Apparently the Aussies consider it a source of national pride that they've exported Peter Andre over here.


Why don't we cheer ourselves up, then, that we've shoved Gordon Ramsay to America to shout, rant, rave and generally lose his melon over there?
Like most women, I've always liked Gordon a bit, but his latest show is gob-smacking for all the wrong reasons.


In fact, there were shows on quantum physics (Plastic, BBC4), old-school journalism (Field of Blood BBC1) and historical humping (The White Queen BBC1) which ticked my boxes this week, but Ramsay's Hotel Hell (10pm Mondays, C4) left the most searing impression.

First up: the opening credits. I had to beg my boyfriend to rewatch these with me as I worried they were part of my flu delirium. Enter Gordon, sucking in his stomach, strutting about in a tight leather jacket while pumped-up muzak blares over the stainless steel 'kitchen'
landscape which farts flameballs at him in a quasi rock-n-roll pastiche. It reminded me of Ricky Gervais's glam 80s pop phase (youTube it). But sillier. And there's a tiger - A TIGER! - lounging on a red velvet bed. Without a smirk of irony from Gordy. Not one. (I checked.) Incredible.

From here on, dignity levels sink. Ramsay flashes his saggy arse in a shower (unneccessary) and gets on with his trademark role of shouting at Yanks. Admittedly, most of them deserve it, which is the deal. We all know Ramsay's specialism, now he's left the celebrity chef gig, is to insult losers while their wives cry. The added bonus of the American format is that most of the Fawlty Towers-esque businesspeople chosen are expecting a kind of bumbling Hugh Grant charmbot. They get Gordon, with his best bulldog-chewing-a-wasp face and expletives delivered at such close range, you do wonder how he's not being repeatedly punched.
At one point, Ramsay jabs substandard apple pie at a couple with such menace you worry the family shotgun might make an appearance. Because this is personal: being told your family business is "the most soulless, depressing f&^%ing thing I've ever f^%$ing seen" has gotta hurt.
Luckily the telly researchers found subjects who are even bigger asshats than Ramsay. Ha ha.

I do worry about Gordon, though. He seems sometimes to be in the midst of a breakdown. Within ten minutes of meeting Monday's victim - hotelier John - he's shouting (at close range, obv) "you're like a little f*&^ing Hitler around here and if you don't do something you will RUIN your family and your business." Wake-up call served. Nice one. Bish bash bosh etc. But Ramsay continues to unravel in footage so bizarre that you need a drink just to get through it.
Pretending to be a prowler, he enters the unlocked front door of the hotel, coming across sets of duplicate keys for the guests' rooms.
Yeah, bit of a security risk there: spot on, Gordy. He even gets to say "your bloody front door is not locked at night" in his best Michael Caine voice.
But he goes on. He rounds up all the guests in one of the hideously wallpapered rooms and tells them they all might have been RAPED by sex predators chancing upon the establishment.

He tells them repeatedly:
'You could have been raped! How do you feel about that?!?' Jesus, it's intense. And, you imagine, a bit of a bummer for the couples on their weekend away from the kids, standing there patiently being told to imagine some serious sexual violatation.


Oh yeah, and the hotel is haunted. So the telly producers get to layer sinister child's giggles on top of spooky music. Things turn even more surreal when he locks controlling hotel manager John on the freaky top floor of the hotel with a handless, bloodstained mannequin so he can think about how controlling he's been. Errrrrr: pot, kettle?


"I just can't get through to your dad!" he beseeches to John's daughter.
For all its dubious moral content, this should be required viewing for mental health workers. And one thing is for sure, I will be watching this again. Damn you, Gordon!