Welcome to the show

As it's been five days since my operation I have been able to remove my dressings. I gingerly pulled them back apprehensive about what I might find underneath (I am both squeamish and vain). After the initial shock I am actually quite pleased. The worst bit is on my stomach where the camera was inserted. I look a bit like one of those weight loss patients in documentaries who have a new belly button made for them following surgery to remove their excess skin. I love watching programmes about fat and unfortunate people which brings me on to the topic of the Jeremy Kyle show. I urge you to click on this link it is absolutely hilarious.

Jeremy the biggest fuckwit of all

I have now endured four days of Jeremy which for the bored and brain dead is compelling viewing. For any readers in the USA Jeremy is Britain's answer to Jerry Springer. I have discovered that if I miss the morning show all is not lost as there is a double bill in the afternoon on ITV2.

Over the years I have seen this programme numerous times but it still never fails to entertain shock me. The people that volunteer themselves for this televisual spectacle epitomise all that is wrong with Britain and day in day out a trail of teen mums, alcoholics and the unemployed amble onto the stage to share tales of their dysfunction lives. Jeremy is the biggest fuckwit of all, imparting his patronising pearls of wisdom followed by promises of sending them backstage to see Graham the shows psychologist and saviour of the common person.

Graham the saviour of the common person

I particularly like it when Jeremy does his spiel before each ad break aimed at trying to recruit new people on to the show to air their dirty laundry. He says something like "Do you need a lie detector test to save your relationship?"

When what he really means is;

"Are you married to a lying bastard? Does he come home late at night smelling of lager and Superdrug perfume? When he takes a shower to wash the smell of chip fat from his hair do you go through his phone? And do you check his underpants for suspect stains? Or maybe it’s you who’s the cheat and you’d like to humiliate your partner on national TV."

Or

"Is your appearance getting you down? Is it affecting your relationship? Is your arse so big it’s got it’s own postcode? Do you dress in tracksuits everyday and tuck your jogging bottoms into your socks? Have you got a really bad perm / highlights / roots / split ends? Do you have your football team tattooed on the calf of your leg? Do you have all your own teeth or have you lost some in a fight? If you would like to discuss your personal hygiene problems with the rest of the UK give us a call and remember when it comes to gold less is more."

Alternatively

"Are you a young mum struggling to cope? Has your partner turned their back on you? Do you need a DNA test? Have you slept with more young boys than George Michael? Were you learning how to give blow jobs whilst the rest of your school mates were in maths class? If so and you’d like to prove your teenage on / off boyfriend is the father of your sprog, text slapper to 68886. Personally I would bother because he’ll never do a days work in his life and if he does you’ll never see a penny because he'll spend it on cannabis / heroine.

I think I'll pick apart those nice Loose Women tomorrow.