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Does Channel 4’s latest formulaic offering Mary’s Bottom Line stand even the remotest chance of reviving the long-defunct British textile industry? Roll on Saturday…-----------Big down Watched by just 2.5million diehards, the ungrand finale of dullsville ITV flop The Biggest Loser was one of the worst programmes ever. A succession of still-fat people being weighed while repetitive host Davina Mc Call asked them to confirm that the dire dieting contest had been “life changing”. The pair are set to play cupid on the new game show, which will aim to replicate the success of ITV’s dating offering Take Me Out.

Sky Living’s anod­yne unspectacular where couples get together and nothing happens. -----------Yes, it's Widdle Britain No doubt about it...While popular nicotine sharing mum-to-be Stacey Solomon stands beside him, writing. Quite what function Ms Solomon and her computer notepad are supposed fulfil is anybody’s guess. in a dazzling display of perpetual lack of motion.“It’s time to spin the love ­machine! ” asks dismayed contestant ­Rowena.“I’ve got a potty for that,” replies sanguine John. if you’re in the Chippenham area don’t stay at The Red Box. And the impressively creative producers are conjuring up all sorts of contrived drama. Can shy Andrew finally land a job and live the dream? ” If only.-----------Big up The hilariously juvenile scheduling war between ITV stalwart Britain’s Got Talent and BBC1’s new upstart The Voice is already delivering top quality entertainment.No one knows why.“No Umf” she jots down as some girl is rejected because she has no oomph. Outraged Rowena: “Surely to God you’re not going to use that? OK, chances are Julie-Anne’s potty idea wasn’t her own. Again.“I didn’t think it would ever come to this,” sighs the evangelical retail expert. First blow to BGT for its superior patriotic promo featuring Simon Cowell’s comic “acting”.“Fuzy” she scribbles when a bloke’s hairy chest gets the thumbs down for being too fuzzy. Probably a ruse some clever telly type came up with. Laughing Out Loud.-----------Mary bottoms out Here she is... “Me standing in the street asking people what knickers they wear.”But it makes good telly eh? Over to Ms Portas’ first vox-pop ­interviewee: “I don’t have any knickers on.” Next. Yawn.“We will build a factory,” vows the ­theatrically zealous star of the show. Second blow to The Voice for winning the better time­slot. But with Carla loyally blaming her ludicrous boyfriend Peter, who needs evidence?

But here come the contestants...“You’re not quite my Peter Andre are you? And like all soap coppers, dozy DS Nash relies exclusively on the sudden unexpected confession. “All my friends call me Princess,” says Amy from Manchester, who, I’m guessing, must drive an Austin Princess.“I’m 20 and I’m from Staines! With smirking Moyles contemptuously at the helm, TLM never really gets going. Back in the inevitable blue neon studio, Chris declares: “This could be a beautiful moment.”Yes, it’s the end...-----------Put a lid on it now, chefs Cue the violins, strike up the OTT dramatic music, get gurning Gregg to pull his most outlandish faces... Ditto Underworld, the 1970s style factory where their idea of high-tech security is a padlock. So this ­dating game is less sexist than ITV’s manly monument to ­machismo Take Me Out. With excellent presenter Paddy Mc Guinness’s tongue firmly in his cheek, TMO is irresistibly funny. Then the amorous hopefuls are asked probing questions they could only answer if they knew each other. and, lost in his own world, Moyles doesn’t ­appear to be remotely interested. Wonder how many production-line episodes they film in a day. great to see the chosen few jetting off on dream holidays “to the Goddess Of Love’s own Aphrodite Hills five-star resort.”In other words some Greek joint raking in a bit of off-season cash. Worthy winner ­Shalina’s marvellous Mauritian food is “a restaurant waiting to happen”. But is the Beeb’s ­venerable cooking ­contest looking a little stale? It’s the telly equivalent of painting the Forth Bridge. Make it stop.-----------Ploddy awful The murder of Frank Foster... Coronation Street is the last place in Britain where there are no CCTV ­cameras. at least both the males and the females get to ride the stationary love machine. So the prattling participants drone on about large noses, poor fashion sense and bad hair.“I’ve got a pea head,” shrieks ­Stacey, confusingly. We learn nothing whatsoever about the lucky winners, there’s no inter­action... Do you ever see anything on this 22-year-old programme you haven’t seen ­before. Master Chef: The ­Professionals, ­Celebrity Master Chef, Mere ­Mortals Master Chef... The nightmare of Sing If You Can and now this shambles. The allegedly intriguing twist is that Chris ’n’ Stacey’s romantic capers are based on looks alone. Everyone spewing horribly meaningless ­superlatives. And an endless avalanche of dreary reality Lego-language questions: How much do you want this? But, like a gut busting meal, there’s simply too much of it. Hyperbolic duo Gregg and John Torode lost in wonder over how far sobbing Shalina and her emotional rivals Tom and Andrew have come. TV’s most enduring culinary warhorse still serves up decent enter­tainment.