THANKS to Channel 5 there will be another two years of Big Brother.

The programme - which relentlessly ran for a decade on Channel 4 - will return later this year with an "all-star celebrity" version for four weeks in the summer followed by a pleb’s version running for three months in the autumn.

The news was about as exciting and breathtaking as a Big Brother fan discovering Sophie Reade got her knockers out on Television X or that Craig Phillips had put down some laminate flooring on DIY SOS.

Stifling a yawn Channel 5's director of programmes Jeff Ford said: "We're hugely excited,” while, sticking two fingers up to human decency and taking a dump on decorum, Endemol chief executive Tim Hincks said: "Ten years on it's as potent and cutting-edge as ever."

It’s not cutting edge and is as potent as Tim’s week-old poo being filmed 24 hours a day in the hope it might gain some sentience and proclaim the third coming. It would be streamed live on the internet and smartphone users could interact with the poo by sending in questions by text.

Anyway, Big Brother’s a gratuitous showcase of piss-poor human beings desperate to be on television. Now with the added insult of being on Channel 5 which includes in the schedule such ground-breaking shows as All New Generation Sex, Bridezillas, Brighton Beach Patrol, Generation Sex, The Love Bus, OK! TV, The Vanessa Show, The Wright Stuff, The Sex Chamber, Sex Lessons, Sex: How to do Everything and Thomas the Tank Engine.

If you don’t believe me that all the world’s problems are caused by Big Brother, we have the show to thank for boring po-faced Jon Tickle, sour-faced Kate Lawler (hosted axed TV show RI:SE, was on axed TV show Celebrity Wrestling, axed TV show Love Island 2 and axed TV show Playdate), ambiguous-breast-wavering Chantelle Houghton (I want big tits, I regret my big tits, I love Preston, I hate Preston, I like pink horses and have writtened a book hahahaha) and somehow, even beyond death – Pope St Rev Bishop Jade Goody.

With the Only Way is Essex taking up valuable showbiz column inches in the nationals (Kirk was looking at bras, Arg has got a bit fat, Mark was spotted looking at a girls bum, Lauren wore a pink bikini, Joey Essex reveals second facial impression that reveals he’s not a prick - and yes it is an impression, like when you stick your face in one of those metal pin-art things and it leaves a semblance of a face, Amy goes out to club and goes home) - is there really any room for more people caught going to a party or snatch shots of a vagina at a Harry Potter premiere?

If there is one thing to be grateful for, that is that Davina McCall won’t be shouting that she is the host seven days a week. Or getting overly excited that a housemate has cried into a bowl of cereal or someone got an erection while bodypainting a dwarf.

But there is worse to come – perpetual baby-having Myleene Klass and glassy-eyed Live From Studio Five host Emma Willis are rumoured to be taking over. Not only is Myleene Klass more teeth than human, but she just doesn’t play the piano that much anymore.

Along with fellow Lotto presenters Jenni Falconer, Gethin Jones and Duncan James, Myleene and these people should stop being on television. Unless they're in the all-star celebrity Big Brother. I’d love to see Gethin Jones get an erection while bodypainting a dwarf while Duncan James tries to work out if he’s real and Myleene gives birth in the diary room.

Ciao, Mark Wright here from The Only Way is Essex with my oft-weekly talk about sex. It’s pretty difficult to get into that’s for sure. A friend of mine said the other day I probably send my right hand a Valentines Day card but I didn’t understand what they meant. I’m from Essex.

Anyway, sex, It’s all very natural unless your posh like a Londoner and then you slip in words like “crumbs” and “crikey” when it all gets too much. I imagine Prime Minister David Cameron and Prime Mayor Boris Johnson sound like this in bed. When Nick Clegg does it I’ve always imagined he’d say “preposterous” with clasped hands.

Anyway, I’m straying off the point, I’m here to talk about love and all the strange relationships that are going on in my programme. I’m now marrying Lauren Goodger despite conflicting reports of my love interests with Sam Faiers, Kayla Collins and Lucy Mecklenburgh.

I know Lauren went on Twitter the other night and wrote about my relationships with those other girls. She told this person who thought it was all fake: “Of course its not u fool them 2 r acting playing the game! the truth is I've been with mark 10 yrs not the others ! Clearly its real!”

These are the three things I know about rumpy pumpy: It always involves a man and a woman (two if you’re lucky). It can involve a man and a man and/or/preferably a woman and a woman (two if you’re lucky). You only get one chance to have a go (two if you’re lucky).

The other night I was watching a DVD in the privacy of my cellar when I noticed a weird and wonderful movement by Kayla Collins who was playing a teacher. She seemed to be pulsating her feet in my direction. I have to say I didn’t know where to look and eventually I settled on looking at Lauren’s gerbil. She’s a fine-looking gerbil and all that, but I should have thought about which way to turn before things got out of hand.

Anyway, I’m straying off the point again, I’m here to talk about The Only Way is Essex.
 
Well, actually, that’s all I know. Those three things I mentioned earlier. Anyway, that’s all you really need to know. Now I’m going to fly off on my tangerine bicycle of mystery. Bye.

I REALLY, sincerely like The Only Way Is Essex (ITV2 Wed & Sat 10pm). It’s a filthy, dirty, surreptitiously super-secret thing I like to do. I have no idea what it’s about and I can’t identify with any of the people. But I find that in real life a lot of the time too, so this is quite heart-warming and familiar.

Apparently it’s vaguely scripted (which is pretty obvious when one of them said antidisestablishmentarianism the other day) so it’s not really a fly-on-the-wall reality show. In the true sense, you know? But if it was it would be crap. Just a load of people’s faces flapping around on the screen, intermittently saying “naaaaaa” or “whaaaaaaaaaa?”

It’s sponsored by a cold sore cream as well, which I imagine many of them have a great need for.

All of the cast are orange-skinned (one of them is 19 but looks 40-odd easily), sexually- volatile, lingerie-modelling, nightclub-bossing, desperately-seeking-a-Nuts-photo-shoot, plastic-enhanced, claiming a bus stop is protected sex kind-of-people. Lovable fumbling fools. If they get a ticket saying parking fine they think it's a compliment to their driving skills. Adorable. Drinking WKD, groping in the dark and talking about hair extensions, spray tans and bras.

Amy Childs, who without make-up has a face the size of walnut, is a great cast member (probably my favourite in fact) and her Q&A session on the ITV2 website is breathtakingly beyond belief in nailing her character (which many of her Facebook friends would like to do). It really spells out why you should watch it.

Question: Who would you vote for on X-Factor?

Answer: The guy from Essex whose (she spells it who’s) name I can't remember but I think he's great.

Question: What would be your perfect job?

Answer: I'd love to be an underwear model but if not then I'd love to be on QVC or another shopping channel selling cosmetics.

But regrettably reality shows stop being real as soon as they are on TV. People get excited - you’re appearing on Alan Titchmarsh, Zoo wants some carefully covered nipple shots. It’s stopped being real, now they’re celebrities pumping out perfumes.

Already Amy has been photographed wearing a gold monokini and matching wedge heels and is being interviewed by magazines about becoming the next Jordan. She even wants to marry Peter Andre.

“'I don’t mind going out with someone who’s older and has kids,” says Amy. “I love kids anyway. I could be their stepmum.”

But I fear I’m making this programme sound bad so I’ll stop. Please give it a go.