Big Brother is back on the telly tonight. And little brother, Ben – one of my four new housemates – will be, I imagine, quite pissed off that I’m taking that fact as inspiration for this post.

I’m contractually obliged, he said, to write about my new abode on my blog. And perhaps he’s right. (I never did read the contract.) But I’m pretty sure he won’t be happy that, despite all the good times we’ve shared, its the return of Channel 4’s beleaguered reality TV show that has compelled me to write.

I’ve made up my mind. And I’m going to run with the analogy.

15 Kingsgate Road, my new house, is not unlike that of the compound at Elmstree Studios, where tonight a dozen fame-seekers will wheel in their suitcases and roll out their desperation.

Here, at Kingsgate Road, there are fewer fame-seekers but no less desperation. If this were reality TV – and it very nearly is, with all this digital equipment – Bill would be playing up to the camera, Adam, playing it down, Nic, the gobby posh one and Ben, a young boy on the verge of manhood.

Think Glyn from series 7.

And me? An agoraphobic, web-cam wielding recluse? I’m the perfect housemate.

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