In My Pre Natal Era I was a Holier-Than-Thou, "I don't own a TV actually" prig. Now You'll Regularly Find Me Swimming in Televisual Excrement

I've always concurred with the view that reality TV is, "the lead in the water pipes that sent the Roman's mad", i.e. a toxic, brain-eroding cerebral pollutant. People with self-esteem issues fabricating nervous breakdowns in their underwear, to lend themselves gravitas and sympathy just doesn't meet my definition of entertainment. Pre-fatherhood, I wouldn't have watched reality TV with my worst enemy's eyeballs, regardless of whether it was the abominable "Big Brother" or the marginally less despicable "The Apprentice". In fact, without sounding like a holier-than-thou "I don't own a TV actually" prig, I barely watched telly at all back in my prime; I was too busy having it large (translation: sitting in the pub alone, looking forlornly at women).

Then along came "The Destroyer of all Energies", aka my son. In these post-natal days, I am usually to be found plastered to the couch by 9pm, a pint of red wine in my right hand and the remote control in my left. It's a mathematical inevitability that the more time you spend in front of the TV, the more likely you are to eventually stumble upon some programmes of the reality persuasion. Add into the equation that your child has hidden or eaten the remote and you're too tired to get up and change channels....well, you're soon swimming in televisual excrement.

First, I found myself sucked in to Channel 4's "Bringing up Baby" - I'd just had one, so why wouldn't I watch four sets of fame-hungry parents put their new-borns in the hands of psychotic method-fascists? Now, it is more or less obligatory that I watch "Boys and Girls Alone" on Channel 4. The show centres around a crass social experiment - leave a group of children alone, sans adults, to build their own community, sit back and see what happens. Of course, within minutes, it's like a badly written serialisation of "Lord of the Flies". The show has been criticised as a gimmick from which we can learn nothing about humanity, but I disagree. I've learned, for example, that I'm perfectly able to hate an 11 year old boy. I refer to TJ (acronym for Total Johnson perhaps), the lank haired, bespectacled Scottish lad who seems to have overcome any of the usual pre-adolescent self-doubt or insecurity by being weaned onto a diet of pure hubris from the age of 2 days. He's the sort of fellow who will grow up to be area manager of Comet but behave as though he invented electricity. Sensing that his authority within the boys' group might be challenged, TJ threw a Crucible-style accusation at his would-be competitor Adetoro, claiming that Adetoro had lunged at him with a knife. The live footage suggested that Adetoro picked up a butter knife an entire room away from TJ. TJ didn't let reality stop him turning the rest of the weakling mob against Adetoro though and quickly changing the hapless whelk's status to that of slave. Apalling to watch for almost anyone, except perhaps TJ's parents, who I suspect felt a frisson of proud excitement.

The learnings I will pass on to my heir are threefold: 1) If all adults are wiped out and you find yourself in a society run by children, you have my full permission to drop out of said society. 2) Don't trust kids whose parents reduce their names to acronyms. TJ, CJ, TC, PK are all code for "cock". 3) Pay attention at school, so you don't end up in the employ of Comet, picking lint off stereos with your teeth for a supercillious inadequate.