Throng

You know Gillian McKeith don't you? Skreeching, vapid, withered old idiot-bag that ferreted around in people's faecal matter before making them cry using tactics that would make Josef Fritzl blush?

Yeah, that's her.

The woman who would shout 'YOU'RE DISGUSTING AND FAT' at people whilst pointing at coffin chaped giganto choc ices... a woman who would make widows grieve more whilst stirring giant milk cartons with cow thighs... that Gillian McKeith.

Well, she's back on our TVs. Mercifully, she won't be appearing on terrestrial channels, but rather, from 10pm Mondays on the Discovery Real Time channel.

Live television does strange things to people. If you're a presenter, it guarantees a certain urgency in your voice. While this immediacy is no doubt borne of nerves and the adreneline of live presenting, it does tend to imply a certain level of importance to what's going on.

As such, telethons and live sporting events are given gravitas... however, what happens when you're presenting something that's not especially dramatic?

I'm looking at you Lambing Live (BBC Two).

The lovely and sweet Kate Humble presents the show which is, essentially, Take Me Out - only with slightly more intelligent participants.

Question Time is, for the most part, great value for money. It gives us, The People, the chance to hoot and bray at idiot politicians much in the same way they shout at each other during Prime Minister's Question Time.

It's a lovely format and is guaranteed, week after week, to enable all of us sat at home, the chance to get furious and unload a week's worth of hate in one felled swoop.

Usually, the politicians get the brunt of it but, astonishingly, last night, they were all knocked into a cocked-hat by the idiotic, reactionary dribblings of Carol Vorderman who, if there's any justice in the world, will never work in television again after last night's meltdown.

If you didn't see it and want a quick bite-sized snippet of how bad she was, let's put it this way:

Paddy McGuinness is being lined up for a new ITV1 series – opposite stand-up stars Rhod Gilbert and Sarah Millican.

Now, in the latter two, you have a couple of decent, witty-enough stand-up comics... in the case of McGuinness... well... there's very little I can think of that's remotely positive.

If you've seen Take Me Out, then you'll know just how inordinately irritating the human race can be. "Nicky Nacky Noo", constant "Eh? Eh? Eh?" and mugging to camera last seen when Dave Benson Phillips was on our screens.

Paddy McGuinness is like a one-man Wheel Tappers and Shunters Club (although, in his defence, at least he's not telling jokes about 'the blacks').

So anyway, what's this new show about?

The Glastonbury Festival (or, Pilton Pop Festival if you're local, 'Glasto' if you're a spectacular example of idiocy) is one of the most miserable places on Earth. It's like the forced fun of a house party to the power of a million. Yapping swine dance in the mud and sing along to the most catholic bands on Earth, all the while, thinking that they're sticking it to the man and helping Mother Earth.

Take a look at the kind of braying moron you see stood at the back of a Jools Holland show and that's the kind of wimpish, witless moron you're likely to stumble into at a Glastonbury Festival.

The BAFTAs. What the hell does that mean? Well, apparently it means the British Academy of Film and Television Arts.

Last night, I tuned in for the coverage of it and, apart from it being a television broadcast in itself, saw precisely no television involved leaving me thinking that I was really watching the BAFAs.

Anyway, not really being a fan of films... yes, that is possible. People assume that everyone likes films or, if you'd like to use one of the worst words in human history - movies. Films are, by-and-large, rubbish. Of course, 99% of everything is rubbish, but films are rubbish over 2 or 3 hours as opposed to the singular TV hour.

Adverts.

They're horrible things. They try and sell you stuff when you were minding your own business. However, some are far more teeth grinding than others.

Take, for example, the woeful WeBuyAnyCar.com TV commercial.

The first time I saw the advert, I went about drinking petrol and swallowing matches in the hope that my stomach would erupt through my nostrils and take my brain with it. Just to be on the safe side, I also closed my ears with an industrial stapler.

It was painful, but not as painful as watching the advert.

Obviously, I'm acutely aware of the fact that this dross has achieved its primary objective, which is to be post-modern and burrow a way into my psyche via annoyance (see also: those godforsaken GoCompare ads).

Very clever.

Look. Look at this staggering prick. This man, in case you don't know (in which case, lucky you) is Jason Gardiner.

Jason Gardiner is a 'judge' on Dancing On Ice. He is a man of no fixed talent or skill. He is simply hired to be a horrible, snidey, odious little git in the face of the weakest, most vulnerable person he can find. Of course, that doesn't include himself.

