Episode 6 Charlie Brooker's Weekly Wipe

This programme contains some strong language

and adult humour from the start.

Weekly Wipes had these opening credit things

with all bathroom tiles flying around

and this music that went...

BARRY SINGS ALONG WITH THE THEME TUNE

PHILOMENA SINGS ALONG WITH THE THEME TUNE

BARRY SINGS ALONG WITH THE THEME TUNE

Sort of like that.

Hello, I'm Charlie Brooker. You are watching a special edition of Weekly Wipe.

Normally, with a TV series, there is, like,

six normal episodes, but what this did, which was brilliant,

was the sixth one was like some sort of compilation one

with some of the best bits in it in case you had forgotten them

because they happened so long ago, like well over a fortnight.

But just so you weren't sure

whether to just switch off if you had already seen those bits,

it had all these new bits in it too, sort of peppered throughout,

like if you had a burger made of old mince, but you put some new mince

in it as well, to sort of mask the cheap fucking stink.

Benefits Street is a fly on the fly-covered wall documentary series,

a bit like Sesame Street brought to you by the letters DSS and DWP.

It follows some of the residents

on an apparently notorious Birmingham street

where, we are told, most of the residents are on benefits.

As well as impoverished single mums,

it also depicts petty criminals on the rob.

On the one hand, it's a gritty slice-of-life expose,

but it's also packaged with a knowing nod and a wink

and it is so full of larger-than-life characters,

it almost feels like a sitcom, a bit like Friends...with benefits.

Some complained the programme depicts lazy ne'er-do-wells

living the high life, sponging off the state.

To be fair, the level of luxury they are enjoying is outrageous.

I mean, just look!

Most of them have got shoes! The sense of entitlement is amazing!

They use oxygen without even paying for it,

they just inhale it and convert it into carbon dioxide,

selfishly leaving less for the taxpayer.

They've even got sticks and bits of old fan.

I haven't got sticks and bits of old fan! Why should they?

Channel 4 says Benefits Street is about

community spirit in adverse circumstances, but the problem is,

it's not called Community Spirit In Adverse Circumstances,

it's called Benefits Street, a button-pushing title

attached to a programme with more buttons than a shirt factory.

They might as well have called it The Great British Skive-Off

or Layabout Way.

To wear my earnest hat for a moment,

I actually thought Benefits Street was broadly sympathetic

to its participants, although being a TV show,

it also inevitably boiled their lives down

to eye-catching highlights and outrageous sound bites,

but thanks to that title

and ingrained assumptions of some viewers

on both sides of the political divide,

it also caused the sort of noisy publicity-stoking press reaction

that must have had Channel 4 wanking with dismay.

The debate came alive

on a feisty edition of Newsnight, as a man from Channel 4 had to

defend himself against accusations of being a poverty porn baron.

Are you comfortable with the idea of poverty porn as an idea?

I am deeply uncomfortable with that phrase. I think it's inaccurate.

That's true. Benefits Street isn't porn.

I mean, what is pornographic about seeing six sweaty men

crammed into one filthy hole?

There's not even any money shots. Well, they haven't got any money.

There was this sort of detective programme called Sherlock,

which was really exciting,

about this hobbit who lives in London and he's friends with

this wizard called Sherlock who is really good at solving crimes.

It's brilliantly made. You can tell all the people in it

are really clever because they speak really quickly.

Because the repairs exceed the cost of the hat,

so he is mawkishly attached to it, but it's more than that.

One, perhaps two patches, would indicate sentimentality.

Which is good because it means they are not put off by the fact

that no-one actually speaks like that.

Sherlock is so brainy he can see words floating in the air

that tell him what's going on,

like he has done a spell

so he's got a Wikipedia in his eyes, you know.

Everything must look like a diagram to him.

Like when he does a piss, right, it must have "piss" written next to it

or something cleverer than "piss", like "urine".

It was like a film about a robot policeman, but on television,

so it wasn't really a film,

but it is so good they should do a film about a robot cop.

They could call it Robot Cop.

Sherlock's really smart and can use the internet, but he doesn't

seem to know that you can open more than one window at a time.

Like, when he wants to open a new window, he must have to just

buy a new laptop, so he's got loads of them.

He must have to do all the solving stuff

just to pay for all his computers.

What's good is it's sort of for the Twitter generation.

Like, because everyone watching is tweeting, "I love Sherlock,"

all the time, there's these special bits of the programme

where nothing important happens,

so you can use your phone for a bit without missing anything.

