve wanted you to throw faeces at Perez Hilton, but it’s probably unfair to take advantage of his mourning fans. Shamone, MJ.

First up is Frankmusik, whose premature buzzwagon touted him as some sort of futuristic electro-deity. Epic fail, however – Confusion Girl reveals itself to be a lifeless boyband limerick, not dissimilar to something one might have expected from Big Fun or One True Voice, and aside from its Holly Valance cameo, doesn’t possess a single positive. Here’s hoping it was just a bad day at the studio.

Following the mightily superb Love You Better, we’re treated to yet another delight from the increasing (in volume and in quality) catalogue of The Maccabees. The faintly-military drums and contented, summery strummage of Can You Give It make it another prime example of superior British indie stalwartly standing tall amidst a sea of Lady Roux/La Boots/Little GaGa fly-by-night fuckwittery.

Scumwhores Anonymous – otherwise known as the Pussycat Dolls – give us another covert solo track from in-house megalomaniac Nicole Shitsinger, and this time [cue pause with sinister incidental music] they’ve gone disco. Hush Hush; Hush Hush not only brutally rapes the very idea of semi-colons, but samples I Will Survive, officially one of the worst five songs ever written. It’s music tailor-made to be hated.

And finally, scooping what feels like their 17th Single of the Week in a row, Kings of Leon not only paper over their, shall we say, weaker moments (*cough* The Charmer *cough*) but justly cement themselves as a true force of rock. Notion is vastly melodious, yet simultaneously boasts the inimitable edge as displayed in Sex On Fire that finally won us over. Kings of Leon, 1. The Sloppy Dog, 0. Sometimes being wrong pwns.

Single Reviews 22/06/09

You’ll have to forgive the lack of Single Reviews recently (for the squillionth time this year) – truth be told, the singles release schedule has all but evaporated since the introduction of downloads, so it’s quite the mission rounding up the wayward offerings by date. There was a time when you could pop into Our Price and see that week’s new 7-inch records all there on a nice display, grumble grumble...

Launching proceedings is a woman who’ll be pleased to hear she’s only the second-blandest Idol champ following the Kris Allen fiasco, Jordin Sparks (though let the record state, Kelly Clarkson and Taylor Hicks suck major balls – they’re just not overly bland). The gigantic balladry on show in Battlefield, however, goes some way to making Jordin significantly more interesting as an artist, whilst “betta-go-n-getcher-armour” may well be the best-delivered line of 2009.

Basement Jaxx are next up, with the inescapable anthemy of Raindrops. As with any number of summer house mantras, your ears will have had prolonged exposure before you even know the name of the song. And yet, Raindrops shows no signs of growing old anytime soon, its piquant energy and instantaneous melody helping it to Single of the Week status. NB: we reserve the right to revoke this title once we’re fed up of hearing it.

Perpetual staples of the Radio 1 playlist The Enemy – perhaps not the nicest of labels to give a band, but at least it guarantees them 650-700 plays a week – unveil a second submission from Music For The People, the amiable easiness of Sing When You’re In Love. While not quite boasting the head-turning edge of previous work, it’s a nice nod to the softer side of a band you mightn’t have expected to have one.

The Saturdays continue their undertaking to fill the inevitable hole Girls Aloud are surely soon to leave, although Work takes a trip further across the pond than Girls Aloud ever did (and not because of Cheryl’s conviction). A heavily-American pop stomper, whilst sorely lacking in the impressive vocals of Una Healy, provides their finest offering outside of Up. Now they’ve almost got as many good singles as shit ones...

And finally, as if to prove the point about the utter headfuckery of release schedules, Wonderland heralds the debut album from Brighton-based daydream-merchants The Mummers, and was released several times before we’ve finally gotten round to acknowledging it properly. It’s worth the wait, mind – a modest masterpiece of otherworldly, waltzy magic, which, you lucky sons of bitches, you can download here completely legally, and completely free. Woo-hoo, etc.

