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.James, the poshest in the camp and therefore the most instantly punchable, is already a towering monument to sour Little Lord Fauntleroy prickery – an arrogant, belligerent little turd who not only thinks the world revolves around him, but that the way it revolves just isn’t good enough.He’s clearly destined to grow up into a steel-hearted Chelsea estate agent unless RedCliff Ascent can knock some soul into him.Fran, meanwhile, is the ultimate example of a spoilt only child, displaying hitherto-unimaginable levels of self-pity – shrieking in the world’s face one minute, blubbering that no one likes her the next.Her entire vocabulary consists of whining sounds and petulant insults, and if the Utah desert doesn’t sort her out, I’d recommend tying her to a gigantic arse-kicking machine for the next 200 years.Halfway into the series, all of them are already showing signs of positive change, and I wish them well in their transformation.Furthermore, I can’t help thinking we could do with a RedCliff Ascent of our own in Britain, particularly if we want to avoid the nightmare vision of the future unveiled by BBC2’s If.Ideally, it would accept children as young as four and force them to walk 200 miles a day in the rain until they shut up and realise it’s never a good idea to run around pub gardens shrieking, dribbling and irritating people like me.Because so help me God I will hit them.‘It just isn’t fair’ [27 March]Fran hasn’t improved much, then.And I suspect that for fellow followers of Brat Camp (C4) this is good news, because the inherent flaw in the programme is that as the kids’ behaviour improves, so the entertainment value of their antics diminishes.The situation was becoming so dire even Charlie, the breeze-block-headed thug who mere weeks ago seemed hell-bent on systematically punching the entire population of the world in the face, found himself penalised for being too helpful.So praise be for Fran and her incessant, self-centred whingeing.Never have I seen anyone so tirelessly dedicated to making their own life difficult and unpleasant.To label Fran ‘her own worst enemy’ would be an almighty understatement.She’s her own arch-nemesis.The commandant in her own death camp.Seeing her in action is like watching someone pissing on their own cornflakes, then bursting into tears because they taste funny.For God’s sake Channel 4, give her her own show once Brat Camp finishes.Put her on the news.She’d be the greatest war reporter in history: ‘I’m here in Kabul – someone’s just been shot, and OW, they’ve landed on my foot and IT JUST ISN’T FAIR.’Fran’s lack of progress seems hopelessly magnified because all the other brats have undergone seismic personality changes since arriving in the Utah wilderness.Take Dan, who’s blossomed from a brooding, nihilistic rain cloud of skunk-infused misery into someone who actually smiles now and then.OK, so he still looks like Mick Jones circa Big Audio Dynamite, but RedCliff Ascent can’t cure everything.Then there’s Tom, aka Mike Skinner from the Streets, who spent his first few weeks pretending to be mad before realising he wasn’t fooling anyone.Now he’s a transformed man, funny and likeable, as is the aforementioned Charlie.This week marks the final instalment of Brat Camp: here’s hoping the now-inevitable ‘catch-up’ Christmas special finds Fran fully cured of her self-flagellating mindset.If she can channel that energy into something useful, she could be the next female prime minister.Or she could just sit around crying in the desert.Time will tell.Speaking of female prime ministers, this week’s edition of the increasingly ludicrous If … (BBC2) tackles the thorny problem of what might happen if women ruled the world.Well, nearly: actually, in this nightmare vision of the year 2020, men still rule parliament but the chicks have everything else sewn up.The majority of businesses are owned and run by women, the American President is a bitch, and Walkers have announced a new range of oestrogen-flavoured crisps.Men are increasingly redundant – not just in the workplace, but the bedroom too, since scientific advances have rendered our testicles superfluous to requirement (so you might as well slam them in a car door for a laugh – go on, it’ll be funny).Most terrifying of all, Ronnie Barker and Ronnie Corbett are forced to wear dresses and escape the attention of Diana Dors’ sexy leather-clad death squad.Yes: this is just like The Worm That Turned, but with bigger, unintentional laughs
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