I CAN'T deny I've been watching Big Brother. But I know a lot of people who do.

Strangely enough they are the people who seem to know an awful lot about a programme they claim never to have switched on. Right down to the colour of Darren's various sets of less than generous underwear.

It's always fascinated me that there is a certain kind of person who still thinks the television is rather vulgar.

They never own up to ever watching a soap or a quiz show or a Lily Savage special. Nor to settling down on a wet Sunday afternoon with a re-run of Murder She Wrote. No, they only watch David Attenborough's insect programmes and Melvyn Bragg if he's not doing anything too explicit. Oh yes, and Panorama and Question Time unless Tony Blair's on it.

But if you really haven't seen Big Brother you won't know what I'm talking about. So I'll give you an instant replay. Ten people (none, I note over forty) have been shut away in a house which has been specially made for the television and could be anywhere but is actually in London.

They have television cameras and microphones on them 24 hours a day but aren't allowed television, radios, telephones, writing paper or pens and no contact with anyone except Big Brother who talks to them but isn't seen.

Each week the group of people vote for two of their number they want to evict and each week the television audience votes one of these two out at a cost of 10p a call which must make someone a pretty penny.

Their daily and nightly habits are on view 24 hours a day on the Internet for hard core fans and quite regularly on Channel Four in the evening. And oh yes, the last person in the house wins £70,000.

Got it? Yes it does sound terribly tedious and it is. But equally it is fascinating and is now the subject of endless debates, articles and press coverage and all sorts of people are now getting in on the act.

Nasty Nick got thrown out for doing what he thought he ought to be doing, winning the game.

Everyone else is now trying to be very chummy and Darren has taken to whispering sweet nothings to the chickens which he may think will win him the veggies vote.

Melanie is a serial flirter, Craig is endearing and may win, the new girl has the most irritating giggle and may get thrown out this week. And let's not forget Anna, a former nun whose terribly nice and plays the guitar. Didn't I see her in Airplane?

While all the psychologists are arguing about long-term effects on the participants and should they be counselled for post dramatic shock syndrome we parents can certainly recognise some of the symptoms of putting a group of people together in close confinement without much to do.

The fights, the rough and tumble which can easily turn to pinching and punching. The sulks, the paranoid 'nobody loves me' outbursts, the wandering round in the garden kicking the grass and occasionally throwing a ball at the wall dangerously close to the windows. And the little clique forming and whispering in corners and ganging up on each other.

It's teenagers isn't it? It's just like a wet weekend when there's nothing much to do and nothing on the tele. Already Craig and Claire have hidden the house's only lighter and giggled on the sofa while Darren and Anna frantically search for it. Soon they'll be making apple-pie beds and putting worms down the front of Melanie's leotard.

And who will win? I think it's the sort of person who used to win at school. The one who was always the class monitor, who got to be a prefect and the one who was very nice to everyone. The one all the teachers and your mother liked. That's right, the sneaky one. So it's got to be . . . Well, we'll wait and see.

For those who still tentatively ask me how the kitchen front is progressing I can report we now have running water, both hot and cold, where it should be, we have a working gas cooker, we have nearly all the units in and the electric work is almost complete. It's been a long haul and is proof that nothing is quite as simple as it seems.

But what a joy to have water in the kitchen and not have to use the tiny sink in the cloakroom I didn't mention it to anyone at the time, but we were not the only person to be using the sink. I caught the grey cat using it for a delicate purpose, rather than go out into the rain. Remind me not to wash any carrots in there any more.

Talking of fairly disgusting feline habits, does anyone else have the problem with their cats at this time of the year associated with Daddy Long Leg crunching?

Both my two look upon unfortunate crane flies as a kind of between meal snack and eat them with relish, usually within sight and sound of the breakfast table.

It can be a little stomach heaving to look up and see a leg waving feebly out of a ginger mouth, just prior to a gulp. . Oh the joys of cat owning.