The Sloppy Dog LiveBlog: Big Brother 10

Every year, we all do it. Another horrific run of Big Brother comes to an end, and we swear blind it'll be the last one we watch. And yet, the lure of Launch Night is always too big a temptation to resist. So join us as we herald another summer of ultimate car crash television, as Big Brother reaches double figures. Or, if you wisely choose to ignore Series 4, 8 and 9, its seventh birthday.

20:56
...it's also Jade Goody's birthday tomorrow, incidentally. Somehow, the soulless leeches at Endemol missed a trick there. They could have scheduled the two to coincide, and unveiled a tasteless statue outside the house that at least three housemates dry-humped on their way in.

20:57
Jesus wept! The show's not even begun yet, and Davina McCall's increasingly unbearable squawk has already damaged the eardrums of approximately a third of the viewers. Which, considering the lack of buzz this series has gathered thus far, is probably about 11 people. Keep hitting refresh for updates, by the way, if you're one of the merry few joining us live.

21:01
Opening titles are a typical mess of abstract flashes. Davina's dress looks like a wipe-clean latex purchase from the cordoned-off area of Ann Summers.

21:05
We see that the house is filled with crates rather than furniture, and features a SHOCK!TWIST! phone, which will probably never amount to anything, much like the 'target that housemates MUST NOT stand on' a couple of years back. First housemate in is a posho named Freddie, who's getting booed horribly and is wearing a particularly cunty hat.

21:08
Freddie looks rather like Screech from Saved By The Bell. Meanwhile, we meet #2 - an advertisement against lesbianism named Lisa. Christ, will they ever cast just one lone gay housemate that doesn't invoke wild homophobia in the most open-minded of individuals?

21:11
Oh look. A FUCKING PROMO GIRL. We haven't had one of THOSE in Big Brother before, have we? Admittedly, it's an industry that gave us Aisleyne, but come on, Endemol! Think outside the box! Sophie, which is the name attached to this seemingly-irrelevant vacuum of peroxide and implants, isn't even getting a frosty reception from the crowd. They just sound like they can't be arsed.

21:19
The wide shot reveals the crowd to be rather sparse this year. Let's hope, however, enough of them have brought tomatoes to hurl at Kris, who's the fourth in. The last Kris to enter a reality show robbed the bloody thing off what would've been an awesome winner. This does not bode well. He calls himself a visual merchandiser, which means he goes round straightening things on shelves and hangers. Mind you, it's for All Saints, which means he probably goes round scrunching things up and making it look like it needs a good iron. His hair is vile.

21:24
Noirin is an Irish girl, who's getting roundly booed on account of being quite pretty. Is she the same Noirin that went out with Isaac in Real World: Sydney? Probably not. Mind you, whoever pays that much attention to Real World?

21:27
Next in is Cairon, who has somehow adopted the voice of Darnell from last year's series. He dresses like a circus clown who's rebelling against the ringmaster, and has a tiger stuffed in his back pocket. Does that signify a particular sexual preference, like different coloured hankerchiefs?

21:32
An advert for Brothers Cider, which is by far and away the most appealing prospect to present itself since this show began half an hour ago. The strawberry one in particular is all kinds of awesome, even if it does look as though you're drinking a pint of Cherry Tango. But we digress. Isn't it funny how non-existent an 'event' vibe this year's launch night has? Has the public finally had its fill, or are we just a nation of skeptics?

21:35
A Russian character named Angel is the next to grace our screens. Their gender, however, has yet to be determined.

21:38
Angel has come dressed as the video for I Write Sins, Not Tragedies by Panic At The Disco. Which is shit, incidentally. "I love you all," she says. "Meh..." says humankind.

21:41
And we have our first self-proclaimed 'bitch' of the evening! Surely that means the first "I'm like Marmite, you either love me or hate me" within a few minutes, followed by "I always speak my mind" and the inevitable "I'm mad, me!" before the next break. Karly is unemployed, vain, and swiftly steals the blonde, cleavagey scutter crown from Sophie.

21:45
A bizarre mixture of sexless metalhead and gym twat named Marcus is the next one in, and he's somehow garnered the best reception of the evening thus far. Cairon doesn't seem to know what to make of him, which, in fairness, you can't really blame him for.

