Pah

Having a bit of a rubbish weekend, really.

I woke up this morning too early and feeling oddly rubbishy (but sans hangover), so I’ve put off my planned trip to Dorset to celebrate Father's Day with Pa Baker - and am staying put on the sofa. Pretty annoying as I was looking forward to seeing Dad, but he's been typically understanding about the whole thing (thanks Dad).

In an attempt to get me out of my strop, the boyfriend's suggested a mooch around the shops instead - but think it might be unwise to mix a banging head and bright sunlight. Instead I'm drinking lots of tea, picking at some toast and watching Big Brother (this was the final straw for the boyfriend, who's now made a strategic escape from rubbish telly).

I bloody love Big Brother. Every year, when the buzz first starts and Heat Magazine starts printing sneak previews of the inside of the house, I tell myself that I won't watch it again. I definitely won't have to leave the pub, and my friends, religiously at half past nine to race home for the 10 o’ clock nightly catch up episode. And Friday nights are for romantic meals or cocktails in nice bars - not for evictions.

But more often than not, by week three, I'm hooked. It's around the second week mark that I know if I'm going to like it or not. If I can find a clear favourite, then I'm all over it. If I hate them all, I won't bother. This year, for me, it's all about Rex. There's something about his voice - and the fact that he's ever so slightly condescending (well, he's got a point - that Alex is a thick and nasty bitch) - that reels me right in. That'll be my summer gone then. Oh well.