IT'S been a spooky old week. I've found myself slipping into a parallel universe at least twice, and that's without watching Torchwood; possibly three times, if you count driving through the wilder reaches of Acomb after dark.

That aside - and I got a ruddy great bolt through the inner wall of my front tyre somewhere in the vicinity, so that's quite a big, expensive aside, thank you very much - it was the canapés that got me feeling as if I'd been transported to another dimension.

Specifically, it was being asked to vote for a canapé. This was on The Great British Christmas Menu on BBC2, which I came across while I was waiting for my daily dose of It Takes Two with Claudia Winkleman, a programme that I am almost as tragically addicted to as Neighbours.

It is bad enough that I've been clocking up extortionate amounts to save Louisa Lytton over Emma Bunton on Strictly Come Dancing (which failed), but asking me to vote for seared hand-dived scallops with crab, celeriac and apple salad over a tartare of Irish beef with bone marrow and soft-boiled quails' eggs is a non-starter. So to speak.

I just don't feel I can connect with them. I don't know if they've been on a journey or had previous experience as appetisers or what kind of relationship they've got with their respective celebrity chefs. Frankly, they haven't done enough, as finger food, to make me really care.

I'm not spending 50p voting for a tartlet, which is to quiche what a starlet is to a serious actress, even if a proportion of the proceeds is going to Children In Need. Before you know it I'd have been suckered into voting for the puddings, whereas I need that money to vote for Yume the polar bear on tonight's grand final of Extinct, even though she didn't make smoked salmon pinwheels or dance the rumba.

Terribly tricky, rumbas. No one scores very highly with them, but they are particularly challenging for polar bears because the floor keeps melting.

The World Wildlife Fund emailed me about Extinct, the idea of which initially made me cross because once again the phone companies are making a good deal of money out of it (yes, the voting revenue is split between the animals, but note the small print: if at least 30p of your 50p call goes to conservation, someone else is doing very well out of the remaining 20 pences).

The series has, however, raised awareness and funds for the WWF, which can only be good. Much as I hate the X-Factor approach to preserving endangered species (they are literally dying for your votes!) I have decided to do my bit by adopting a Bengal tiger for the daughter, with the proviso that she keeps it in Nepal where it belongs.

Talking of The X-Factor - I'd prefer not to, but I do realise some of you might be watching tonight's other grand final - Yvonne is disappointed in me. This is because I have succeeded in weaning myself off programmes like The X-Factor, Big Brother and I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, although the latter proved slightly more difficult because I wanted to see what David Gest looked like in the flesh (answer: Mr Potato Head, with tufts).

As a consequence, I am unable to participate in blow-by-blow analysis of the previous evening's televisual entertainment over the garden fence. Admittedly, a certain amount has seeped in through osmosis (I know about the Scottish boys and Ben and Leona through tabloid headlines) but unless it's Strictly I am not up to speed.

Even there Yvonne is ahead of the game. "That Mark Rampertash [sic] has been having an affair with a 26-year-old," she informed me last weekend. "It was in the Sunday Mirror."

Which was why I found myself in an internet forum, following the thread on "Gorgeous Mark Ramprakash" to check out the feelings of the faithful (aka Ramps' Tramps'). I have never been in a chat room before and it was addictive; a virtual version of gossiping at the school gates.

As parallel universes go, it was rather fun. But I fear for 'Maren', as Mark-and-Karen fans call the duo. Look, it's a dancing competition, not a popularity - or, indeed, a morality - contest. Plus it all (well, some) goes to Pudsey.

Perhaps the BBC could cross-promote for the sake of Children in Need: vote for Mark and you get the langoustine and pear canapé at no extra charge. Now that would be tasty.