Another year, another rum bunch. Strangely more photogenic this year...mmmmm. And yes, once again, I can predict the first person out the door before they've even got their jackets off.
Do I care who wins? Not a jot. This is an hour a week where I can actually enjoy someone else having a new arsehole torn in them (self-inflicted wound in my book).
Train crash TV at it's best (or should that be worst).