21:50
Are we being excessively negative about this year's housemates, or are they really as bad as they seem? Admittedly, not a single one has had an intro VT that's even remotely complimentary. As if to prove the point, meet Beinazir, a gobby Muslim bird with a generous dose of attitude. She carries a greater promise of action than any other housemate we've seen tonight, and yet, her VT shows her as little more than hugely unpleasant. We like Beinazir.

21:55
Pint-sized Sophia is next in, and in fairness, she seems quite good value for money. Her laugh is hilarious. Estimated time before laugh stops being hilarious and starts being eye-gougingly hateful = 30 minutes.

21:56
We were wrong. It was 30 seconds.

21:59
Rodrigo, an insanely smiley Brazilian boy who looks about 13, is the next to enter. Having a sunny disposition won't get you very far round these parts, buddy.

22:02
And before we know it, another awful gay is heading housewards. A Kafka-esque mash-up of Brian Dowling and that gormless Dale one from last year, Charlie sprints into the house without a second's pause for the gathered paparazzi. Well, now that's something positive to say about him, at least. The directors JUST HAPPEN to leave the camera lingering on Rodrigo, because, of course, the gays will inevitably fall in love and bum each other in the Diary Room.

22:09
What the hell kind of name is Saffia? It sounds a bit like Saffy, but also a bit like labia. She seems nice enough, all things considered.

22:10
Oh, right. It's pronounced 'Sapphire'. How disappointing.

22:12
Sree is the next one in, and he's hoping to be an ambassador for India. Remember the last person to say that on their way in...? Incidentally, he'll be sharing a house with a dental nurse and any number of chavs. Daily Mail readers, best put Ofcom on your speed dial.

22:16
You know that old 'save the best for last' adage? Well, that's just been pissed upon from a great height via the final entrant, Siavash. He has a tosspot moustache which he twirls regularly, is clad in a hideous blue suit making him look like Sweet from Once More With Feeling, and he claims Usher once told him "he is the man." Well, Usher once asked us how to pronounce 'Ronan Keating', so nerrr.

22:20
To think someone in the crowd has gone to the trouble of heading down Hobbycraft to pick up a colossal sheet of bright pink cardboard, gone hell-for-leather with what must have been dozens of glitter pens, and dragged it all the way to Hertfordshire. Saying "RIP Jade Goody." We can't decide whether that's hideously distasteful, or a thoughtful tribute.

22:25
Davina is wetting herself with excitement as she reveals the 'amazing twist' - just as well that dress is wipe clean, eh? Big Brother calls one housemate to the Diary Room, which looks like the test card as interpreted by a colourblind Picasso, and Rodrigo is the lucky individual. The sound guys need to get their shit together, because Big Brother sounds like a small child using an empty Pringles tube to do a Darth Vader impression.

22:27
The shock twist? Rodrigo has to shave off one housemate's eyebrows, and draw a curly moustache on their face. Obviously, the latter won't have any effect on Siavash. Is this the best they could come up with?!

22:31
Noirin, God bless her, has put herself forward. Whether she actually understands what she's put herself forward for remains to be seen.

22:33
...Turns out she didn't know, after all. There are now tears. However, Noirin, along with Rodrigo, is now an official housemate, which guarantees further tears, further humiliation, and a nice spread in Nuts.

22:37
And that's that. It's yet to be determined whether we've found anyone as awesome as Aisleyne, Alison or Anna; as crazy as Shahbaz, Ahmed or Nikki; or as downright loathsome as Grace, Charley or Tim. What we do know, however, is that Davina McCall gets more and more annoying the longer she does this show; that housemates have finally figured out how to open the front door, as this is the first year it hasn't stumped at least half the entrants; and that the sinister cultural pull of Big Brother is impossible to withstand, no matter how bad it gets. God help us.

Single Reviews 01/06/09

Welcome to this week’s Single Reviews, where we’re pleased to announce that The Sloppy Dog is officially a Susan Boyle-Free Zone. We realise mentioning her name sorta nullifies this, but hey, it’ll send our hit counter through the roof (like the last time that happened, when the term “Holly Willoughby’s tits” brought in hundreds of new visitors – presumably, they won't be searching the term “Susan Boyle” for the same purposes).

