Charlie Courtauld: I can cut out the fags. I can cast out 'Big Brother'. But I can't stop the shakes

Today, November is over, which may mean little to you, but it is a godsend to me. It means that my bet with my wife is over, and I can smugly light up cigarettes again. Perplexing as it may seem, giving up smoking – for a one-month period only – is actually quite a doddle for me. I don't get withdrawal symptoms, don't go into cold turkey. It's just rather boring. So I'm glad that the bet has been won: a few fagsgive a structure to my day.

Which may seem reason enough for cheer this morning – but I'm nevertheless feeling rather bereft. One of my habits has returned, but the other one is gone for another twelvemonth. Yes, Celebrity Big Brother has ended, with the victor, ex-Take Thatter Mark Owen, walking off with the title (opening a superstore near you soon). To mollify the many critics of CBB2 – not least last year's champion Jack Dee, who said: "I wish Big Brother would just curl up and die" – I will admit that there were some dreadful flaws in this year's series. The housemates all seemed to get on rather too well – we could have done with a bit more grit. Then, there was the dysfunction between different levels of fame. For some of the housemates – notably Anne Diamond – the appearance on CBB will hardly merit a mention on the cv: far more famous exhibitions will take pride of place. For others – most obviously Sue Perkins (from comedy duo Mel and Sue) – this was the centrepice of their career to date. As such, players like Sue seemed increasingly desperate to win the game, picking on rivals like Richard-Branson-with-unfeasibly-large-falsies lookalike Melinda Messenger. Sue's tactics were misguided anyway, confusing the survivor of CBB with the winner. They are not the same: last year Jack Dee may have remained the longest in the house, but it was Claire Sweeney who took the honours – by dint of being nice about her housemates.

But my love-in with Big Brother, even my addiction to fags, can be overcome. I'll miss the housemates, sure. But I can handle it. There is, however, one habit I can't kick, even though I'd rather like

Anyone who watched the Parkinsonian Muhammad Ali – hands shaking all over the place – try to light the Atlanta Olympic flame, knows what an irritating symptom tremor can be, for both victim and, frankly, for the viewer. Go on, Muhammad, fire that arrow. I've not got it as bad as the ex-heavyweight. Anyway, nobody's likely to ask me to perform a pointless feat of archery in front of the watching billions. But still my left arm wobbles in an alarming (to others) and tiring (to me) way. This is not – not yet, anyway – as disruptive to my daily life as it might be, even though I'm left-handed. For a start, this is not the type of tremor which gets worse when I try to do things. Nor is it even completely uncontrollable: if I focus hard enough, I can even stop it for a while. But it is a nuisance: who wants to concentrate on their shaky hand all day? No, don't answer that. And even though the tremor doesn't bother me that much, it certainly affects how others react towards me. Other symptoms of MS – dizziness, falling over, erratic eyesight etc – are much more disruptive to me. But to the observer, they just look like I've had a few too many at an early office Christmas party. Whereas, the shakes? That's a proper cripple's symptom. When my tremor's playing havoc, everyone leaps up to offer me a seat on crowded commuter trains. Even the beggars avoid me.

And that's a problem. Just as concentration on controlling the shakes can switch the tremor off, so standing on a train and wishing-I-had-a-tremor-cos-then-those-bastards-would-offer-me-a-place-to-sit can switch it on. Which may be convenient for getting me a chair, but once the tremor has started, it's gonna be there all day. So, best not to think about it. Have a fag. At least the next series of 24 will be on soon.