Relocation rage

I'm a peace-loving, mild-man nerd sort of person, but having just caught a glimpse of the TV property programme Relocation, Relocation, I'm filled with an overwhelming urge to beat the presenters to a bloody pulp with the first heavy implement I can lay my hands on. The programme's frighteningly reminiscent of the recent Daily Mash parody:

TV property shows rose by 1.8% last year as the easing of the credit crunch helped bring forward a second series of Dreadful Middle Class Bastards.

Levels of property TV had fallen through 2008 amid the first wave of bankruptcies among awful people convinced they could make a fortune by installing an ensuite shower room in a former crack den.

But now the market for gimlet-eyed couples talking to a spiv about the 'wow factor' of a house they can't afford appears to be rallying...

"We'll be standing back and watching these soulless automatons argue about kitchen units and then sharing in their utterly repellent self-satisfaction when they win the battle with their architect over the stained glass window in the downstairs toilet."

I'm trying to think of something that might make TV property shows less infuriating. My suggestion would be to have Grand Designs hosted not by Kevin McCloud, but Sigourney Weaver. Rather than wibbling on about the "integrity" of the latest mansion being shown off, she could take a long look at the monstrous ego-pod being constructed by some loathsome pair of self-obsessed executive leeches and re-use the famous line from Aliens:

"I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure."

I'd actually change channels to watch that.