I'VE just had an idea for a TV programme.

You recruit a group of people -- some a bit off-the-wall, some crashingly boring -- and you stick them all together in a building for several weeks. Then you film their every move and uttered syllable.

Wait, though .... cancel that thought. Who would want to watch such unmitigated drivel?

What? It's being done and they're calling it "Big Brother"? Never!

For anyone who didn't believe that telly programme planners did not have their fingers on the pulse of the nation, think again.

This country is currently sharply divided into those who daren't miss a single episode of this docu-soap, and those whose only comment is "Miss what?"

But Nasty Nick, nice but kooky Nichola et al these days perfectly personify our readiness to accept empty icons.

You only have to look at Posh and Becks and the slavish adulation they receive to realise that. We want to admire individuals who could be just like us.

Take away his stunning football talent and her style guru pop star persona and here's a young couple who could be moving in next door to you with their tiny tot.

I was discussing just that with my mum the other day. Not the Beckhams moving in next door to her but the worthiness of the people we admire now.

Only a couple of years ago we seemed spoilt for choice -- from Malcolm Muggeridge and Albert Einstein to Mother Teresa and Princess Diana.

We admired their intellect, their humanitarianism, their achievements. Not whether they wore a sarong or had hair extensions and could lipsync cleverly to a record.

Actually, come to think of it, Posh, Becks and Nasty Nick would fit in well in the Big Brother House.

Personally, I'd chuck in Jeremy Paxman for intellectual abrasion and Corrie's Jez Quigley for a spot of light relief. Now, THAT'S what I call entertainment ....