When you're sat at home with time on your hands waiting to start a new job, strange things happen to you. Cleaning the house becomes more thorough, baking becomes the norm, you begin to make shopping lists, blog sites are born and worse still... you begin to watch daytime tv. It starts with The Jeremy Kyle Show where a varying display of tattoos, piercings and trackie bottom-wearing chavs shout, lie, accuse and deny their way through 'problems' that make your eyebrows reach for your hairline. This week's offering saw a daughter claiming her 62 year old mother is a nymphomaniac, sells sexual favours, exposes herself in public and has various STD's. On walks mommie dearest resembling Jackie Pallo in a dress who duly obliges by pulling her top down to the audience...nice. Moving on to Cash In the Attic where people called Tarquin go rooting through your cupboards to find family heirlooms to raise money for not the expected things like an operation in the US to save your granchild's sight, but usually more mundane like raising £400 for a new garden bench. Roll on 12.30 for a lunchtime of madness that is Loose Women. The saucy seaside postcard humour comes to life when Coleen, Denise, Jane, Carole et al 'share' nauseating stories of their various peccadillos. Cue guffaws and pawing at male flesh when male models are introduced wearing underwear (at alarming regularity). Just in time to put your cup of tea and gypsy creams to brace yourself for Dickinsons Real Deal. David is a perma-tanned, strange suit-wearing pantomine character who speaks in an unfathomable voice about old things (conversely, not Loose Women's Sherie Hewson). Just when it can't get any worse there's the Alan Titchmarsh Show, Deal or No Deal and the Paul O'Grady Show. It's enough to make you run to the hills and bury your remote control in a peat bog. Hang on though, Murder She Wrote is just starting.....
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