Paranormal Egypt, Living TV

by | Sep 4, 2007 | All, Reviews

Paranormal Egypt, LivingTV

Reviewed by the spirit of ex-Egyptian pharaoh Ramses III, whom Derek Acorah claimed to have invoked from the afterlife to explain the circumstances behind his mysterious death.

Did we like it?

No we bloody didn’t. That Derek Acorah turns up on my manor, flashes his eyelids a bit and speaks in a funny voice – and people believe that was really I, august pharaoh of all Egypt who took his place at the right hand of Isis upon my ascent to the afterlife.

What was good about it?

• If I can prove the dead are still alive I’m going to sue every last penny from Derek Acorah to make sure he hasn’t got even enough cash for fake tan cream!

What was bad about it?

• They’d libelled my bloody wife and son. God, they were so desperate for a story upon which to hang their crummy investigation that they decreed that my life may have been extinguished by foul and devious means.

• Strewth, they couldn’t leave me to rot in peace could they? Derek, Tessa and some flunky called Sabry turn up at the museum where I’m laid out in all my rotting glory (I used to have such beautiful eyes now they resemble the sort of black void usually only spotted in the centre of the galaxy), and what does Delboy do? He ‘summons’ me to answer his questions, or at least he claims to. And he does so in the Queen’s English.

• “I feel the essence of greatness. A very strong-minded mind, who could be very visionary. I pick up sadness surrounding this man – his wife and child!” Thanks for the flattery, as if I care. The “sadness” over my wife and child is because a bunch of lunkheads have 2,000 years after the event said they killed me, allegedly. Poppycock.

• What’s more, what the hell do you think we dead do once we’ve shuffled off our mortal coil? Do you honestly believe we hang around to watch our bodies rotting way? Eeurgh, that’s so, so gross. And besides, have you a clue what rotting flesh smells like? I’m dead, yeah, and am basically just a ball of floating gas who can go anywhere in the known universe, yeah, so I’m hardly going to stay around and watch my knackers shrivel up into those cashew nuts you can buy in posh branches of Marks & Sparks.

• Apparently I used to say to my son (you know, the one I had killed… not), “I’ll do great things, son, but you’ll do better!” That’s right, in ancient Egypt we spoke like we were holed up in a Salford working man’s club supping a pint of bitter. “Son”?, good god, what next am I going to start calling my pals “dook”, or start speaking like that bloke from Corrie who has a stammer?

• Derek got into a bit of a state in my old stomping ground, as if. He shivered and shook like a jumbo jet was making an emergency landing in his guts. Of course all this spooked poor Tess Dunlop who wanted out of my mausoleum (well, they said it was a mausoleum but I only called it that as that name spooked my wife, too, and I could take refuge and read my copy of the Daily Papyrus).

• In my harem, Derek picked up what he called “giggling and laughter and talk and giggling”. Jesus Christ, we didn’t always march solemnly through the streets of Alexandria dressed as herons, we did have some fun. The concept of laughter didn’t begin with that moment in The Office when Tim builds a wall of binders between himself and Gareth.

• Derek claimed: “Ramses is here! He’s angry – not with us!” No chance, mate; not even in the right ball park. Around the time you were freezing your brass monkeys off in that tomb, I was probably sunning myself in San Tropez after asking a favour from my pal Ra (you really don’t think death is a cure for laziness, do you Del?).

• Even I had to chuckle when Derek was ‘possessed’ by what he said was one of my helpers. “Who are you?” Tessa asked. “I am helper!” replied Del in a voice so flat I imagined Rik Waller had sat on it. “Who do you help?” Mustafa said. “Ramses,” Derek replied. Del said this ‘helper’ was really called Zephron. Zephron? Who the hell does he think I am giving my servants silly names? Bob Geldof?

• Zephron also stated that I died “of an illness that caused a break down in his metabolism that caused haemorrhage”. Thank you, Dr Kildare. “A break down in his metabolism that caused haemorrhage”? Flipping heck, when I was alive we used to call it something fancy like the “red rivers flowing from the head”, nothing about “metabolism”s and the like. You’ve been watching too much ER, mate.

Luke Knowles

Luke Knowles


Editor of the website and host of the podcast. A general TV obsessive. I've been running the site since 2008 and you can usually find me in front of the TV. My Favourite show of all time is Breaking Bad with Cracker coming a close second. I feel so passionately that television can change the world and I'm doing my little bit by running this site. You're Welcome!


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