I've been Big Brothered
It's happened. Every year I swear it won't but eventually I can't just say no.
This year I was doing so, so well, even managing to read a magazine round my friend's house whilst she was succumbing to its malign influence. Then at the weekend, so near and yet so so far, I cracked. I watched Big Brother, swallowed all the hype and … I'm planning on watching the final on Friday when I'm visiting my family for the weekend.
The first Big Brother final, back when the programme was billed as a psychological experiment for the new millennium (yeah right, that's why C4 gave the contestants lots of booze and encouraged them to indulge in a spot of naked body painting on the house walls) I watched the first final with my dad. It was new, it had been trailed to the hilt and, in a sugar–coated postscript, the winner Craig the builder (remember him?) gave his winnings to his friend with downs syndrome for a heart operation.
Then, as the series and years passed by, the contestants became more and more outlandish and clued up, and the tasks and tone became more and more cruel. Cue Davina having to whisk ousted housemates past booing and baying crowds.
Series became longer to try and hold interest and attract more high–paying advertisers in the breaks to target the 'yoof' market. But still I watched nearing the end of the series – it kept on reeling me in.
This year I swore it would be different. My lapse at the weekend came about because my friend was visiting and we switched the telly on for five minutes, only to become embroiled in the Nikki/Pete love story saga. Which frankly got rather boring after yet more footage of them clamped together in a clinch.
But still I want to find out who wins, although Pete seems a dead cert. My friend and I wasted ten minutes trying to remember who the winners of the previous Big Brothers were. Here goes: Craig, Nadia, Cameron the Scottish fisherman, Kate Lawler, Antony and er … wasn't there a guy who went on to present children's TV?