GLYN'S MASSAGES MAINLY INVOLVE HIM FORCING SOMEONE FACE DOWN INTO A PILE OF MATTED HAIR.

Milky milky

Day 42. Susie and Glyn are in the garden re-nurturing a spirit of entente cordiale following the Chundergate scandal. "It was quite a shock," Susie says, wrinkling her nose, "I've never seen anything quite like that before." Meanwhile, for the viewers, Glyn's spewathon is a huge PR coup. Until then, the tide had begun to turn on the baby-faced lad. According to my mailbag, you'd grown tired of his cocky ways, his temper spats and his new trick of dispensing "sensual massages to the laydeez".

Glyn's massages mainly involve him forcing someone face down into a pile of Aisleyne's matted hair and old discarded cornflakes, climbing onto their back wearing just acrylic shorts, then rocking himself into a state of near-arousal while telling a long, pointless anecdote about the slate-mining industry in Blaenau Ffestiniog. Weirdly enough, despite public dismay, in the BB7 house Glyn was in great demand. It was only when Glyn blew chunks over Susie's newly washed dinner plates did the viewers love him again.

OK, well, most of the viewers: there were some emails from people moaning that Glyn's behaviour was "revolting"; however they appeared to be penned by hypocrites much like myself and Susie. Obviously, I had a whale of a time aged 16–23 every Saturday night, guzzling alcopops and two-for-one liquorice-flavoured shooters and leading a conga line through town centres dressed in a skimpy pelmet, but now I'm in my 30s, I'd rather spend my weekends writing stiff letters to the council campaigning to turn the local fun pub into a wool shop. Bring back national service.

Likewise, Susie is clearly in the grip of hypocritical amnesia: "Binge drinking just doesn't happen in my life!" she says. What? Never, Susie? Not even in those strip pubs you used to work in? I can hear the compere now, "Right, next up fellas, we've got lovely Rita from Cleethorpes to do her legendary python act… But first up, who wants a lovely cup of Lapsang Suchong?!"

Personally, I'd have put Nikki on a few long nocturnal shifts, then informed her it was a homeless person's breast milk and stood back to enjoy the armageddon

Elsewhere, the housemates speculate about a "secret house", after hearing a lot of banging and sawing. I can't wait to see the new folk. For Aisleyne, I hope there's a big burly bloke covered in tattoos who's just finished a bit of "bird". And for Lea, I hope they put in a younger, blonder Barbie lookalike with even bigger boobs who arrives with a set of Peruvian pan pipes in her suitcase for a non-stop jamming session with Pete. That'll cheer Lea right up.

Big Brother sets a new task. Seven hundred and ninety-six pints of milk are poured into boxes in the garden. The house's challenge is to stop it escaping by plugging holes with their bodies. Secretly, Imogen is told by Big Brother to sabotage the task. Imogen doesn't know what sabotage means. They need to get her a roll of that dictionary toilet paper that Joey from Friends had; she could learn one new word a day. "We have to tend to the milk for 48 hours. So we need to do it in shifts," Imogen explains.

"Oh, my god!" cries Richard, in yet another example of the household's phobia about real work, "We'll have to stay up! We won't get a good night's sleep! Our nerves will be in tatters! Oh, I can't believe this! We can't do this!" Richard stands for a while clutching his face, looking like Edvard Munch's The Scream. "Let's just say we can't do it!" he concludes. Yes, Richard, a good night's sleep is so important with your punishing schedule, isn't it?

Imogen has to employ all her wile to sabotage the task. Personally, I'd have put Nikki on a few long nocturnal shifts, then informed her it was a homeless person's breast milk and stood back to enjoy the armageddon. Instead, Imogen begins to secretly let the milk quietly pour away. The housemates hear the milk escaping, but seem to accept that because Imogen's not the sharpest tool, her being totally useless is Imogen doing her best.

Brilliantly, due to Imogen, the group fails and the housemates win the task. Imogen is left standing in a pair of wellies and a sodden coat covered in the best part of 796 pints of milk, with the entire group sighing and writing her off as a dimwit. Heart-warmingly, it looks like the proudest moment of her entire life.

Have you ever eaten a banana with brown specks on it? Did you survive? Mail me on grace.dent@bbc.co.uk.