I watched Jamie Oliver's Dream School unfold last night with the same sort of awful anticipation that is normally reserved for a slow-motion crash: a totally debilitating mixture of fascination and horror. Of course, it was all set up for the usual TV confrontation that passes for "reality" these days: where a cohort of stroppy youth meets a cadre of unskilled celebrities – unskilled, that is, in teaching the kind of young people that had been rounded up for this exercise by cynical TV executives. Just what all this is supposed to illustrate is beyond me, other than the medium's endless re-invention of new ways to exploit and diminish people.
I shall be watching next week, however, if only to see what should be the confrontation of the series: David Starkey taking on the headteacher whose values are obviously incompatible. My money's on Starkey, I have to say, as he never knowingly shies away from a confrontation, whereas the headteacher, judging by what we've seen so far is quite good at it.
As for Jamie, well, there's always restauranting to fall back on.