Day 4,861 and Big Brother is still on my telly. Now in series nine, and with no signs of stopping, the question is, who’s still watching it?

Oh dear. Arena seems to have upset the entire Scottish nation, and all because we called their glorious leader smug…

We at Arena are concerned for James McAvoy. He’s just had his head between Angelina Jolie’s legs, yet he doesn’t seem to have enjoyed it. In our new issue, on sale now, he tells us that he prefers shooting people…

I felt a blast of pure grade-A nostalgia the other day at seeing a couple of familiar names in the honours list. David and Richard Darling, the superbrains behind a truckload of computer games of the 1980s, have been awarded the CBE. And rightly so.

Monday evening, as I’m sure you’re aware, was excessively hot. And I was at a gig. In a pub’s back room sans air conditioning or windows. With a lot of other people and apparently no regard for fire regulations. Overheated, intoxicated bodies writing around to the music. It was great for the atmosphere, just not for the smell. Which was a potent mixture of beer and spirits and sweat. Predominantly sweat.

There are many things your correspondent truly sucks at: sport, maths, dealing with authority figures. But without doubt the shining beacon in the sea of my incompetence is having my photo taken with famous people.

Arena managed to stand the screaming and booing for long enough last night to ascertain that there is at least one babe in the new Big Brother house. But who’s the best ever?