I’m finding it tricky to fully engage with this series. It’s hard to beat the platinum line-up of yesteryear - Robert Kilroy-Silk and Timmy Mallet and David Van Day. Watching those three was a bit like sucking on one of those super-sour gobstoppers that used to be around when I was a kid, but have probably been banned by the EU now. Hard to swallow but impossible to spit out.

In contrast, the current line-up seem to be flooding rather than floating my boat. The rows have been disappointingly muted and the conversation has never really progressed beyond bodily functions and the weather. I’ve had more exciting viewing opportunities on public transport. Let’s hope things start to pick up in Week 2, because what I’ve seen so far has me struggling to fill a page.

Colin ‘n’ Justin: shut up! Please. Just. Shut. Up.

Joe Bugner: soothsayer and prophet of doom. Issues constant advice on how to avoid being stung or bitten, but is clearly desperate for somebody to actually get attacked by a many-legged little beast, so that he can suck out the poison, spit it over his shoulder and then saunter off muttering ‘told ya so’.

Kim Woodburn: Passive-aggressive, lycra abusing, fussing around the camp heaving her chest behind her.

Lucy Benjamin: The woman who shot Phil Mitchell. ‘Nuf said.

Stuart Manning: a welcome hot spot in a barren landscape of hairy backs.

Samantha Fox: there seems to be real substance to this firm favourite of the Sun, but has to perform regular sets of lunges to get any sort of air time.

Sabrina Washington: appears to fancy Stuart but won’t say anything. Appears to dislike Jordan but won’t say anything.

Gino D’Acampo: would bring out the xenophobe in the most tolerant leftie with his stereotypical Mediterranean strops.

George Hamilton: enjoying the semi-naked girls and the automatic exclusion from the trials on ‘medical grounds’. Says he’d prefer to be in the Canary Islands but so far, it’s not proving all that different.

Jimmy White: missing in inaction.

Jordan: medical intervention well overdue.