I've said some bad things about people in various articles in the name of getting a cheap laugh. I've gone so far as to ask for a public horse-whipping of a script writer for a show. Most of the time I don't mean it. It's all a big joke that ends up with me adding a line saying "...but I'm an even bigger idiot" or whatever.

However, sometimes I do mean it... and that's usually when my target is someone who thrills in the public humiliation of others.

What on Earth is Gordon Brown doing appearing on a show with a man who looks like an inflatable David Cameron? Of course, I'm talking about one-man smug festival, Piers Morgan.

Well, through Morgan's 'Life Stories', Brown was on the charm offensive. It was time to peel away the layers of prudent Scottishness and political austerity and reveal the human beneath.

At this point, people who are insultingly thick have looked at Gordon Brown and thought "I don't like 'im... he seems boring...". That's because most people want 'a character' to lead them into, for example, World War III.

It's the only explanation I can muster when realising that the majority of voters in London thought it would be a hoot to vote in the most idiotic nitwit on the face of the planet as mayor.

Silly ol' Peter Andre. The walking pec factory has bitten off more than he can chew.

Yep, he's conducting his private business in public, mainly because, the woman he met on a reality TV show does the same.

Yessir, pouting permatan hate-glo Katie Price likes just about every aspect of her life to make it on to some kind of film or page. We've seen her wedding... we've even seen her doing the dirty sex with a toe up her. The only thing unticked is seeing her curling one out in the pan.

However, the boob peddler is used to this kind of thing and is physically unable to show expressions on her ice-cold surgery sculted chops. The chance of her weeping on television is about as remote as her being able to give a convincing smile.

Ricky Gervais. There's no questioning his impact on the world of comedy is there? Even if you want to punch his head like a pillow in an anger management group, you still have to concede that his TV shows have been great.

However, since Extras finished up, Gervais has clearly had more time on his hands.

Sure, he's been doing his books and so-so films, but it's obvious that he's been sat around bored, flicking idly through the TV channels and screwing his fangy little gob up at Twitter.

His latest target is comedy panel shows.

Yep, Gervais is moaning that they have no longevity. Speaking to The Sun he ruled out an appearance on QI and 8 Out Of 10 Cats.

As you know, Channel 4 has axed Big Brother. This summer, it'll limp away... probably to Sky 1 or ITV.

The tricky task of replacing it has been decided by Channel 4, with a show so dull in outlook that both of my eyes have turned to glass, fallen out of my head and rolled clean across the floor, leaving me typing blind.

That's my excuse for the constant spelling mistakes and grammatical errors.

Of course, Big Brother was our chance to peer into a house in London and watch people as they get about their business. Now, we're getting an observational show about the lives of people living in houses in London.

Creative overhaul my ass.

Last night, I watched EastEnders Greatest Cliffhangers (BBC Three).

Essentially, it was a compilation show of loads of dramatic endings. This of course, meant people doing rubbish impressions of the drum roll that segues each show into the closing credits.

Duh duh duh duh duh d-d-d-duh

The soap cliffhanger is a real TV staple. It tries to hit you hard enough so that, should a day or two pass, you'll still have it within you to tune in again to find out what happened. Of course, storylines take months to complete, so it's all a bit of a con.

That said, it's a reasonably fun con because it keeps throwing cliffhangers your way, leaving you trapped like a cretin with a piece of paper that says Please Turn Over on both sides.

Joe Swash is an idiot. A first rate, trifle brained dolt. Yet, no matter how dimwitted Joe Swash is, he's nowhere near as stupid as someone who thinks it's a good idea to give him a job.

Since Swash and his dreadful haircut left Eastenders, we've seen him on our screens appearing As Himself. One show focused on his following Pamela Anderson around and doing his best to not walk into things and being told to stop trying to eat his own faeces. He did a roly poly on her bed and said lots of words, quickly, that didn't necessarily go together.

Now, we're told that he believes in ghosts. The show started with various clips of Swash with a look on his face like he'd just been flummoxed by the man in the mirror who copied his every move... and then, with eerie music, he said "then something happened which I couldn't explain!"

In the first part of the new three part series aimed at dressing the massive section of the population that suffer from a disability, Gok Wan dresses a woman who lives in wheelchair.

Very commendable, and incredibly informative, and that's the good part over.

The problem that I found with this episode was two fold.

1) The woman in question (a bubbly, outgoing woman with seemingly no problems apart from living in a wheelchair) didn't really seem to need any help getting her snaffles out; it seemed the only problem was that she just didn't know what to wear. Which is a massive problem, and is definitely something that is missing from the High Street.