Like everyone else, if I crave the society of other adults, I’ll have to pretend this is abhorrent. (Really, it’s just so-so). Yet, if the Beeb had had the balls to spotlight the rebels in the camp instead of pushing the show into a karaoke niche none of the kids fancied, it could’ve been more grotesquely compelling than Big Brother’s Jade in her porcine pomp. Ainslie, for one, had it in him to be an irritating iconoclast of some pluck, and even the toothsome David was drunkenly bitching like a trouper till he twigged he was actually going to win the thing and played safe. A chance for a postmodern Network was fudged. Oh, here they all sing Beatles and Motown songs, of course.