It's unpredictable, which is brilliant.

Like sometimes it gets all excited

and sort of whooshes from one thing to another

in a really modern way, and sometimes it sort of turns into

Take Me Out, but with Sherlock Holmes instead of Paddy McGuinness.

-Describe him.

-Short blond hair.

-Dark hair. Long.

-Ginger. I like gingers.

Seriously, it really was like Take Me Out.

Mmm, not you.

Not you, not you, not you, not you, not you.

Not you.

Food! And with the horse-meat scandal behind us,

the New Year got off to a grisly start as a Chinese branch of Walmart

discovered its donkey meat was tainted with fox.

These days, you just don't know what the FOX you are eating.

The sad news was expertly reported

on the slightly odd Blue Ocean Network,

anchored by the world's first Lego human.

A man that bought a package of what he thought was donkey meat

at a local Walmart turned out to be fox meat instead.

Talk about Fox News! Ha-ha-ha!

The report rounded off with a helpful Jamie Oliver-style

austerity cooking tip.

To be on the safe side, boil fox meat with spices before consuming.

And to be on the really safe side, throw it away.

Culture! And in unforgettable scenes,

This Morning screens a bizarre live test

in which Britain's foremost and indeed only rumpologist

demonstrates how to analyse people's backsides.

When I was focusing on Kelly's bottom, it's the right cheek

that was telling me all the sort of past things.

The left cheek is all the future things.

Which, as I suspected, makes the present a shithole.

Looking at this, you might think

This Morning is taking the piss, but it isn't,

although some of its guests are.

How do you start your day? Do you like an orange juice?

-I'm a coffee guy.

-You're a coffee guy.

Maybe some of you are tea people.

Well, not this couple.

They kick off their day with a glass of their own urine.

Yes, in a thrilling episode,

This Morning interviewed a happy couple who drink their own urine.

Not to save money - they drink it for health reasons,

none of which are visible or indeed exist.

What difference did it make to you?

It just generally, it helps balance my head,

like my emotions were a lot calmer and I could just think clearer.

Clear enough to think, "I know! I'll drink my own piss!"

Is it an acquired taste? Could you ever try each others?

-It's not a taste you want to acquire!

-You don't like the taste of it?

-No!

-When you begin, it smells and tastes like wee.

So it is socially unacceptable and it tastes horrible,

but on the plus side, it's also frowned upon by doctors,

specifically a telly doc who looks like Prince playing Doctor Who

doing his best to balance the piss-taking with medical fact.

It is not medically recommended,

especially if you're unwell or on medication.

-We would not recommend it.

-It had been medically recommended.

Mm, yeah, I guess it all boils down, really, to who you want to believe -

the qualified medical professional who tells you not to drink piss

or the hairy bloke in the stripy jumper who does.

Things inevitably built towards the money shot

in which the happy couple would go on the piss,

necking a glass of home-brewed Pinot grigio live on air,

which was probably enough to get viewers experimenting

with swallowing their own vomit.

Look at that. You know what that is? That is Cameron's Britain.

Cameron's Britain, everybody!

CHARLIE SCOFFS

Inevitably, this informative item

prompted some lively viewer feedback,

which tight-panted bulge-displayer Jeff Brazier

did his best to reel off quickly

before he had some kind of weird fit.

Zoe says, "If that is what they want to do, then let them.

"People are too quick to judge." Now...

MUSIC: "I'm Gonna Love You Just A Little More, Baby" by Barry White

Mmm!

To be fair, this celebratory urine drinking isn't the most

upsetting fluid intake scene I have witnessed on ITV recently.

That would be Monday's harrowing Coronation Street,

in which Hayley Cropper drank the ultimate bedtime nightcap.

Come on, everyone.

# Down in one, down in one, down in one! #

Still, it was nice of her to give him a hand job on the way out.

I love you!

You know what I've noticed? Have a look at this.

X Factor!

Yeah, look at this. This sort of brightly lit spew,

this is popular culture.

This is popular! But it's terrible.

# It's going down! #

Makes you think, that, doesn't it?

Well, it makes nobody think more

than our resident inquisitive human, Limmy.

This is Limmy.

The world is full of mystery, the unexplained,

but I like to think I've got an ability to work out what is really

going on, to take a peek behind the curtain like in The Wizard Of Oz,

and show you, you know, like,

"Hey, look, it's been him the whole time!"