After the saccharin bloodbath of My Life Would Suck Without You, one would think Kelly Clarkson might try and pluck something half-reasonable from her catalogue to excuse it. Evidently, no such track exists, hence I Do Not Hook Up, yet another insipid, all-American female “I’m demure, me” cliché, this time performed in the style of an anaemic mutant Avril Lavigne, all ham-fisted lyrics and vocal police sirens.

What a relief, then, that we can block out such filth with our Single of the Week, a mightily grand indie-funk masterpiece courtesy of Hockey. For a band from Oregon, the flagrant entertainment factor of Learn To Lose has a distinctly British feel, though special mention must also be made of the strapping vocals and spellbindingly riotous synthwork on display. We can haz album? Kthxbai.

Another artist nodding funkwards is Solange, with another single plucked from an album that feels like it was released a good two years ago. While the unhurried, laissez-faire T.O.N.Y. isn’t one of her stronger efforts, it’s nonetheless a reminder of a unique artist who frankly should’ve turned a lot more heads. For her music, we mean, not for mouthing off at hapless Fox News presenters.

And bringing up the rear this week are Snow Patrol, with a more produced, slightly livelier update on The Planets Bend Between Us – a pleasingly more abstract offering than previous downtempo numbers, yet still unmistakeably Snow Patrol. Perhaps the piano-led album take didn’t lend itself to X Factor soundbeds as effectively? We jest. Well, partially.

Honking Box Preview: American Idol

So, as we come to the final of American Idol 8, we’ve witnessed many a would-be Idol go packing – early bookies’ favourite Alexis Grace; walking tale of woe Danny Gokey; the utterly shambolic Megan Joy, arguably the worst talent show finalist we’ve ever witnessed; SPONTANEOUS thirteenth wildcarder Anoop Desai; and the outstanding Allison Iraheta, who, if there were any justice, would be sharing the stage with Adam Lambert this week.

Alas, we can’t complain, as Adam, the official Sloppy Dog-endorsed contestant, made it to the end. And bearing in mind we’re still bitter about Ruth Lorenzo coming fifth, that’s progress if nothing else. So what are his chances? With slow-burning tweenage favourite Kris Allen claiming the other spot in the final, it’s a tighter race than even ol’ Calculated Cowell might’ve predicted.

Will Kris join the worryingly sizeable club of mousey, boyish silver medallists (David Archuleta, Clay Aiken, Blake Lewis), or will the hordes of squeeing fangirls win out and make him the next Idol? Bear in mind, the aforementioned squeeing fangirls didn’t manage to crown their beloved Archuleta last year, as demonstrated hilariously here. (Aside from being a brilliant opportunity to laugh at the misery of a bunch of 9-year-old girls, it’s also a pleasant reminder that David Cook is, by far and away, the greatest winner Idol has ever had.)

Speaking of the great Cookie himself, our initial thought on Adam Lambert was that he was effectively a gay edition of David Cook. However, we’ve since deduced that if last year’s finalists – that’s Davids Cook and Archuleta, for any fools not in the know – had a baby, it’d be Kris Allen. Seriously, try watching him without seeing bizarre elements of both Davids melded into one.

But enough talk of the most grim, perverse genetic experiments imaginable, and on with the competition. In the interests of fairness, we’ve weighed up the pros and cons of each contender for your perusal...

In short, Adam Lambert for the win. However, the bible belt will be doing its damndest to vote against the sinful theatre gay, upping Kris’ chances significantly. So we shall take this opportunity to politely request the rest of America GETS OFF THEIR BATTYCREASES AND VOTES FOR ADAM. Thanking you kindly.

Overall, this season of American Idol has been massively entertaining – perhaps not quite as good as last year’s, but we shall certainly have difficulty filling that immoral talent show hole until The X Factor kicks off in August. We’ll miss Ryan’s hapless attempts to appear down wit da kids; we’ll miss Paula babbling incoherently like the utter fucking loon she is; we’ll miss the frankly bizarre star spots in the audience; we won’t, however, miss Kara telling someone “You were sen [ten second pause] SAY-tional! Who does that? You, that’s who!”

