Assembling before the show I get my first look at the degenerates and reprobates into who's faces I'll be peering for the days to come. And that's when I realized - it's 12 girls and 3 guys, and the view really isn't that bad.

Let's pause for a moment to do the arithmetic there. That's four menage-a-trois, plus substitutes on the bench, and as any tech nerd will tell you, you can't have too many backups. But, as with all quadratic equations, life is never that simple, and the chilly breeze wafting across the island makes me think this is no Temptation Island.

As I walk down the red carpet, fans cheer support, but not for me. It seems that while I spent my last week of freedom in the Second Life version of The House of the Rising Sun, my fellow competitors have galvanized their fanbase. Already I'm beginning to realize that without a radical strategy, my days are numbered, and that number is 7.

But it's too soon to reveal my plans to you - not just yet. Instead, I enter the house uneventfully, make my way to the balcony high and make ready to grin sweetly, like a fox eating shit out of a wire brush (that's not mine by the way - but hell, I'll use it).

And then - chaos. From the crowd Travis Bickle emerges, singing soft love songs to Jodie, and begins to cage and flame the remaining contestants. It's high drama that has The Diva running for the house. I suppress a giggle, for I'm reminded of nothing more than countryside beaters, scaring the pheasants into the sights of the rifle. It's an apt metaphorical moment that couldn't have been better if it were scripted. Or staged.... :)

And then the gates are locked. They're in with me. And their sentence begins.

More later.