That kind of thing, but something has come up that

I just cannot get my head around and that's, erm...

That's, erm...

Pitbull.

I mean, erm, what?!

One minute there is nae Pitbull,

the next, there's this guy about 40,

jumping up and down on a stage in a suit

like he's just come straight out from work.

-'Mr Worldwide!'

-Mr Worldwide? It's bizarre.

But what's most bizarre is that nobody is batting an eye.

It's like an alien's landed

and I'm like that, "Look, everybody! An alien!"

And everybody is like that.

What's most bizarre is that he's number one everywhere.

Somebody is buying the singles, but nobody's owning up.

I was in Victoria Park, painting the fence - somebody's got to -

and this school lassie walked by, so I asked her.

You into Pitbull, hen? She just ran away!

I even jumped on Twitter to speak to the man himself.

"Who are you?" Cos nobody else will talk to me.

It's like everybody's in fear to speak out,

like some kind of mafia thing. In fact, that's what it's like.

It's like Pitbull's some kind of mafia godfather who just woke up

one morning and decided,

"I want to be a pop star." Just one day decided,

"Mr Worldwide!" And everybody's just having to go along with it, or else.

Nobody dares mention the suit. Or the voice.

Or the fact that he's about 40 years old, calling himself Pitbull

and jumping up and down on the stage shouting, "Mr Worldwide!"

Nobody dares, unless they want to find themselves at the bottom of the

Clyde, wearing a Columbian necktie and a pair of concrete boots.

# Oh, oh, oh, oh!

-# I just want to feel this moment. #

-Pitbull!

Britain's brilliant, isn't it? It's got everything.

It's got Paddington Bear and flags and the Bake Off.

But all of this hangs in the balance thanks to immigration,

which is completely out of control, apparently.

Which is why it's helpful that for over a year, the news has kept us

informed of the imminent threat of inbound Romanians

and Bulgarians set to flood the country once EU restrictions

were lifted on New Year's Day.

But who exactly are these people? First, Bulgarians.

Bulgarians, as a series of eye-opening reports made devilishly

clear, live in a kind of Medieval realm, twinned with Game of Thrones.

Consisting entirely of horses and carts and people lugging giant

sacks around like they're in a live recreation of a Bruegel painting.

Their world isn't entirely backward. I mean, they do have, say, cars.

But only shit ones.

In fact, as Channel 4's footage made clear,

Bulgaria's a kind of open air shit car museum, where the only

form of entertainment is driving over the nation's one speed bump.

Romania, meanwhile, is apparently also

a Medieval Game of Thrones Bruegel painting squalor pot,

according to this news footage,

apparently beamed live from the year 1386.

The news certainly painted a graphic picture of deprivation

and hot horse-on-cart action. I mean, look at this bleak existence!

No utilities, squalid conditions,

people lugging sacks around everywhere.

And the only way to get about is on horseback.

They'd be better off in Britain.

Little wonder a tidal wave of immigrants was being predicted by

some, and it didn't seem they were going to be welcomed with open arms.

It's hard to shake the suspicion that much of the hostility

towards immigrants who haven't even migrated might have

something to do with the level-headed, non-judgemental

and factually watertight reporting surrounding the issue.

Given the nature of the news coverage,

you'd think the Romanians would be rubbing their hands together,

looking at the clock and booking their tickets.

But weirdly, as some of the reporters pointed out,

they're just not that into us.

Having spoken to people here, it's clear that contrary to popular myth,

Romanians have no wish to go to the UK to live on benefits.

Yeah, I know. I've read about it in the paper.

They can't wait to come and steal from us. Just listen to them.

I would never leave my country, this woman says. For what?

-I'm a patriot.

-Give me back my wallet!

What would be the point of leaving Romania just for social benefits?

Yeah, whatever. Have you got a receipt for those kids?

I make my money here. I have my family here, and my friends here.

-I feel at home here, I would never go.

-You lying thief!

Even their own officials denied they wanted to come here.

I can see at least one factor that makes the UK far less attractive,

-and that's certainly the weather.

-What, how dare you?!

What's wrong with our weather?!

More disruption and misery after powerful gales

and heavy rainfall hit the UK for the second time this week.

Yes, in an apparent bid to scare off the great Eastern European

invasion scheduled for New Year's Day when the floodgates would open,

Britain's weather spent much of Christmas demonstrating

what it'd look like if there were no floodgates at all.

Suddenly, there was an intense sense of deja vu about some of the coverage.

