BIG BROTHER 3 AT GARDENCROFT--

3 AT GARDENCROFT

in association with

By Kevin O'Sullivan Anti-Big Brother Correspondent

OH NO! It's that time of year again when the silent minority (you and me, friends) suffer the fires of hell - Big Brother-style.Whisper it quietly, but there are millions of us who can't stand this putrid contest between 12 of the biggest losers you will ever find.

Series one was bad enough when a bloke from Liverpool scooped the overblown Ł70,000 prize.

Series two was a hateful exercise fought out by misfits and distinguished by a bubble-head called Helen whose favourite hobby was "blinking".Blinking pathetic, if you ask me.

She was, however, marginally less insane than Penny, who spent her whole time weeping and wailing about, well, nothing.We watch as inmates depart the house, sporting smug grins and gleefully anticipating huge new showbusiness careers.

How we laugh as they fall by the wayside, one after another.

The most "successful" former housemates merely disappear into the C-list (or, more accurately, Z-list) ether.

Who remembers original Big Brother "star" Nasty Nick - last seen desperately trying to blag his way into celebrity nightclubs and, of course, failing.

Not so much Nasty Nick as Nonentity Nick.

What about smarmy Stuart, who genuinely considered himself an expert on life, or loud-mouthed Narinder... aaaagghhh, rid me of these people.

Celebrity Big Brother was just about worth it, purely for the pleasure of seeing Vanessa Feltz's astonishing meltdown.

But, oh my God, here we go again. Round three of a programme that cannot sort tripe from trite.

Where do these people come from? Who makes them?

Is it just me or do all they all seem to come from a different planet? My dog's got better conversation than the lot of them.

And their jobs!

Waistline-challenged Alison is, apparently, a "cinema team leader". What?

How many cinemas does she lead? Presumably, this is what they call an usherette these days. Make mine a choc-ice, Al.

Sandy the cross-dressing skirt-wearer is, we are told, a "personal shopper".

I often go shopping personally - but I wouldn't call a solitary trip to the mall a career move.

"I suppose it's all part of my look," said Sandy when quizzed about his unusual spectacles and girlie kilt.

Well, Sandy, your look's crap. At 43, you should know better than to get involved in this juvenile garbage.

Low points so far (and God knows there have been enough to choose from) obviously include Jade's edifying opinions on bathroom etiquette.

"I do Maltesers," she declared in her brain-drilling drone. "If anyone does any logs..."

Christ!

Murder is an evil crime. But for Jade - a stunning blonde (not!) - I think we should make an entirely justifiable exception.

Big surprise to learn she's a shoplifter whose father is in jail.

Camp Alex - the half German male model from Essex - I assume will not emerge as the show's secret gay.

It would be too obvious and, in any case, Sandy's the one wearing the skirt.

But, wow, what an Ali G impression Alex delivered! This guy has got serious talent - I don't think. All his contestant pals were so impressed by the Essex boy's fourth-rate mimicry they were inspired to organise a pathetic rendition of Ali's equally pathetic single, Me Julie.

Then, of course, there's Spencer. A Cambridge man. Not the university type, obviously - but a punt operator.

If you ask me, that's not his job, it's rhyming slang.

Legal clerk Sunita's ambition is to bungee-jump over Grand Canyon. If she gets her wish, I volunteer to be in charge of securing her foot straps.

And what about foxy(-ish) IT Kate from Kent? After two male winners from the previous appalling series, this grade-A bore has vowed to beat the guys at their own game. Win. Don't win. I can hardly contain my apathy. In another earth-shattering episode, the halfwit dozen decided to emulate PJ, the trainee solicitor from Birmingham by shaving bits out of their eyebrows.

Now that was entertainment!

All you need to know about the dire dozen, the terrible 12, is they watched the first two series and decided: "I'd love to do that."

Anyone with half a brain would rather stick needles in their eyes.

It may be the worst job I have ever had. But I vow to watch this dreadful drivel and bring you regular updates.

They have put themselves in the goldfish bowl and I will look - but I don't promise to be nice about what I see.

You have been warned.