The final airs tonight and tomorrow in the US, so we’ll be avoiding pretty much every news and pop culture website in existence until it goes through the Coke-blurring and Ford-eradicating process for ITV2 on Friday night. For now, we trust the good folk of America will be dialling appropriately, but if not, at least they get to experience the awkwardness of having their very own Leon Jackson. Ha.

Single Reviews 18/05/09

So, seriously, Europe, what the jiggins is up with voting Norway? Did we see a completely different performance to the rest of the continent? Or is this like another bloody Ebony Bones thing (‘ello love!) where everyone else in the world ‘gets’ it but us? With that in mind, this week’s Single Reviews will probably be directly contrary to the general public opinions...

Taylor Swift is first under the microscope, with the saccharin Disney ballad of Teardrops On My Guitar. The fact she actually has a guitar bodes fairly well, and there’s certainly the air of talent here, but it’s a tad too eyes-and-teeth for it to truly shine through. So with that in mind, we’ll await her post-rehab, post-pre-marital-baby, post-punk album with glee.

The welcome return of the Manic Street Preachers next, with the anthemic Jackie Collins Existential Question Time. Aside from the mouthwateringly barmy title, which in itself deserves some sort of blue plaque, the song itself is unpredictable, nonchalantly grand, and boasts a distinctive balance of riotous and melodic. Always nice to have you back, gents.

However, it doesn’t quite stretch to Single of the Week, a title which is instead given to Absent Elk. The atmospheric indie majesty illustrated in Sun & Water demonstrates a great deal of promise, which hopefully later material will live up to. Mind you, their acoustic YouTube material is as accomplished as the big orchestral splendour displayed here – can they do any wrong?

Graham Coxon - The Spinning Top (Transgressive Records)

With the Blur reunion imminent, notably as a quartet for the first time since 2002, it’s worth noting that Graham Coxon’s seventh solo album is more on a par with his earliest solo work – the arguably-diversionary acoustica released as a side project during the 13 era – rather than his more recent, more FM-friendly material. Is such melancholy material an insight into his Blurtime mindset? A dose of distraction, perhaps? Or merely an earnest demonstration of one man’s musical endowment?

A lengthy, quietly-epic album of simple, understated innocence, The Spinning Top tells the story, quite plainly, of a man’s life from birth through to death. Perhaps on paper not the most immediately-engaging narrative, yet the unassuming vocals and simple melodies twinkle along, complementing to the tale to incredible effect.

There’s a clear theme on display throughout The Spinning Top, with the overriding milieu one of stillness and subtlety. Gentle whispers of guitar pervade each track, and while accusations of repetitiveness are likely, they’re nullified by what Coxon is aiming to achieve – the seamless flow of the album is key to the tale being told.

That’s not to say the individual songs don’t carry their own identity, even if it is difficult to discern at first listen. The eight-and-a-half minute lullaby of In The Morning refuses to stray from its hushed country fayre blueprint, while Caspian Sea displays a dizzying resonance, peppered with intentionally-clumsy wallops of cymbal. Elsewhere, If You Want Me and Perfect Love each begin life as a sombre strumalong, before making way for, respectively, a bluesy galumph and an effervescent indie masterpiece.

The simplicity and agelessness of The Spinning Top, coupled with Coxon’s unobtrusive sincerity as a vocalist, make it an album that achieves far more than its minimal components would initially suggest. For a concept album, particularly one with such an austere, unembroidered story to tell, it’s gloriously unpretentious stuff. On the strength of The Spinning Top, that Blur reunion can wait a bit longer.

Single Reviews 11/05/09

Yes, we’re aware updates have been sporadic of late, if sporadic means “entirely absent.” Amongst other things, we’ve been undergoing the... er... immense task of setting up our Twitter page, which given we’re still not fully ‘getting’, is likely to be updated less often than this increasingly-patchy blog. But for now, enjoy our Single Reviews...

