More, more, more

Angel is a Russian boxer who looks like Isabella Rossellini playing an angry lesbian. She got out of the limousine dressed as the child-catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and the crowd have welcomed her with the warmth that they'd show Harold Shipman. Apparently, she'd like to be stuck in a lift with John Lennon, although I'd like to see her in a lift with Yoko Ono. Then cut the cable. She loves the crowd, but I'm sorry to say it's not mutual.

Karly thinks she's a bitch and I'm not going to argue. She describes herself as intelligent and powerful and she's used to getting her own way. Imagine Fiona Phillips dressed as a slut and doing a bad impression of Lorraine Kelly. Apparently she once dated a Scottish third division footballer - so I guess Colleen's job is safe for a while. Somewhere a pole is missing its dancer.

Marcus fits windows and has grown facial hair to look like Wolverine. He says that his arse and the souls of his feet are out of bounds. I'm afraid that's not an exhaustive list as far as I'm concerned. He's the sort of man usually seen drinking milky tea out of a polystyrene cup behind a static caravan.

Here's Beinazir. She's Amy Winehouse crossed with Narinder, and she's taking 149 pieces of jewellery into the house, presumably by wearing them all at once. Mr T would tell her to go easy. She seems to be boycotting hairbrushes for political reasons and looks like Christy Brown applied her eyeliner.