Wednesday nights on Channel 4 are like being stuck in an estate agents. It’s horrible. People talking about the property ladder (which no-one can get on these days), potential, acumen and other words that make me feel violently ill.

Still, in an effort to watch something different, I sat down and watched Relocation, Relocation (Channel 4, 8pm, Wednesday) to see why people watch shows such as this.

As soon as the show started, I became confused. Isn’t there another show called Relocation, Relocation, Relocation? Of course, completely ignoring the opening credits and the scene setting, I was blankly staring into a vacuum thinking that my review may just be the word ‘relocation’ written out one thousand times. That may have amused me, but I’ll wager that you would have found it pretty pointless. Anyway, enough guff, and on with the show. Relocation, Relocation is hosted by Kirstie Allsopp and Phil Spencer. On first sighting, I’d no idea what to make of them. Reasonably affable but also mildly annoying. That was a feeling that only slightly changed over the course of the show (which basically means that they went from mildly annoying to just plain annoying).

Kirstie (slightly tubby but you still would) and Phil went on a property hunt with two very odd women. A mother and daughter combo who, despite both being adults, still live together. The lack of partners being mentioned in both cases didn’t surprise this writer one bit. The daughter, a high-flyer, was in her mid-to-late forties, and still lived with mama. Now, imagine you’re out-and-about and see a lovely lady and offer her a drink. One thing leads to another, and she quips "sorry, we’ll have to go to yours… if we go to mine, we’ll wake my mum up". Now, even though there is nothing wrong with that, chances are that your average Brit male would be filled with a vision of an old pissy lady banging the floor with a walking stick complete with nightgown and ear trumpet. Tangents aside, the mother and daughter wanted to buy a pub with guest rooms.

So off Phil and Kirstie went, scouring the satellites of Reading with a budget of £500,000 to work with. Now, even though half a million quid is half a million quid, it doesn’t buy you much in the way of booze grounds in Berks. In fact, it buys you very little indeed. The two presenters scuttled around in various hell-holes exasperated at the filth they were wading through. You could almost feel your own feet sticking to the floor as they walked around these dives. Phil, ever the optimist, looked for potential. Kirstie, quite obviously, was contemplating how she’d gone from lording it up in posh apartment blocks in Kensington to sidestepping damp and vomit in mucky living areas in public houses. To be honest, I watched the end of this show, but couldn’t tell you what happened if pushed. I think the two women found somewhere nice, and everyone lived happily ever after. Except me who  was left with the feeling of being eight and dragged around the shops by my mum. [Mof Gimmers]