I am a crap patient


I’ve been driven to watching daytime telly.

I’ve shoved the five-year-old off the sofa. Apparently she has an unnatural ability to bounce back to fitness. She has a spring in her step that cannot be ignored. She’s even offering to perform ballet for me.

I’ve wrapped my freezing, shivering body in a nightie. Trousers. A pullover. A cardigan and a blanket and I’m still bringing down the temperature in the room with my freaky impersonation of an icicle.

My sixteen year old argues: not. She tells me I’m pretty warm to the touch…

The only bearable programs on the telly are house buying/renovating programs. I don’t need the Tweenies. I have my own singing, dancing, story-telling, all-round loud Tweenie, thank you very much.

The couple on the telly are looking at a beautiful 7 bedroom country mansion. But it doesn’t, to quote the presenter, “…match up to their exacting standards…”

What the hell are the program schedulers thinking?

Who’s watching TV at this time? People who’ve for one reason or another lost their jobs. Sick, sniveling, feeling-sorry-for-themselves people, like me. And people who have just worked a night shift.

Are they going to be cheered up by rich, snotty nosed couples picking fault in gorgeous homes?

And why, in the freezing winter, am I being subjected to people cycling around in shorts on a bright summer’s day? Presenters, this does not make me feel any better!

And, while I have your attention, the reason I like I endure house programs is because I’m nosey. Please, I’m begging you, don’t show me a door with your camera, then refuse to open it. Really, I don’t care if it’s just a cupboard. I want to see inside!