Michele Hewitson: More painful spells of TV viewing

For those who like their telly watching to include lashings of masochism, there is plenty on offer.

To really self-inflict pain, there is that celebrity spelling show. Although anyone who would willingly watch this stuff must suffer from some condition beyond masochism. Is there a name for an affliction with symptoms which include a desire to willingly bore oneself to death?

Surely it could be spiced up a bit. It needs a host who will say: "No, that's wrong, you utter, utter moron. Has the botox gone to your brain?"

The chance of this happening is minuscule. Because so-called celebs are playing for charity and it's all very jolly and nice. And you are not allowed to be SPLENETIC (a big word) about shows where people play for charity because that would be CURMUDGEONLY (even bigger word).

The people who like this show would not, I suspect, like Distraction UK. Or Curb Your Enthusiasm. Both appeal to the misanthrope.

A misanthrope might concede, though, that celebrity spelling has something to recommend it: there is always the prospect someone will make a twit of themselves. Even better, Raybon Kanmight stumble over SMARTY-PANTS.

Even then, it would hardly be as horribly entertaining, in a juvenile way, as Distraction UK in which host Jimmy Carr is so nasty that the show provides a double whammy.

The people on it are masochists and you, watching at home, are nasty, sadistic types who get your kicks watching people being beaten with towels by delinquents, wrapping their heads in rubber bands and having to set fire to the money they thought they had just won, ha, ha.

Really, how does that make you feel? It makes me feel quite good, actually, thanks for asking.

Although I wouldn't want to analyse too deeply why it feels good to watch someone win a car and then have to watch the bloke who didn't win take to it with a sledgehammer.

Oh, go on, you really hate Lotto's big prize-winners too. You know you'd like to rent a delinquent to give them a good towel flicking, or let attack dogs loose on them.

Distraction is a very silly show. "Would you like to answer questions about bears or space?" Jimmy Carr asked the bloke who made it to the money-burning final last week. The week before it was a choice between trumpets and something I've forgotten. It could have been donkeys.

On Curb Your Enthusiasm - which is nearing the end of its run at the ridiculous time of 11.25pm and is the funniest, nastiest comedy ever made - the choice is always this: there's a nice thing or a nasty thing to do. The nice thing will always turn out to be nasty for you. So it's best to go the other way.

Larry David plays Larry David, a misanthrope who, when he gets a dog, will end up with a racist dog. "That's a Klan dog," said a black woman who was formerly a friend.

Who, when told by his wife to tell the bra-less maid to get a bra, will get caught on security camera trying on the bra of his manager's wife in the process of trying to get the size right.

Larry David plays Larry David as he'd really like to be - the guy who refuses to go by the rule that says you can't leave a dinner until after the pudding, even if you're having a horrible time. In real life you stay until after the pudding.

The person we'd all like to be would just leave, go home, hire a delinquent to towel-flick a smarty-pants celeb and call it a charitable act.