Have self, will travel.

I watched the most hilarious parody show last night, an incisive satire on the cult of celebrity and adulation of musicians. It was full of wink-wink moments, mock serious but full of camp and circumstance.

Only I don't think it was a joke - I think ITV expected Popstar to Operastar to be taken seriously as a show.

Now wait a minute - this show, presented by the woman who models knickers for M&S, assisted by a gardener, with an 80s rock legend, interior designer and two opera singers you may or may not have heard of sitting on the panel...this is a real show? Why, all you'd need is two former reality TV pop show contestants in need of a career boost to appear on it and you'd have the full set of top trump telly disaster cards.

It was shocking - they wheeled out some pop music disaster areas to warble arias badly for a few minutes and then demanded you call a premium rate phone line at the end. They should be giving me money. It was like hasbeen to wasbeen; flopstar to embarrassing yourself on live Friday night television.

What is it with our society? Have we drank the reality TV well so dry of bona fide nutters that we're plugging into celebdom for a fix, or is that we've become so weary and cynical of supposed celebrities that we're actually enjoying watching themselves lemm along to the edge of a cliff and walk off for our supposed pleasure and their supposed career edification?

I don't know what the x factor is in these shows - Celebrity Big Brother, Poperastar = stinky shit; Celebrity Masterchef, Celebrity Mastermind = quite enjoyable. I think it's simply a matter of the latter shows leaving everyone with their dignity intact.