Dully vision

Well, there's plenty on, but not much of it is watchable.

In fact, a colleague of mine made a brilliant observation the other day.

Remember that show Clive James on TV, where James took the mickey out of TV from around the world and we sat and chuckled at how dumb it was and felt all smug about British telly being soooooo superior?

Well, now we're the laughing stock, with shows so stupid that it would feel like a TV special' Week of Culture if they aired the likes of Endurance and Is That My Wife's Bottom?

"It's not that bad!" I hear you cry.

Take a look at the evidence.

Big Brother (C4/E4, a lot). It's been on since the Pope was an altar boy, it's still got about seven months to run, and yet not one person - well, okay one, you know who you are, KG - ever mentions it.

Who Dares Sings (ITV1, Saturday, 7pm). Should be renamed Who Cares Who Wins.

Superhuman: World's Smallest People (ITV1, Monday, 9pm). A callous excuse to laugh at midgets and primordial dwarves - not big (sorry, couldn't resist that one) and not clever.

GMTV (weekday mornings, 6am): Battle of the Brides. The Bride of The Year competition where a couple wins a televised wedding is an annual staple of the channel, but now, the show that claims to be outraged at levels of violence in the UK, has changed the name so it sounds like a fight. In one of the tasks' the couples took part in a state of semi-nakedness - the men wore thongs and body-painted groom outfits, the women wore jaw-droppingly tacky transparent wedding dresses - all accessorised with shamed expressions.

Britain From Above (Sunday, BBC1, 9pm). On paper this should have been good, and I really wanted it to be, especially as Andrew Marr, whose History of Britain series was utterly brilliant, was presenting, but it was like the Google Earth experience. The first time you see it you go, "wow, there's my house! And there's next door's conservatory!", then you never look at it again.

Plus, I knew it wasn't working when all the overhead shots did was made me long for the arrival of a big, shiny limo carrying Sralan Sugar and the list of candidates for a new series of The Apprentice.

And, unlike the birds-eye shots of sexy London landmarks in The Apprentice that make the capital look so cool, these town and city-scapes revealed that much of our beloved Albion is dingy and far from loved.

Speaking of beloved Albion, I give you the silliest, most ludicrous show of all: Bonekickers: Follow The Gleam (Tuesday, BBC1, 9pm). My regular reader, Joan of Wallisdown, will know that just a few weeks ago, in this very column, I confessed to a shameful secret - a fondness for this archaelogical/supernatural-themed detective series. But it's because it is just so unapologetically, uniquely terrible, so beyond ridiculous, that it makes for a superb hour's entertainment.

This was the final episode and they'd pulled out all the stops, bless 'em. In between a hilarious, low-rent, Da Vinci Code-style plot, built around Tennyson instead of Leonardo, we found out exactly what made Dr Gillian Magwilde the driven woman archaeologist she is today - her genius mother and their joint obsession with King Arthur's legendary sword Excalibur.

Ah, that explains everything.

And of course, said sword was rumoured to back in circulation - if only they could solve the poet's code.

Stop laughing, this is serious!

Yes, this final episode was priceless from start to finish.

There was the Bonekicking version of Opus Dei, an ancient and sinister organisation, "basically the Masons with knobs on", going by the fabulous title of the The Disciples of Good Use.

The entire cast awkwardly quoting excerpts of Tennyson's poems gave the whole thing an air of an enthusiastic, but first-time am-dram.

There was the best big girl's blouse fight scene in TV history, which included the use of an incense burner as a mace-and-ball weapon, holy smoke!

And a mysterious enigma that, despite remaining unsolved for years, they managed to crack in, oh about three seconds. And much of it filmed in the few bits of Wells Cathedral they'd been allowed access to.

But the piece de resistance - and you knew it had to come - was Magwilde rising less-than-majestically out of a skanky old well holding aloft her treasured Excalibur. Then, because it was so precious, she chucked on the floor until she could scramble out of the well and the white-masked leader of the Disciples of Whatever It Was Called only went and nabbed it. Doh!

But, because he was a naughty man, it crumbled in his hands and then he jumped into the well and Magwilde picked up the remaining handle, took it to her mum in the nursing home and shoved it into her hands so she could die in peace.

Are you still laughing? Don't blame you, so am I!