I have never once envied the ordeal of the Big Brother housemates. Not the cold showers nor the lack of food, definitely not the cabin fever and irritating company, not even the six-figure magazine deals and seemingly endless, booze-addled trips to West End clubs. However the tasks? Well the tasks looked like fun.
So, imagine one day getting a call asking whether you would like to join a bunch of journalists spending the day inside the new Big Brother house for the full, no-holds barred housemate treatment. Naturally, I jumped at the chance.
Press Big Brother, as it shall now be known, was quite possibly the most surreal day of my life.
The nine of us were the first 'normal' housemates to ever go inside the famed Elstree complex. We were also the first to be allowed in with any form of communicative device. The task within the task? Tweet like mad. Tweet until your fingers turn blue and your phone wheezes out of life. Tweet until all you can see is floating characters. Tweet until you pass out.
Mic'd up and ready to go, we filed in one by one (shoes off at the door, cream carpets y'see). A few of us were a bit merry. Most were hungry. All of us were impatient to get inside - as were the production team currently overseeing the frantic completion of the main stage and the new-style terraces for the show's live audience.
Good news - champagne on arrival. Bad news - lunch was breadsticks and dip. And the Welcome Pack, if the hunger pangs became insufferable.
Now considering the order of the day was tasks, I was expecting something pretty Krypton Factor-esque to lie in wait. We're talking constant tasking; whether this turned out to be an assault course (I was secretly hoping we'd have a physical challenge like this), sugar cube stacking, mental agility, hide and seek, even a treasure hunt.
What did we actually get? Nothing. Zip. Nada.
And what to do when faced with this situation? Snoop around of course. Then sit, and wait...
On reflection, this lack of immediate entertainment was in fact a clever ploy to burrow deep inside the housemate psyche. All of a sudden, the mere hint of Big Brother's booming voice became exhilarating. Two people talking away from the group became plotting. I paced around the living room jumping on and off furniture for a full 10 minutes without thinking anything of it.
In short, we began to behave the way the show's original, psychologically-oriented format sought to highlight, and exploit.
Two by two, members of PBB were called into the Diary Room, unsettling for those left out on the sofa. Tactics, faux tactics and double-bluffing spread like wildfire. It also meant there was ample time for photos.
Sadly at the time of PBB the Diary Room chair wasn't yet finished - outrageous (and that's just the hot pink foam stand-in) - however we did pose with the Voice of Big Brother. Talking to a tripod - oddly not as weird as you'd think.
Following this, and the best game of Hotter/Colder I have ever played - albeit with a bit of an exasperated Big Brother ("OK Ariane, the items are in one of the kitchen cupboards"), we got our first (and sadly only) task. If we hadn't tried to order a pizza, they probably would have forgotten all about us, locked up and left us for dead.
Eight bottles, one soda stream, four tasters, and five Zentai suits (if this name doesn't ring a bell, think lycra plus electrocution). Objective: drink the fizzy liquids and guess correctly. I think you can guess the alternative.
Blindfolded and sitting rather uncomfortably in the Diary Room with a 'friendly man servant' to administer the potent cocktails and a chirpy Big Brother offering the odd 'skol!' or a 'prost!, the Zentai'd housemates sat watching the shot-drinkers' every move from the living room sofas, primed for an incorrect answer.
Tabasco, milk, asparagus soup, fishy brine, balsamic vinegar, cow's urine, PG Tips and wheatgrass. We successfully named two out of the eight, which meant...
Thankfully we got our own back when a member of the BB crew dropped the ball and mistakenly unlocked the bedroom doors. BB-ye freshly pressed linen and untouched gym equipment, hello bed bouncing and impromptu poses. Big Brother swiftly shooed us out, and the crew member responsible got hosed down (probably).
As we gathered in the Diary Room to say our goodbyes ("This is Big Brother, you have been evicted, please leave the Big Brother House - through the Diary Room door") we got one last look at the house that's soon to become home to (at the time of writing, rumoured housemates) Jedward, Amy Childs, Kerry Katona, Tara Reid, Paddy Doherty and Sally Bercow in a mere three days.
The strangest part of the whole experience was that once inside, no one wanted to leave.
This blog first appeared http://www.entnews.co.uk/