My life is collapsing. I used to enjoy a good book and maybe some intelligent conversation but now I find myself chatting to the missus about how likely it is that Lee Sharpe will bone Abi Titmuss on the telly tonight. Things really are bad, as I was the sort of aspiring, amost-middle-class snob that thought reality TV really was symptomatic of the cultural barbarians at the gates (etc). Is it the natural, wittily unscripted exchanges between (the admittedly lovely-to-look-at) Kelly Brook and that annoying Ulsterman? Is it my unhealthy interest in Abi's double-chin and my desire to smurf it repeatedly? Is it my fascination with Rebecca Loos' face, which looks like a drunken nutter has gone garratty on it with a shovel? It must certainly have something to do with the antics of some complete "X" list mong called Paul (whom I had never heard of) who behaves like an acid-fuelled chav with ten pints of the numbers on board let loose on Guildford high Street of a Saturday night. Celebrity Love Island is like a really strange but strangely comforting screensaver that floats by on the telly for half an hour every night. I think it's the acme of early 21st Century cultural achievement; our very own entertainment Weimar. And Abi's slight beergut makes me ridiculously excited. So, is anybody else enjoying this little guilty pleasure as much as I am? And, more importantly, which two of the slightly-rough-around-the-edges chicks in there would you like to see together with a litre of vaseline and a marrow? V!