Happy New Year

Well, it's a new year and there is much to recount of the last few weeks or more of my life, much to divulge of the inner workings of my mind and soul, and many outpourings of my imagination to offer up to you all.

And of course there was Christmas, with it's strange Midnight Mass and an abundance of gingerbread and chocolate bishops, with its beautiful and sometimes difficult workings out of family love and loss, a silent New Year's Eve and my three day excursion to a fishing village by the sea in deepest darkest Yorkshire to meet with the rugged elements and a certain boyo's family.

But all this must wait, for there are more important things afoot.

Yes, Celebrity Big Brother is back! I've just finished watching it and it is as disturbing and as ludicrous as ever. Eleven 'famous' housemates have all entered the Big Bro house tonight and are now awkwardly sipping tea and failing to recognise who each other are at this very moment as I write. Yes, there are the usual boring characters - a beautiful Bollywood actress whom nobody's heard of over here, then there's Denise Somebody Or Other, whose main claim to fame is that she got kicked off the Miss United Kingdom throne of honour upon winning first prize ater it was discovered she was shagging one of the judges (who happened to be Teddy Sherringham).

However, the person I was most shocked to see in there was Ken Russell, God forbid, who took to the celebrity runway from his blacked out car with a bright red face and multi-coloured waistcoat, acting like someone on day release from the local Alzheimers' ward. He staggered along shouting gibberish at the crowd in what looked like some kind of attempt at being wacky or way out, which unfortunately just left him looking like a grey haired puffy faced old man version of most of his films - unpleasant, tedious and somewhat distasteful.

The same kind of went for Leo Sayer, who bounced his way through the crowds like a demented troll, huge white teeth flashing up at every camera. And my God, he doesn't look any different from how he did in the Seventies, and he is just as irritating in the flesh as one might suspect from hearing his songs.

The entrance of Danny Tourette, mulleted blonde haired singer from rock/'punk' band the Towers Of London looked promising as he staggered pissed out of his head up the red carpet shouting "Fuck you all!" to the entire crowd and showing them his skinny torn denimed behind. Though it was even better when he entered the house and the only person he happened to know there was Leo Sayer. "Leo!" he cried as the midget frizzy haired 70's popster swung Donny into an embrace and squealled "How're you doing boy? Berkshire, isn't it, where you're from, how's it all going there?".

But the total highlight of the evening was the final entrance, from Dirk Benedict. At this point in the proceedings he is very much my tipped favourite. He emerged from the back of a van with a huge cigar, beaming at the crowd before turning back to the van and shouting into the backseat "B.A., I'll be back soon!". Yes, it was none other than Face off the A - Team, now a middle aged screwball with an overnight bag filled only with cigars and whisky, who hates groups and team work, and who is single and wants to find a nice woman in there who isn't the age "of my daughter". Fantastic! He got a hero's reception, and quite rightly too.

It apppears that Big Brother hasn't sold itself short on the mix of B-List Celebrities and old has-been former stars, whilst throwing in a good measure of bimbos and ex boy/girl band members for good luck. And they all appear to be as mad as a bag of spanners. But adding Ken Russell is a touch of brilliance, and Dirk Benedict just perfect. Let's hope by the end of the evening everyone has worked out who Jermaine Jackson is, with his sequined jacket and shiny plasticised face, before he has to tell them.