WHOOPS! I seem to have fallen into the grasping claws of Big Brother again.
Just when I thought I'd got over the lure of watching strangers showering in their swimming costumes, the headache-inducing decor and that annoying Geordie voice-over guy, it's pulled me back in again.
It's this new celebrity hijack slant that's done it.
The celebs are happy because they're not longer the sheep being prodded and manipulated by Big Brother - this time they're in control.
And us viewers are happy because this year the housemates are all bright young high achievers, unlike past years when the contestants were so thick conversation didn't amount to anything more strenuous than "I once snogged a footballer".
However, just because this year's captives are smart, it doesn't stop them from being a bit of a cringeworthy bunch, wearing their "art on their sleeve" as Matt Lucas rather wittily put it.
It all reminds me of the first week of uni. Get a bunch of 19-year-olds who consider themselves intelligent into one room and you'll have a veritable battle for supremacy on your hands as they all clamour to use the biggest words and name-drop obscure authors they've read.
At that age you tend to have a rather high opinion of yourself, and assume that others do too.
It's really only once you leave uni and get thrown against the grindstone that is nine-to-five that you realise, actually, nobody is interested in hearing you've got an IQ of 172 and once got the answer in a numbers round on Countdown.
It's the teachers I blame. They fill you head with the words of Nietzsche and ideas about existentialism when really the knowledge that would benefit you in the world of work would be how to fix a photocopier and the best illnesses to claim you've got when pulling a sickie.
My sister rang into work one such morning, putting on the obligatory croaky "ill" voice and said: "I went swimming last night and now I've got an earache so I'm not coming in," which is so obscure it's brilliant.
Anyway, back to Big Brother.
Maybe I'm still demonstrating a flash of the same pride that the housemates are brimming with in being embarrassed to admit I'm a fan of the show.
When anyone accuses me of being a cultureless saddo for wasting my life watching the show I always argue the same thing.
"It's a social experiment, innit?"
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