I mean, look at this bleak existence.

No utilities, squalid conditions,

people lugging sacks around everywhere.

And the only way to get about is on horseback.

They'd be better off in Romania.

As New Year's Day arrived, the press pulled out all the stops

to welcome the expected horde of newcomers,

while in a last-ditch attempt to put off anyone

attempting to enter the country, the government stationed MP

and publicity tagnut Keith Vaz at Luton Airport.

In fact, as Sky News clearly proved,

when the much anticipated planeload of Romanians arrived,

it turned out most of them already worked here.

But the news did find at least one new Romanian - this guy, Victor,

who'd come to get a job washing cars while wearing a green hat.

I don't come to rob your country,

I come to work, and you open the border.

Hope you paid for that hat.

Ironically, while Victor the one-man horde flooded Britain

and bravely withstood a coffee with Keith Vaz,

there were more British newcomers

working in Romania as reporters than new Romanians in Britain.

Anyway, now the country is ruined.

I miss the traditional British way of life, you know,

before we had the Bulgarians and the Romanians.

And the Polish and the Russians and the Australians.

And the Kurdish and the Turkish.

And the Bengalis and the Pakistanis,

and the Indians, and the West Indians

and the Africans and the Huguenots.

And the Jews and the Normans and the Vikings

and the Angles and Saxons and the Romans and the Jutes.

And those bloody Celts who were first in the door,

-the foreign

-BLEEP

-idiots.

It's been downhill ever since.

Food now, and have you ever seen Sunday Brunch?

It's a kind of ladsy, blokesy, cooksy kind of show

that lasts for about 600 years every weekend on Channel 4.

But don't worry if you couldn't eat the whole episode of that,

Mr Jake Yapp is here to reduce it down to a matter of seconds.

Here he is. Start the clock.

Good morning, welcome to Sunday Brunch, with me, Tim Lovejoy.

A completely different format to Something For The Weekend

which I hosted in the same slot on BBC Two.

That was all about celebs and cooking,

this is all about food and famous people.

Anyway, it's no biggie, it's only telly,

just a couple of top blokes slightly too old for their low-rise jeans

hanging out for classic bants.

Look at me, I'm just leaning on the set, owning the space.

Scouse sidekick, what are you cooking up for us today?

Well, I'm doing French toast with...

Yeah, all right, mate, that's enough of you. Back to me.

Only joking! BARKING LAUGH

He's laughing. He's laughing as well.

I'm the new Des Lynam when you think about it,

I'm just so bloody laid-back.

All right, let's do some autocue,

watch my eyes glaze over, remedial time.

HALTINGLY: Our guests today were famous in a pop group around 1997.

Welcome, guys, just hang out, help yourselves to anything,

my parents aren't back till September and I'll be at uni by then.

Anyway, let's interview you,

didn't bother to read the notes, I'll just wing it.

Er, how did you...

What's the most...er... Who are you?

OK, I've completely lost control of the interview now.

Good job the sound man's remembered that I'm supposed to be in charge.

Time to say something blindingly obvious as though

it's something only my keenly analytical mind could work out.

Music's really important, isn't it? Speaking of which,

here's a bit of a pop video we've been checking out on MySpace.

They're called Coldplay, and we think they're going places. Here it is...

Time now for me to stand next to Simon

while he cooks, all a bit awkward,

like a neighbour standing in your kitchen at your New Year's party.

Later on Simon will stand awkwardly next to our guest chef,

keeping that whole redundant bloke standing about vibe going.

Well, we've got to the end of the programme

and no-one's worked out what my role is.

Time for a low key, no eye contact finale. See you later.

Cinema! And in a lushly composed and thought-provoking promo

for a satellite film channel,

Harrison Ford himself shuffles glumly around

asking us relentless questions about the silver screen.

What was the last movie...

..you couldn't stop thinking about?

Hmm. That'd be Edward Penishands. I saw it on VHS, like, 20 years ago.

Still see it every night in here.

When was the last time you saw a movie you really wanted to watch?

Oh, Edward Penishands. As soon as I heard that title, I was in.

What was the last movie you just had to tell someone about?

Edward Penishands. Seriously, he's got penises for hands.

What's the last movie you saw that sent a shiver down your spine?

Oh, Edward Penishands. There's an eerie bit

where he has to eat spaghetti with the family,

-and it's really uncomfortable.

-He's disgusting!

Now, Susan, be polite.

