Great art provokes deep feeling, doesn't it?

When I read The Road, I swore I had radiation sickness and wobbly teeth. On reading Gone With The Wind my hair was singed by the burning of Atlanta. My feet got damp once from wandering the moors in Wuthering Heights.

Yes, the finest works of literature and film can pull you into their world completely. So I couldn't understand why I felt ill when watching the new series of Bob Servant. In tonight's opening episode, he gives his customers food poisoning, and I was immediately stricken with the same symptoms. How could this be? Is Bob Servant a work of great art, or had I just eaten a baddie?

Bob Servant is back and has relaunched his burger van business, serving Widow Makers made using 'a collage of meats'. Soon they're vomiting and hallucinating.

And so was I. I'd been too busy to make breakfast, so sent the current beau to the café for rolls and square sausage. The things he brought back were dodgy. They were perfectly hot, yes, and perfectly square, but also perfectly pink. I pulled the roll apart and examined the thing resting inside: it was a neon pink sausage; the type of pink you only see in photos sent back from the Hubble Telescope, but I decided to take the risk. You don't get food poisoning from nice cafes, you get it from grotty seaside vans like Bob Servant's, right?

So I wiped the grease off my nose and chin and sat down to watch Bob Servant. I know it gathered a loyal following from its first series, but it was new to me and I was keen to see what the fuss was about. Bob (Brian Cox) is reunited with his little sidekick, Frank (Jonathan Watson), who's given the fancy title 'Director of Sauces' to hide the fact that he's just an underpaid dogsbody to big, boisterous Bob. Together they wheel their battered burger van back out from the garage to the splendour of Broughty Ferry promenade.

The show trundled along, not doing much. Frank dished out burgers to the punters whilst Bob flirted with the passing ladies. The customers quickly became ill and a nippy council officer turned up to berate Bob. Annoyed, he sacked Frank and commandeered a local paperboy to be his new assistant, making him strip to his vest for the role. This was so he could display his skinny little arms, which Bob kept declaring were muscular. Maybe this was a joke from the last series? Or maybe my food poisoning was now kicking in? Whatever the reason, I was baffled and bored.

Things improved in the latter half when a coherent storyline arose, with Bob being introduced to Frank's sexually adventurous new girlfriend and his gruff jealousy allowed for some awkwardness and nervous, funny lines.

So what was that first half all about? Bob Servant proved - eventually - that it was a promising sitcom, but you had to sit through some dull, meandering stuff first.

And I had to sit through it with my face turning grey and my tummy producing alien clatters and squeaks.

I'm typing this review from my bed, still ill, and wishing for the reassuring sight of a plastic basin splashed with Dettol next to the bed, which is how my Gran used to attend to any boaking weans in her care. Sickness isn't the same without the comforting, fragrant basin. And in my sick, shaky daze I'm wondering if Bob Servant is indeed a powerful work of art, reaching out to provoke deep feeling, or did I just eat an under-cooked square sausage? I'll watch next week to check but I'm pretty sure it was the sausage…