Every so often I come across a TV programme so utterly distressing it envelops me in a little fuzzy cloud of gloom.
The last time this happened it was the result of a troop of fake-tanned nitwits marching about proclaiming themselves to be representatives of Essex. A county which, I’ll have you know, is not exclusively inhabited by people so startlingly stupid they deserved to be chucked head first into a well.
But it’s happened again. And this time I fear the situation may be even worse…
You see, it was brought to my attention last week that a programme exists entitled “I Wanna Marry Harry”.
The title itself does not cause much of a problem, after all Harry may be a nice chap, deserving of such affections. But he isn’t. Harry is a pretend Prince Harry. He is a LIAR and a CHEAT.
And the girls? They want to marry Prince Harry. They want to marry him so badly that they are willing to cast aside any doubt they may have had that Prince Harry would star in a low-budget US reality TV show in order to secure himself a worthy wife.
So off they trot, this group of American ladies, to stay in a giant plastic mansion made of lies as they attempt to win over pseudo-Harry and hop on the next plane to England to take their rightful place on the Buckingham Palace balcony.
In order to convince this troop of nitwits of his Royal status, the pretend-Harry invited them to partake in a sort of strange dance-off, in which he pranced around a dance floor, high on deceit and the soon-to-be shattered dreams of his wannabe Princesses. Only Royal people can dance, you see.
Confirming this fact, the wannabe Princesses flailed around the dance floor overcome by nervousness or perhaps suffering seizures of some kind or another. They tripped on his Royal toes and made buffoons of themselves. Then they got sad at their lack of self-worth and attempted to impress him with some toothy grinning. The sheer desperation was enough to move me to tears.
And do you know the worst bit? I watched this for an HOUR. There’s an entire SERIES of this claptrap. You can waste whole days of your LIFE watching it. Days upon DAYS of the innermost thoughts of people so thick it’s a wonder that they’ve managed to get out of bed and dress themselves without supervision.
I can’t wait for the next episode.