” Your lights are on…but no one’s home…”
The famous opening line from Robert Palmer’s hit song, Addicted to Love. Remember that 1980s video with the supermodels playing the instruments and Robert looking very dapper? It’s very apt for the contestants on Love Island. All muscle, tattoo’s, and sun kissed beauties pouting. It’s everything I shouldn’t like in a TV show but its that bad it’s fantastic. And at the end it whittles down to just one couple who win fifty grand and be in love forever, well a week or so anyway.
We started watching it for a laugh a couple of years ago but twenty minutes in I was hooked by the love twists and shananigans that went on. And this seasons contestants are no different. Two amazing looking women sat in the sun next to a pool. In fact I’m sure they’re cloned them from the previous series.”So,” one begins, she’s an eyebrow technician from Essex, flicking her dark locks back. ” What’s your type?” The other woman plays with her long blonde hair. ” Tall…. Tattoo’s…nice teef….” In walks Brad, a chiseled Adonis, oiled up, pecks flexing. He’s doing a great job till he opens his gob and starts to talk. Turns out he’s a labourer from Newcastle who lives with his Grandmother. Not the self made successful fella they had in mind with a Lamborghini but when there’s fifty thousand quid to be made you have to keep those options well and truly open.
Us mere mortals can only gaze on as these beautiful people chat each other up under a blue sky and shining sun. Not an ounce of fat in sight. Not a flabby gut or a chubby dimply thigh in view. These lot must work out half the day to keep that six pack intact, and the hair takes a lot of work and don’t forget those teef. But love does not run a true course does it? Contestants get voted out via the public. Hearts are not exactly broken but a bit bent out of shape as one by one these Gods and Goddesses are kicked out. Ego’s are crushed. It’s quite brutal really, one minute you’re in there living the dream the next you get the elbow it’s bye bye and gone, suitcase on wheels heading into the Mediterranean sunset.
There’s a woman in the spacious villa called Faye. She’s had a bit of Botox done. She can’t really smile and just looks annoyed at all the men who talk to her. Even Brad didn’t get a chuckle. She asked him what was his type through pink puffy lips and he said in a thick Geordie accent. ” …. Well….like…y’know like…canny… like… haven’t…. like….got a type like….” She looks completely baffled, false eyelashes blowing in the breeze. She almost smiles but those luscious lips refuse to budge. ” I’m looking for someone who likes conversation.” She tells him, sounding muffled, a bit like Marlon Brando in The Godfather but without the cat. “Oh…like….yeah…me too…….like…”
Fame and fortune awaits the winners. Endorsements, influencing and maybe even a career in TV. For the losers it’s fifteen minutes of fame, more followers on Instagram and a few guest appearances in nightclubs. As for cupid? How can you find love in there when you love yourself more? It’s funny when they reel off what they are looking for in a partner. Hardly any of them say personality. I suppose if you haven’t got one yourself then it’s a hard idea to get to grips with. But who needs personality when you have good looks? These lot have done alright so far and even Brad might win, if he keeps his mouth shut and just smiles..