Genre: Reality-TV Episode Name: Series 6, Episode 3 Air date: 7/23/2013 Summary: This episode doesn't have a summary yet. Add one here.
My sheet of notes scribbled during Geordie Shore are a horrifying read, mostly consisting of quotes like 'I'm off me f****** d***' and 'I don't want naw babies!'
And it all started so saintly too. The gang, topped up with two more burnt ochre housemates for season two, waved goodbye to their grandparents and kissed their mothers as they headed off to film, with Vicky professing that she is a changed woman.
Speaking of her newly found monogamy, she said: 'Mine and Dan's relationship is pretty unshakable, harder than most everyday kitchen top surfaces' – ironically the very same kitchen top surfaces she will most likely be thrown over and 'Gaz'd' by episode two, wasting no time in kissing new boy Ricci on the very first night.
New girl/Oompa Loompa misadventure Rebecca had a lively first night too, immediately attracting all the boys and thus repelling the over-protective girls, with the group exchanging slurs like sexually aggressive hyenas well into the wee hours.
The only other real change from season one is the house itself, which now takes more of a converted warehouse theme and makes the whole setup feel more like a low budget porno than ever.
There has been much talk of the their Essex counterparts' tans over the past year – 'orange' this and 'radioactive' that – but the Geordies easily surpass them here, tonight adopting the colour of a deep mahogany chest that has weathered several storms aboard a pirate ship.
Activity-wise, drinking, partying, dry-humping and humping is still the order of the day, as the group hit the town, sling a woozy bedfellow over their shoulder and stagger back to the flat and the inviting soft furnishings inside. The girls are easily as sexually voracious as the boys, with the entire hour taken up with sex by any means necessary.
I suppose I ought to say something about the steady decline of humanity or something now. I can usually take a fair amount of slop before I start with the moral proselytising and mourning of the death of television and I must confess to at times being amused and grimly entertained by this opening episode, but after an hour of wayward genitalia, shag pads in sheds and unprotected underwater sex, even the bawdiest DC's (daft c****s, thanks Vicky) can't help but be scornful.