Cloaking my interest in Celebrity Traitors

ON the night of Hallowe'en I answered a knock at the door to find not half a dozen sucrose-hungry teenagers dressed as either evil clowns or Robert Jenrick (it's hard to tell the difference, you'll admit) but a middle-aged man in a soiled hospital gown, electrodes still stuck to his temples, brandishing a broken wine bottle.

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Before I had time to congratulate him on his convincing impersonation of an escaped psychiatric patient he thrust me back into the living room, slamming the door behind him, and during the fearful days which elapsed before the bloodhounds tracked him down one of the things he forced me to do was to watch BBC1’s The Celebrity Traitors, possibly to prove his derangement wasn't a sham.

When my ordeal ended I was left with two questions: “How can a group of people who, almost without exception, earn their livings performing on TV have so little understanding of how the medium works as not to realise immediately that at least one of the two most famous contestants must necessarily be a Traitor?” and - the more important - “Whatever happened to cloaks?”

Almost every type of clothing ever invented is still around in some form.