That was the last movie that really impacted on me.

What will be the next?

That will probably be Edward Penishands 2,

but that won't be on Sky Movies, so sling your hook, Dr Jones.

Culture now, and it seems a lot of what we watch on TV

doesn't have anything to say.

Well, some people don't think that's a bad thing.

Namely US comedian and shambles, Doug Stanhope. Here he is.

DISTORTED "HAIL TO THE CHIEF" PLAYS

I'm Doug Stanhope,

and that's why I drink.

They always said Seinfeld was a show about nothing.

And I enjoy that concept, cos that's what I look for in a TV show.

Nothing.

At this age, I don't want to learn anything.

I don't want to have to care or pay attention.

That's why I try not to read books,

cos it gets you all thinking and stuff. Who needs that?

But even Seinfeld could not have imagined the levels of nothing

that television could one day reach.

Nobody does nothing better than the Norwegians.

They've mastered a concept they call slow TV.

One show that's 12 hours long about knitting,

nothing but relentless knitting.

GENTLE LOUNGE JAZZ PLAYS

That is paradise to me.

They put cameras on a cruise ship in Norway

and filmed an entire six day voyage.

134 hours, one episode.

I would have watched that show in my cabin on that cruise ship.

Thanking God I didn't have to lift my neck all the way up to the window

to see this. I could just see it, it's right here on TV!

I hope we don't dock before this is over!

I need to know how this cruise ends!

If only I could make these segments about nothing.

Cos this is not really who I am. I'm not this angry all the time.

Do you think this is what I do at home? Get drunk and go, "Ahh?!"

No, that's why I only do half a dozen of these segments a year.

The rest of the time, I'm kind of all right.

I'm not like a Sean Hannity,

who's going to be angry and outraged every goddamn night.

I'll bet you 10,000, your charity versus mine,

that Congress has a special subsidy the American people don't have.

You going to take the bet, Congressman?

Are you going to take the bet?

Are you going to take that bet?

-No, I...

-Because you're lying, that's why.

How do you live like that, Sean? Relax!

Just grab a drink and settle down.

There's nothing going on and you're missing it.

EastEnders, the BBC's expertly realised ongoing simulation

of what London might look like if human beings spoke

and behaved in unrealistic ways,

has been facing a crisis.

Viewers were turning away in droves,

even though no-one knows what a drove is.

It's not quite clear why people haven't been enjoying

this tale of downtrodden proletarians

suffering endless miseries beneath a battleship grey sky.

It can't be the fault of the richly drawn characters

like Purple Ronnie here, or Ian, or Kat,

or Ian, or Dot, or Ian,

or, I don't know, who's that? Colin?

Or the bald one, or the other bald one, or the sort of newer bald one.

Actually, there's so many bald heads in it,

it's like watching Finding Chemo. Seriously, when two of them meet,

they must think they're looking in a mirror.

Anyway, now there's a new boss driving the East End bus

and the Square's being sexed up. Literally, with some mature erotica.

They've paired Phil Mitchell up with Sharon again.

Good news for anyone who's ever wondered what it might look like

if scientists made a woman mate with a giant thumb,

and bad news for anyone who doesn't want to witness

his delighted post-coital gasping.

CONTENTED SIGH

Just like old times, eh?

"Whurrr! Thanks for that, love.

"Just going to go pat my dick dry on a tea cosy."

But these thrilling developments were nothing compared to the news

that cockney actor Danny Dyer, the thinking man's Dick Van Dyke,

was joining the Square to play the exotically-named Mick Carter,

a mystery wrapped in an enigma cocooned within a bloke.

Contrary to popular opinion, Danny Dyer can act.

Although he seemed uncertain at first,

openly asking other cast members how he should perform each scene.

I was thinking, how do I play this? Do I try tears?

I don't know, Danny, what does it say in the script?

How am I going to tell Linda that tomorrow

our little girl is getting married to a man we hate?

Oh, er...you're supposed to do it gruffly, apparently.

But most of the time, there's no dialogue at all,

because the inhabitants of Albert Square chiefly seem to communicate

by staring mutely at each other

in some sort of weird silent theatre of the mind.

SIGHS DEEPLY

Prompt!

To be fair, this is some of the best dialogue

Albert Square has seen in years.

Gambling, and in a chilling online bingo advert,

London is invaded by pop giant Mel B,

clomping through the streets like Godzilla-ziggah.

Terrifying pedestrians with the biggest camel toe in history.

