“Ohmigod!” intoned the receptionist excitably at work the other day, “Did you see Celebrity Big Brother last night?”

“Madam,” I replied huffily, “I would not wish my mind to be subjected to the godless vacuum of taste and merit in which this pernicious brand of so-called ‘reality’ television exists. Nor,” I continued grandly, my eyes now aflame with passion, “would I choose to implicitly support the reckless exploitation of the desperate and mentally unstable for the entertainment of the masses; indeed I consider it an insult upon my character that you would think me entertained by such vulgarity. I bid you GOOD DAY.”

Of course, I actually only managed a mumbled, “Nah, didn’t catch it” through a mouthful of morning sultana bran, and diplomatically listened to how “Jedward are hilarious” and that somebody called Bobby apparently “needs a good slap”. Despite her best efforts, she didn’t sell it to me.

Now, I love pop culture – I will happily sit through two hours of brain-shrinking stupidity in any sticky-floored multiplex, and I actually do think Jedward are hilarious (they’re an ingeniously conceived neo-Dadaist art project, right?) – but at the same time, I’m something of a culture snob. All too often, I find these “water cooler” conversations as alien as the Danish language.

The “water cooler effect” is the resolutely modern phenomenon which supposes that the most popular cultural touchstones of the day are those spoken of while hanging around the office water cooler. Already, this is a concept which proves problematic for me – the water cooler in my workplace is on the floor above me, it uses those little plastic cups which really aren’t big enough, and to be honest, I’m quite happy with tap water, thank you very much. (Can anyone really tell the difference between filtered and unfiltered?)

More significantly, I always find myself left behind when conversation turns to the latest popular craze. It’s not that I’m old-fashioned or anything –- I bloody love modern things. Smoothies, iPhones, self-service checkouts – love ’em. But when colleagues start yammering on about how Geoff the Brick has buried Mandy under the floorboard of the Queen Vic on EastEnders, or that Cheryl Cole’s bought an expensive new face, or that the judges of Britain’s Got Talent have put an inanimate object through to the next round, I’m lost.

I pretend to love pop culture, but the culture that’s truly, broadly popular – Saturday night telly, Radio 1-friendly pop music, sleb gossip mags – is the stuff of my darkest, ugliest nightmares. I’m not sure latest zeitgest trends are worth following if those trends are as culturally enriching as stale bread. I’ve made a conscious choice to be a snob, and if that means I get left behind in workplace conversations, so, I suppose, be it.

Maybe I just need open my mind a little, start drinking from the both the metaphoric and literal water cooler, and start watching Celebrity Big Brother, washed down with a plastic cup of cool, filtered water.

Or maybe not. I really don’t mind tap water. And Celebrity Big Brother is a bit shit.

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