Never have I seen anything quite so obscene as Eamonn And Ruth Do Vegas on C5 on Friday.
And no, I’m not talking about Eamonn’s Elvis impression.
The two-hour jaw-dropping marathon saw daytime telly’s golden couple Eamonn Holmes and Ruth Langsford guide us through the nauseating excesses of Sin City – a place where every year 40 million people spend more than £25billion.
A place where it’s not that weird to see an elderly man wandering the streets in a neon green mankini.
Eamonn and Ruth had a great time. Who wouldn’t? As jobs go, flying business class to spend time effectively rolling around in dollar bills isn’t half bad. They couldn’t stop grinning.
“What can you do for us?” Ruth asked their fixer, who looked about 12. He smirked: “Anything you can think of that’s legal.”
Cut to scenes of Ruth in a limo with several glistening hunky lap dancers. “I’m married,” she squealed.
As they investigated luxuries like a chocolate and gold fondue for £8,000 and designer hangover cures, a snip at £200, I was transfixed. Don’t get me wrong, everything was bonkers and shamelessly over the top – but fascinating.
The notorious Heart Attack Grill was difficult to stomach. There were bad taste ads like: “Taste worth dying for” and “Fighting anorexia since 2005”. Dropping dead in there is not uncommon.
Suitably horrified but game for a laugh, Eamonn and Ruth ordered the Octuple Bypass burger with butterfat shake. The burger, with its 40 slices of bacon and eight patties, weighed in at 19,986 calories.
If you don’t finish your meal, the waitresses spank you. So either way, you get to leave feeling a bit violated. But Eamonn felt like an Adonis amid the obese diners, so at least that’s something.
There were other obscenities. A £20,000-a-night suite at the Palms hotel, ten times the size of a UK house, with its own butler and basketball court.
George Clooney had signed the wall: “Hey, boys, If you can’t get laid in this room…” I suppose he makes a fair point.
Eamonn and Ruth met millionaires Kimberley and Brad. Kim swears by water infused with precious gems, which says all you need to know about her. “It just tastes like water,” said Ruth, deadpan.
High-rolling gamblers were treated like rock stars. There was a “palatial collection” of grotesque ornaments, and Eamonn and Ruth controlled the Bellagio Fountains for one song – Viva Las Vegas, obvs – a VIP honour costing £200,000.
On their tour, they could do little else but stroke the furniture, eat too much and stare at people in disbelief.
This was no analytical doc, it didn’t need to be. It was just a chance to gawk dumbfounded at the pantomime. Fortunately, as we all know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
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