Having the unenviable spot of being the first single we’ve reviewed in a month means The Killers might be doused in stored-up bile. Luckily, we’ve rather taken to Day & Age-era Killers, something which The World We Live In cements further. This won’t do them any favours with the backwards fans who want them to revert to the diluted stabs at stadium rock, but the hummable, temperate synthage is more than passable.

Alesha Dixon follows up the still-genius Breathe Slow with the slightly-less genius Let’s Get Excited – a floorfilling pop thunderer which functions brilliantly as an album opener, but with the cheap, tawdry remix that’s unfathomably gone to radio, is unlikely to bring home the bacon as a single. Mind you, Alesha could burp the alphabet, release that a single and we’d still think she was the absolute dog’s bollocks.

Sounding like Coldplay’s entire back catalogue pretty much all at once is quite an achievement, but Gary Go manages it with ease on new single Open Arms – you, the reader, can decide whether that’s a compliment or a cuss-out. From where we’re standing, it might not display a whole lot in the way of originality, but the cascading riffs and rocketing vocals are an indicator of some genuine talent, and thus warrant a Single of the Week accolade.

Lastly, the ginormous cultural question mark that is Ebony Bones, with the similarly-baffling The Musik. Seriously, is this some sort of media-wide prank? Let’s break this down: Yasmin from Family Affairs (YASMIN! Low-rent Yasmin! Not even Dusty!) singing. Shouting, in fact. Over some pre-programmed 1991 school music-room Casio beats. Music and fashion press alike are foaming at the mouth. Fans, similarly, going apeshit. Ladies and gentlemen, the world is being Punk’d.

The Sloppy Dog LiveBlog: The Apprentice

Good evening, and thank you for choosing to spend the duration of The Apprentice with us, assuming you're reading this live. The rest of you - what's tomorrow like? Is it filled with hope and optimism, or is Fearne Cotton still alive? (Those of you who are reading this live, keep hitting refresh for updates).

21:01 - Not only are the half-hour opening titles duller than shite, they're also a sore reminder of the brilliant contenders that were sent packing. Sadface for Paula and Kimberley.

21:02 - A recap of last week's dire lack of action, and Noorul getting fired to worldwide indifference.

21:04 - Ben drops the prophetic statement that "a gateway is a gate to somewhere" - someone carve this man's every word in marble, for he is a veritable knowledgefest. Despite the contestants' hopes that they'll be heading off to sell sports cars on the beaches of Dubai, they're heading somewhere up Norf in the rain.

21:07 - Time to select the project managers. Mona's foolishly putting herself forward, which screams of a boardroom bloodbath. Meanwhile, on the opposing team whose name escapes me with all this team-swapping, Lorraine is at the helm. Poor, put-upon Lorraine. Flustered, overbite-tastic, accent-shifting know-it-all Lorraine. Last week, she was described by Margaret Mountford as being Cassandra:

(We're certain that's who she meant. Surely the cultured and wise Margaret Mountford, highly-educated laywer, entrepreneur and executive, currently studying for her doctorate in papyrology, couldn't have been talking about another Cassandra?)

21:10 - So the task, it seems, is to select and market a new product from a range proposed to each team by new designers. Or at least, that's as much as I could gather when I was busy Googling for an image of Cassandra. Amongst the products on display is a cardboard box for cats to play in, which your keyboard-battering correspondent spotted in an overpriced gift shop in Brighton last week. A spoiler, perhaps?

21:13 - Lorraine's team have selected the aforementioned cat monstrosity, and a bike bag, which she's now pitching horribly with Yasmina. Lorraine, FYI, is currently speaking with English accent. She'll no doubt flit to Irish before the episode is out. This is very annoying indeed.

21:17 - Mona has despatched Debra and Howard to pitch to the same panel of business-Scousers, with a similarly poor display to their rivals. Their products are a repugnant, impractical and presumably hugely uncomfortable sleeping bag with limbs, and a two-person dog lead. Or, if you use it upside down, a one-person dog lead for a two-headed dog.

