Andy Richardson: What happens on tour, stays on tour – unless you're in Big Brother

1. Perez is a fruitloop.

2. Katie Hopkins isn't as toxic as she'd have us believe.

3. Alexander O'Neal and Jeremy Jackson have questionable attitudes to sexual equality and sexual orientation.

The revive-your-career-and-pocket-a-pile-of-big-ones-from-Channel 5-show – and, with the exception of Jeremy, 'big ones' refers to money, rather than anything less savoury – is televisual Marmite.

The majority of the population would rather walk across a newly-tarred road in bare feet than tune in to the watch dead horses flog themselves. To them, CBB is more contrived than The Real Housewives of Cheshire; more vacuous than The Only Way Is Essex; more pointless than an hour in a broken-down lift with a traffic cone collector – such a person does exist, his name is David Morgan – and more shallow than a deflated kiddy-wink's paddling pool at the height of summer.

After all, those hours spent watching Perez whine are ones you'll never get back. And yet, for others, it's as addictive as tamarind on roasted nuts; as entertaining as front row seats for Cirque du Soleil; as funny as a private gig with Tim Vine and as shocking as a night in a darkened cupboard with Russell Brand, Kim Kardashian and Hulk Hogan. Hogan, you will note, is the wild card in that triumvirate of naughtiness.

But the thing that amazes me about the just-passed series of CBB Brother is this: the housemates actually get paid for doing, um, nothing.

I've been locked in confined spaces with a roomful of nutters more times than a diabetic has snacked on sugar-free chocolate, and I've never received a penny.

My first loony-bin experience came at school, when we were herded off to London for a week. The habits of 24 nine-year-old boys sharing a dormitory for a week are not ones I'm willing to share. Ever. But I'm glad I don't have to do their washing.

At secondary school, we found ourselves on numerous holidays at outdoor pursuits centres in Wales. It was difficult to know what was more challenging; the rock climbs on vertical cliffs, the canoe rides through choppy waters or the risk of getting caught while making 1am forays to the girls' dorms.

Nothing, however, comes close to the madness of a week in Scarborough on a sixth form geography field trip. The headlines might read something like this: Head boy dresses up in stockings, suspenders and make-up (as well as Teresa Law's size nine shoes: man, that woman had big feet) to surprise friend with a birthday kiss-o-gram and does such a convincing job that his best mate thinks he's real and, erm . . . let's leave it there.

Or, Boys drive Triumph Dolomite to late night hotel, run out of petrol and walk to the garage where they pump fuel into sandwich bags, which promptly dissolve in the street, filling the road with fuel.

Or, Boy pushes other boy's face in breakfast, for a laugh. You get the picture.

My favourite would be hotel guests leave Scarborough B&B because they're so outraged by the antics of kids from some Black Country school or other – and why the hell did that girl come down to dinner in a pair of frog underpants?

In more recent times, there have been similar CBB experiences. But what happens on tour stays on tour, right? And nobody will ever know about the overweight actor's late night habits during a particularly adventurous trip to Turin.

Unlike the CBB household, there weren't cameras and it would be wrong to share.