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Is it time for the Shore to throw in the crusty white towel?

As Geordie Shore draws to a close and the Sambuca is stickily finished off, the fake tan is bottled up with stained palms and the ‘why aye’s and ‘hawae’s are put to bed, our newly free Tuesday nights now seem unnaturally empty. This concept, a follow-on from the successful US original Jersey Shore has come light-years from its first series, where the cast were handled with derisively feeble care by the British public, as they made their mark on the surrogate celebrity momma, MTV.

 

The first season saw the eight noble compadres meeting for the first time, forcing friendships over games of Ring of Fire and getting their arses out a bit to show just how PROPER MENTAL they were to one another and to the assuming public. And although contemptible, they did manage to keep it consistent throughout the entire series, regularly engaging in elusive activity under the bed sheets and sweating off bedraggled extensions in clubs. But this season, tag-lined ‘Chaos in Cancun’ saw something a little different take centre stage. Everybody got, well, a little bit whipped; Sophie left Mexico to be with her boyfriend, Vicky and Ricci are, supposedly, on the verge of marriage (NO!), and Jay got so loved-up and irrevocably love-sick that he announced last week that he’s leaving the show for good because, in his words, ‘it’s nae good for me anymore’.

 

And maybe he’s right. Maybe being in a relationship does quash desires to get plastered and dance around like a guinea-pig in a sandstorm, and perhaps it does give a different outlook on the life you lived before. I know that for me, having a boyfriend and getting ready on a night out now seems like a laborious waste of time, where time on make-up, eyelashes and tan is spent as a botched attempt at looking nice, when really I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone could think. And this is essentially why most singletons leave dressed to the nines, like a peacock at an art show, hoping that some lucky buyer will come by and bask in the prettiness of our feathers.

 

Even Holly the, how shall I properly word this, most promiscuous female on the show appears to have subliminally settled down with MexiCOMB-OVER (laugh at the word-play if you’re a prick) James, by taking a time out on a multitude of nights to look after the poor shackled hodgepodge lad with his broken leg.

 

So if even the friskiest of them all is on the verge of settling down, what hopes does this give for the rest of the show and its longevity? It could be enough to put any hard-core GShorer in a tizz if they thought about it hard enough. Yes, this series does indeed seem like it has taken on a whole new ideal, being primarily dictated by the small realisation in the back of the casts’ Hollister endorsed hair-brained bonces that relationships become more important than getting smashed every night, the older you become.

 

Of course, there is the happy medium where can go out, have a good time with friends and still hold down a successful relationship, but this balancing act mandate is generally poorly applied by us hopeless romantics (see – ‘Blending two names together is not cool it’s stupid’). Respectively, clubs and bars are designed to feed our insecurities and mask them like a rubbish Poundland air-freshener, allowing ourselves to ride the crests of ‘supremacy’ in our new outfits, with our new ‘dos; we await until evening falls like a tarted-up ghostbuster where your single life is given the promise of redemption. And in a keen attempt, you seek hope that this menagerie of people in the club could be the solution to what you’re searching for.

 

Some hide it very well, however. Charlotte from the series may seem, at a distance, like a largely fun-loving girl who DON’T NEED NO MAN, when really she only goes out often in order to drown her sorrows in a pint glass (because she’s that butch) to help forget that Gary does not fancy her. Gary, on the other hand, hasn’t quite found what he’s looking for as of yet, which is why he’s one of the only ones to maintain a consistent mantra of ‘bang, bang, bang, threesome, foursome, fumble’. And whilst we do get our money’s worth with Gary, we shouldn’t envy him. Yes, he does make decent television, but that’s all it is, and that’s where some of us tend to fall off the wagon – believing a lifestyle like this could ignite you with even an inch of fulfilment.

 

Like many shows that have tucked their tails between their legs and scarpered, it seems that Geordie Shore could be on its way out also, albeit reluctantly in a flurry of inebriated bruised men passed out on podiums. The cast appear to have outgrown their resilient storyline and bringing a new cast in would only spoil the broth. So, lap up this final episode like a dog on heat – hump away at the screen as Gary reaches his creamy conundrum and fwomp your chest about with Hollie on the title sequence in dismayed glee. Go on. Give it a go, you might as well. There’s not many chances you’ll get to mount a monitor and not get regret it.

 

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