FORGET all that nonsense in the jungle, last night saw the start of the ultimate reality TV programme.

Admittedly you had to look hard to find it as it was over on Five but the World's Strongest Man Super Series was never going to let down connoisseurs of quality TV.

Who needs Gemma Atkinson when you've got blokes with chests the size of small houses?

Quite how an hour's programme featuring a bunch of blokes with no necks - half of whom seem to be called Magnus - dragging trucks on giant dog leads attached to various bits of their anatomy works is still a mystery to me.

But there is something totally enthralling about the whole thing.

An added bonus is that there are so many double entendres it's a bit like watching a Carry On film in its heyday.

I'm always amazed that they make T-shirts big enough to accommodate the inflated biceps of these giants among men, I'm sure they must use a bike pump to get to look like that.

I don't know if it's the raw, almost primeval nature of the competition, or the sureal, cartoon-like silliness of seeing a grown man going red in the face while trying to life a giant marble that's the appeal.

Whatever it is, there are another four weeks for us to enjoy.