Not that it's that unusual a sight. The city is full of massive twats.

Actually, I don't know why they've shown her playing bingo in the city.

It's not a place anyone associates with huge destructive idiots

mindlessly gambling and crushing the man on the street.

She's massive!

You think I'm massive? Get a load of this jackpot.

Looks like someone's sitting on a full house.

Bingo joke!

There was this brilliant documentary thing called Splash.

Where Daley Thompson off the Olympics taught famous people

how to fall off a shelf.

They all had different techniques,

like, some of them fell in sort of elegantly,

and others sort of like people just begrudgingly doing it for money.

It was sort of fun, but the main problem was that all the celebrities

fell sort of at the same speed.

Like, even the bigger ones went at the same speed.

So it was hard to tell who was winning.

Because all they had to do was fall, even dead people could have done it.

And if they'd had dead people,

they could have got more famous celebrities

than the ones they ended up with.

Like, they could've had Marlon Brando being pushed in the water

instead of any of them.

Although I suppose Marlon Brando would sort of mush apart

and sink like chunks of green mud

if you dropped him from any great height onto water.

Which might not be very, sort of, Saturday night.

The famous people weren't people you'd associate with falling,

so that was surprising.

Like, they had an actor man, and a funny hair boy,

and a sort of sexy wildlife woman.

You weren't sure if they even would fall.

Like, they might have just hovered in the air.

But then when they stepped off, they did actually fall after all.

I read something about falling afterwards, and apparently

everything falls if there isn't something stopping it from falling.

The only things that don't fall are air, clouds, and bees.

And no-one knows why bees don't fall.

Then, because ITV tested how famous people fall in water,

Channel 4 tested how they fall onto ice,

with this entertaining The Jump thing.

Which was amazing.

It was even more scientific than Splash cos it was in Switzerland,

so they put them in the Large Hadron Collider.

Where they sort of flew around on their tummies

like atoms or whatever it is.

What was amazing was they put cameras on the celebrities.

So you could see what sort of faces famous people pull

when they're worried about breaking a bone or paralysing themselves.

And it turns out, it's the same sort of face you pull on the toilet

when there's something you can't quite push out

unless you take a bit of a mental run-up at it.

At the end of each episode, some of them had to do a jump,

which looked sort of shit.

So everyone moaned about how unspectacular it was.

But then they all started sort of hurting themselves.

It was quite interesting, really, to see

how injured someone can get and it still be entertaining.

Like, there were broken ribs and things.

I reckon if someone's leg had broken backwards at the knee,

and all blood came out

and they'd been screaming and vomiting into the snow,

it might not have been as much fun.

But maybe that'll happen in the second series, so I can be sure.

As you may have noticed,

Britain endured some pretty extreme weather earlier this year.

So did America, but in typical fashion,

theirs was extreme-ier than ours. And beautiful.

Picturesque US news footage made America look more like

the United States of Narnia,

thanks to something called the polar vortex.

Which sent temperatures plunging so low,

the best way to warm up was to stay indoors and climb inside the fridge.

Lots of people in reports had to virtually mummify themselves

to avoid freezing to death.

To the point where some reports resembled

bulletins from the Anarchist News Network.

Well, it's just before dawn here in Minneapolis

and it's about as cold as it's going to get.

Having delighted viewers with his cheap Batman impersonation,

he then performed a sort of David Blaine magic trick

using a cup of boiling water.

It freezes before it even reaches the pavement.

Yes, someone had discovered that if you throw a cup of boiling water

in the air in super sub-zero conditions,

you can make instant snow, and the news didn't tire

of demonstrating this, occasionally offering a step-by-step guide.

Put it in the microwave for about two or three minutes,

make sure it gets really hot.

And encouraging viewers to try it at home.

A pretty fun experiment, you can do that at home with the kids.

Yeah, it is a fun experiment, isn't it? At least it makes me laugh.

Oh, my God, it's burning me!

LAUGHS HEARTILY

HE SCREAMS

Yes, it turns out the downside of repeatedly showing

millions of people a trick in which you throw boiling water around

is that people might actually try and do it,

turning scenes from what should have been a winter wonderland

into something more like When Idiots Happen.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!

At the end of the Weekly Wipes programme,

the sort of angry for money man

would say goodbye in this really, like, dismissive way.

Hmm. Well, that's all we've got time for.

Until next time, whenever that is, go away.

And you're like, no. You go away, mate.