It is a shame the current series of The Sex Inspectors has just finished. It is the prima donna of reality makeover shows as it features images and conversations you can’t experience anywhere else on the box.
Tracy Cox, author of Supersex and poster girl for supporters of nominative determination, co-hosts with Michael Alvear, writer of Men Are Pigs, But We Like Bacon, a title that provides a clue to his orientation. Their combination is the masterstroke of hiring – men fancy her, and don’t feel threatened by him; women want to be her and feel comfortable talking in front of him.
The dilemmas chosen are commonplace. The punters are young, but in long-term relationships. The footage of their bedroom problems and solutions is frank, but the use of pixilation and vivid colour produce a visual that is a cross between a lava lamp and a comic, so it’s all reassuringly mid-shelf.
The participants are to be admired for their bravery and adaptability. In the climax of the season, the show revisited couples to see if, one series on, they had been blessed by the exposure.
Generally, they were all blissful, apart from the male of the last couple: Gary had problems with staying power. He was promptly advised to improve his pelvic muscles by plonking a towel on his todger and trying to perform one-organ vertical rises.
Suddenly, there was a swish of the camera and we were presented with a close up of a shrouded white steeple and it seemed like we were about to behold a mesmerising act of conjuring – but wait! With a further flourish of the camera, we suddenly saw Gary, the self-titled Three Minute Man. He was standing in the middle of the lounge, feet apart, hands on hips, looking like a forgetful superhero that is glad the evil Viennese Oyster will never see how he has misplaced the Cape Of Justice.
In practically two shakes of a lamb’s tail Gary's pelvic muscles improve, happiness ensues, the show ends, leaving a void in the schedules and a screwdriver in the towel rack.
Tracy Cox, author of Supersex and poster girl for supporters of nominative determination, co-hosts with Michael Alvear, writer of Men Are Pigs, But We Like Bacon, a title that provides a clue to his orientation. Their combination is the masterstroke of hiring – men fancy her, and don’t feel threatened by him; women want to be her and feel comfortable talking in front of him.
The dilemmas chosen are commonplace. The punters are young, but in long-term relationships. The footage of their bedroom problems and solutions is frank, but the use of pixilation and vivid colour produce a visual that is a cross between a lava lamp and a comic, so it’s all reassuringly mid-shelf.
The participants are to be admired for their bravery and adaptability. In the climax of the season, the show revisited couples to see if, one series on, they had been blessed by the exposure.
Generally, they were all blissful, apart from the male of the last couple: Gary had problems with staying power. He was promptly advised to improve his pelvic muscles by plonking a towel on his todger and trying to perform one-organ vertical rises.
Suddenly, there was a swish of the camera and we were presented with a close up of a shrouded white steeple and it seemed like we were about to behold a mesmerising act of conjuring – but wait! With a further flourish of the camera, we suddenly saw Gary, the self-titled Three Minute Man. He was standing in the middle of the lounge, feet apart, hands on hips, looking like a forgetful superhero that is glad the evil Viennese Oyster will never see how he has misplaced the Cape Of Justice.
In practically two shakes of a lamb’s tail Gary's pelvic muscles improve, happiness ensues, the show ends, leaving a void in the schedules and a screwdriver in the towel rack.
2 comments:
That's funny. I worked on a version of the show for the US market in which, hilariously, we weren't allowed to show any sex!
It was still too soon after the shocking and innocence-defiling display of Janet Jackson's nipple at the Superbowl. Apparently, the US population is not mentally equipped to deal with our god-given rude bits - well not on television, anyway.
And the Americans say it's the British who are uptight.
I recently saw one of the Sex inspectors chapter and I am so glad there is a program who deals bedroom problem without getting porno. It gave me useful ideas and I am sure helps long terms couples with sex problems, how to deal using simple techiques and paying attention to partners needs.
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