ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS WOULDN'T KEEP ME IN THE COMPOUND WITH THAT TOAD JAYNE KITT.

The rat pack

Of all the crumby, jam-splattered kitchens in north-west London, it had to limp into theirs. Small, whiskery, disabled; quickly the Big Brother 7 rat has the entire house in a state of hullabaloo. "Bash its head in with a piece of wood!" shouts Glyn, "Then chuck it over the wall!" "Kill it! Poison it!" shouts Spoiral. "Ay, dese are both right, yer, no? We don't wont noner dose ratsineer, like, dowee?" shouts Mikey, as the Channel 4 subtitler scratches his head, re-examines his Scouse Translation Dictionary and types "Bash it with a hammer!"

Glyn and Spiral have an unswervingly UB40 approach to the rat in the kitchen. When Ali Campbell, Astro and the other 76 members of Birmingham's premier reggae act spotted a rogue rodent, they didn't faff about with some whiny sixth-form debate on animal rights. No, not only did they "fix that rat", they fixed it with time left to pen a top-ten smash hit. Thank God they didn't live with Richard and Pete.

"Oh, my gaaaawd, it's so adorable! Look at its tiny fluffy face!" coos Richard, "Awww, and it's got a little home down there in that hole. Amazing!" "Brilliant!" agrees Pete, who clearly believes the rat lives a sort of Animals of Farthing Wood existence. Yes, in that hole, Ratty probably lives with his whiskery grandfather; a wise, soothsaying rodent with a monocle and a natty waistcoat. Together the lovable pair have all sorts of ratty adventures, possibly involving a magical hat and battles with talkative, kilt-wearing badgers.

"You can't kill it! I won't let you kill it" screams Pete, already over-involved. "Are you f***ing owt of your mind?" scoffs Spiral. "We have to kill it!" shouts Glyn: the pair already have that Dastardly and Mutley Stop the Pigeon bloodlust in their eyes.

"Boys," purrs Susie, calmly, "I don't think hammering a rat to death will do much for your reputations in the outside world." "S'pose not," mumble Glyn and Spiral, who deep down won't be satisfied until they've carved the little mite into bite-sized goujons, then stood beneath the moon, blood smeared on their cheeks, beating their chests and roaring. Boys will be boys.

"I think Little Brother adds to the experience! And he's got a little limp! He's like, 'Oooh, helloooo, I'm just hungry, feed me!'" sobs Pete in the diary room. This is the problem with anthropomorphising animals: the second you've given them a name, or worse still, a voice, you're emotionally doomed.

I can't watch Big Cat Week on BBC1 since they showed a trailer where all the lions had voiceover artists doing their "voices", and one little fluffy-faced lion cub was saying: "Oooh, I got chased by baboons today while Mummy was at work! It was vewy scawy!" That was it cancelled off the Sky+ box for me. I just can't get involved. Of course, my boundless compassion only really stretches to doe-eyed animals. I could watch Nikki being chased by vicious baboons waving pitchforks all day long.

I could watch Nikki being chased by vicious baboons waving pitchforks all day long

It's looking increasingly like Ash may be slung out tonight and Nikki may well stay. To be honest, going home feels like the better deal right now. One hundred thousand pounds wouldn't keep me in that small compound with that belligerent natterjack toad, Jayne Kitt, causing stinky atmospheres from dawn to dusk.

Let Ash go home, I say. Let her get her roots done, strip her kit off for some magazines, have a night out with her mates and get her marbles back together. At least if Nikki stays in, we know where the evil is contained and we can just choose not to watch that channel.

I didn't like Ash at all at first. I only quite like her now. She's the exact polar opposite of me in almost every way. I can't exactly envision us both on Mike Tyson's knee, en route to Chris Brosnan's gaff for a jacuzzi. Yet, over the last month, Ash has surprised me on several occasions. She didn't scream much or shout or chuck tantrums. She had a bizarre air of old-fashioned dignity about her, which is no mean feat when you're wearing only a strip of muslin, a metre of toupee tape and no knickers.

Self-servingly, I suppose I like the way she suddenly pipes up what I want to say to the housemates. I can only applaud her for having a pop at Lea. Lea was dreadful. I only wish Ash had taken it further and informed Lea that her ambition to stop people thinking she was a mega-titted moron had failed and that she was one of the most miserable and self-absorbed individuals to ever make it through Endemol's "screening" processes.

And as for Nikki, well, Ash at least tried to strike against her "specialness". Not that it achieved a lot. It would take more than a few black looks from a rival mardy glamour girl to alter Nikki Grahame. You'd need to go back to day 1 and start her fetid personality from scratch. There must be panic going on in the house right now as they both plan their nipple-revealing, bum-cleft-exposing exit outfits. This time, I can totally believe them when they claim they have literally "nothing to wear".

What shall we do with Little Brother - the fluffy, harmless germ-free rodent with the poorly paw? Mail me on grace.dent@bbc.co.uk.