At the time of writing I’m still in the dark as to whether Richard E. Grant’s Celebrity Traitors gambit – viz, admitting to his fellow players that he has been chosen as a traitor within minutes of being secretly selected – pays off. Will it prove the counterintuitive master stroke that wins him the game? Or will it turn out to be the fantastically naive indiscretion which sees him sent packing shortly after his first and only murder victim Amol ‘glottal stops? Nein danke!’ Rajan?

If you know what I’m talking about without my having to explain, shame on you. You are one of the nine million idiots who have wasted the past week getting emotionally invested in the prospects, in a silly, fake telly game, of a second-rate mummer who was only ever in one decent film, Withnail & I, and that was nearly 40 years ago. Worse than that, you now know who Maya Jama is. And Leigh-Anne Pinnock. And King Kenny.

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Then again, I’m one to talk. I, too, have been cajoled and manipulated and brainwashed into rooting for Grant. He wears such lovely tweed suits; his impish smile is so beguiling; his teeth and his suntan and his hairline are always so........

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