Big Brother's Big Lesbian: The Da "Twin" ci Code

With Mr X away on an undercover mission in Leeds uncovering the suspicious claims of the BB I.Q test, in which Chanelle scored the highest, I was given a rare day off, so called upon the half-dead poets society.

We all convened at the Pig and Whistle's back room, especially kept for poker nights, and clandestine showings of The O.C.

Our society has been running for over a decade, and this meeting was set up to discuss BB and the possibility that the twins might be involved in an international cover up hiding the secrets of the universe. Our society is almost like a religion, we are also known as the Dopus Gay in certain eclectic circles, although we do not feel the need to flagellate ourselves with whips, well only if we want to, our main aim is to get word out that Ruth Kelly is indeed a gay woman. The half-dead poets’ society started after we all attended a Pam Ayres poetry reading with special guest the artist formerly known as Ken Dodd.

Our little group consists of some prominent social figures. “The Albino” is 5 ft 7 and used to be an ex racing greyhound who was found roaming the streets of Walthamstow. She has a compulsion to talk, and has to be subdued with a cloth muzzle and a dried out pigs ear. Ms J, daughter of the infamous Secret Squirrel, the espionage spy of the 1970’s, is an informant for Her Majesty Prison, and has a Dildo fetish, which can get the better of her at times. She also needs to be subdued with large amounts of morphine and hypnosis involving the image of KD Lang naked. There are others, but they are famous, and I have promised to protect their identity. What I can say is “We are not amused”

After several tequilas and Cuban cigars, the topic of the twins stepped into high gear. Through the acrid layer of cigar smoke, an interesting hypothesis was born. Are the twins the conduits for the secret knowledge of the universe? The Albino’s allegorical slant is that they are micro-chipped in their brains, and when a certain word is said, they omit a small frequency wave to a sub station in Kazakhstan where large German women called Ingrid decode it. We think the word is hair straighteners but need that confirmed by Liam’s homing pigeons who land on the Angel of the North at sunrise, when the code will be illuminated. Mr X will be called back from Leeds, to check out this lead.

The housemates talked of our consultant Shakespeare this week, and he was so appalled that Brian thought he was a cocktail drink, that he has declined to comment, until he has calmed down. How can so little, be known by so many in such a small house? It is obvious that BB researchers were not combing the halls of Mensa in their quest for housemates. but wandered into the halls of Mecca Bingo instead, Number 11….Charley’s IQ…..

In a rare glimpse of humour in Elstree this week, Charley has been put into a caravan with Forest Gump. Poor old Brian, I would imagine being shacked up with Charley would be like Chinese water torture….If I send a photo of Charley to the Rate My Poo website, I wonder if she would get a full score?

Tracey has been quiet, I thought I saw her floating down Glastonbury high street in her Phat tent but was mistaken, it was actually Vinny Jones. The toaster and kettle went missing on Friday morning, and it was only after Carole took her bra off, did they realise that they had accidentally been caught under her right breast. The worrying thing about it was, also under there was a TV remote, a packet of pork scratchings and a Ford Fiesta.

Gerry is missing Seany, after he was evicted on Saturday, wearing a tea cosy on his head, and Chanelle and Ziggy’s relationship is off and on like a nuns knickers at Evensong.

Ziggy and Chanelle will soon be at it in the secret room, an act I certainly do not want to witness. It is bad enough we have no lesbian action, but worse still to see Cliff Richard and Victoria Beckham going at it hammer and tongs. I am sure heat magazine will do a five-page spread of Chiggy in a stately home draped over a chez-lounge wearing leopard print clothing, looking deceptively happy. I am sure I would be happy at £500,000 in my pocket for a fake romance too.

When I get word of the Leeds story, I will make sure I break it as soon as I can. Until then, let me leave you with an ancient Chinese Proverb for Brian Gump.

“Man who sleeps in same caravan as Piranha will end up getting his testicles bitten”