Daytime TV: Unemployment equals Depression

I have been off work sick for almost a week with a cold that I eventually realised was tonsillitus. I have to go back to work tomorrow, despite the fact I still feel like death. And still I'm almost glad to go! Daytime TV is DEPRESSING. It's not just a little bit depressing, its harrowing.
If I was unemployed, I'd probably have topped myself by now. Either that or got heavily into heroin.
Celebrity Big Brother live is a gentle way to start the day. This works quite well, as a quiet wallpaper for the mind (now Gobby's gone), interspersed with too-loud adverts on E4. This is OK for an hour or two, whilst you try and have a little sleep and not look at the mess of dirty tissues and medicine packets that is building up around your ears. But then they did nominations, which is pretty boring when you can't actually see them. I wish they'd show the diary room on the live feed, that would be sweet.
Today I also watched The Wright Stuff. I once was in the audience for The Wright Stuff- not a choice exactly, but because I work for a charity and it was to promote our cause. We all sat in the audience wearing our promotional T-shirts, praying the camera wouldn't land on us. The set for the Wright Stuff is like something from the 70s version of Willy Wonka: everything is radioactive orange, including Matthew Wright's face. He is the colour of an Oompa-Loompa. His mannerisms are all over-the-top, yet he comes across as slightly more normal when you just watch him from the safety your sick bed.
Today he had Jade on, who began by doing that trembly-lip I'm-so-sorry thing she's perfected over the past few days and finished, backed up by Wright and a belligerent George Galloway, virtually threatening to beat up the callers round the back of the bikesheds. Mysterious television indeed. I normally like Matthew Wright in a hand-wringing gobliny sort of a way but now, hmm. Not so sure. Galloway's argument was Jade can't be racist, cos her grand-dad is black. That's me convinced!
After this and another antibiotic, I switched over to Loose Women. This isn't so much feminist viewing, as bimbo-propoganda. A bunch of women your mum would find wet discussing near death experiences, friendship and... um... oh I dunno I stopped watching about ten minutes in. I quite like the gobby hamster-faced one who always goes on about the fact she used to be married to Chris Evans and she hates children (and most other women). But the one who used to be married to Shane Ritchie is just dartboard material. And what happened to the Scottish one? She was a sour old thing indeed.
All in all, they make Judy (of Richard and Judy fame) look like... well I would say Germaine Greer, but she was quite a wet blanket as well in the end, so I'll say Janet Street-Porter, who has been racially abusing her neighbours (allegedly!) in a topical fashion this week.
From Loose Women, I flicked between Trisha on Five Life and Jezza on... I dunno, ITV2?
Jezza had a wife-beating guest on. The battered wife said 'I really know how to push his buttons.' Try not pushing the 'hit me hard' one then. I know how to push a button too: away from your soul-suckage TV.
Really, the only thing worth watching in the daytime is Deal or No Deal, which I Sky Plus anyway and save for the evening. A happy little sparkling bit of hope amongst all the doom and gloom, a Noel-shaped diamond in the rough.
Back to work then. Cough cough.