21:21 - The voiceover describes "the shops of the North-West" in the same way as you'd describe "the slums of Sao Paolo". Not long after "the shops of the North-West" open, Mona flogs the people-shaped sleeping shrouds to a camping shop, while the ever-vile Ben nails a high-profile pitch. A pitch which is quickly hijacked by the hapless Lorraine, in spite of Yasmina's protests. This should be good.

21:24 - Debra Barr doesn't quite have the businesswoman look down pat, does she? She's not so much 'get the job done' as she is 'get fingered in the Wetherspoon's beer garden after two Smirnoff Ices.' A prime paradigm of pramface.

21:26 - Vile Ben, Whiny Geordie and Spare Slapperton Sister crash and burn in their pitch to a cycling shop. Meanwhile, Lorraine charges headlong into their big-money proposal with all the poise of a three-legged rhinoceros. It's not looking good for Stealth. Or Eclipse. Or Insight. Or Burglar. What are the teams called this year?

21:29 - Oo-er, Lorraine is snarking about Slapperton Kate's beauty. Well, wouldn't you, if you were the spitting image of Calamity James?

21:32 - Accentwatch: Lorraine's gone momentarily Irish.

21:34 - Time for the boardroom, and it's a reminder of just how little we've seen of Mona and James today. In fact, her whole team garnered sod-all screentime today. You'd initially think this might be a result of the opposing team's utter stupidity, but Sralan reveals they sold diddly-squat during the pitches he set up for them. Way to impress the boss, guys.

21:37 - Slapperton reveals Lorraine "lacked some structure", which may well be the most diplomatic way of saying "was a complete fucking moron who turned everything she touched into a puddle of diarrhoea."

21:38 - And Mona's team - Empire, we finally learn - win by a margin of £3000. Slapperton looks pissed, Ben looks vile, and Lorraine looks worried. As worried as one can look when their face is made of mouldy latex.

21:39 - The Sloppy Dog's backseat bloggers think Lorraine will be bringing Kate and Philip back in with her. Well, that's no good! Get rid of Vile Ben. Let him waddle back to his army-themed bedroom in his parents' house, and eat pies while wearing his fetching braces. Meanwhile, Empire live it up in a helicopter.

21:44 - Ben's coming across quite well in the firing line. This does not bode well.

21:45 - Philip is the best kind of bitch, in the sense that Lorraine is on the receiving end. Apparently, "a monkey in a pair of dungarees" could have done better, which is probably fair. Slapperton Kate, meanwhile, does not cope well under pressure. Better get to pouting, love, show Sralan your potential.

21:48 - And it's Kate and Philip who'll be joining Lorraine back in the boardroom. Does this mean we've got another week of seeing Ben's pockmarked, flabby, arrogant self strutting around like a Goomba dressed as Gordon Gekko?

21:50 - Philip, for all his flaws, stands up to Sralan in a rather impressive manner. However, he is quickly shot down by another Nick Hewer classic: "Tell us about Pants Man."

21:52 - Well the sneaky cow! Lorraine decides to bring out the big guns and reveal Kate and Philip have been getting all squelchy behind the scenes. Low blow, Lorraine, low blow. Philip is genuinely welling up.

21:54 - And the candidate being shown to the taxi of doom is...

21:55 - Philip. How disappointing. Still, you can't expect someone to stand up to Sralan and his Napoleon complex and live to see another day. How Debra even made it back after giving Nick Hewer a mouthful last week is utterly perplexing. In hindsight, Philip was his own worst enemy, and probably deserved to go. But not as much as Lorraine.

21:57 - Spare Slapperton Kate lays into Lorraine back in the house, and rightly so. She'd have been within her rights to uppercut the slimy bastard, in fairness. Debra congratulates Lorraine by saying "Well done Irishwoman" - so WHAT'S WITH THE BLOODY ACCENT?!

21:58 - Next week, Margate. Classy stuff indeed. Do they still have the Looping Star there?

22:00 - In summary: Ben and Debra being hideous; Kate looking like an All Saints merchandise blow-up doll; Lorraine displaying huge new levels of ineptitude; a disappointing lack of Margaret Mountford; and we bid farewell to Philip, surprisingly not off the back of Pants Man. Night-night all! x