What's wrong with British Television?
It just wants to give me nightmares!
Last night it was an hour devoted to a guy whose face was a mass of bulbous purple growths.
And tonight it's Cooking with Placenta!
The sight of twenty friends and relatives tucking in to afterbirth pâté is now on the top of my sub-conscious' Freak Him The Fuck Out pile.
This is what I get for turning my head towards the television for five minutes a night.
(Maybe I should question Marisa's viewing tastes?)