Oh how I've missed Richard and Judy. Just when I was grazing on roast chicken and leafy vegetables, I felt a desperate craving to be distracted by an intellectually-challenged married couple with all the wit and class of a regurgitated kebab.
And Lo, my prayers were answered.
This afternoon, I wondered how I could possibly have lasted all this time without that ageless, belligerent whore and her closeted sidekick. My life has been truly empty since Channel 4 denied me of my right to have my retinas molested by a mentally unbalanced housewife and her sexually ambiguous spouse.
At least with Paul O'Grady there was always the chance he'd put his wig on and call someone a cunt. The tension on Richard and Judy is supplied only by the 50/50 chance that at some point during the show Judy's face might fall off, because let's be honest, I've seen extras on Night of the Living Dead with better skin.
Richard and Judy's style of beige entertainment brings to mind a pair of overweight vultures with facelifts, doddering around the rotting carcass of chat show television, discreetly pissing themselves and making every faux pas imaginable.
It is painfully obvious they know nothing about their guests. I imagine their research involves Judy sitting in her dressing room while somebody wraps an elastic band around her forehead, shakes her up and down and then staples the slack to her ass, while Richard is next door performing fellatio on Des Lynham.
When Richard isn't getting facefucked by Countdown presenters, he's got his own foot in his mouth instead. I swear the following is true; I remember watching him say it and thinking Prince Phillip had finally met his match.
Judy has to describe a camel for that brain-deadening game they play: "Oh, um, it's hairy and has two humps."
To which Richard replies, "Oh, you on a bad night, dear?"
I thought this shit only happens in sitcoms. Don't you just get the feeling that when they finish for the afternoon, they go home and try to kill each other?
Let us hope that one day they'll succeed.