I have earned the right to shout at my television

My wife tells me that my present state reminds her of the famous Thurber cartoon of a woman crouched on top of a wardrobe with the watching man captioned as saying: ‘For ten years I’ve known peace with you, Mildred, and now you say you’re going mad.’ If you substitute the genders, and the fact we have been together more than ten years, my wife is right: I used to be such a benign, adorable character and now, apparently, I have developed into a cantankerous old man who shouts at the television every night. Yes, let me anticipate the inevitable reaction: of course I could switch off, but I feel I have paid my dues in licence fees over the decades and I am now entitled to my madness.

It isn’t just the endless reality shows that have driven me into the abyss â” although I do find participants being routinely humiliated utterly repellent â” it is the way in which all the channels now treat us as morons.