Last night, I went through hell in the vain hope that my review would provide you with some entertainment. If it hasn’t worked, then I’ve wasted 30 minutes of my precious life. In short, for you dear reader, I sat through Holly and Fearne Go Dating (ITV1, Wednesday, 10pm) and I fear I may cry myself to sleep for the rest of my life if someone doesn’t show some appreciation.

From the off, Holly And Fearne Go Dating is the worst programme ever aired. It’s worse than Touch The Truck, 10 Years Younger, You Are What You Eat, Keith Chegwin’s Naked Jungle, Davina’s chat show and anything with Jimmy Carr in all rolled together in one big puking ball. Yes, it really is that bad. The credits feature a nightmarish vision of science gone wrong. Giant Fearne and Holly stride through a city like a pair of Godzillas with cold dead eyes and not a soul between them. Of course, this is meant to make them look cool. It just underlines how idiotic they are. If I was doing a show, I’d question this segment. “Erm… what aspect of love is being represented here? Is it that our giant clumsy feet can crush anyones self confidence and by the time we’ve finished destroying their town, they’ll agree to anything?”

Oddly, they seem to have paired these two up because one is ‘cool’ and the other is ‘down to earth’. What is hilarious about this is that the programme makers have chosen two people who are essentially the same… in looks… in attitude… in voice… in the lack of talent. To try and mask this, they dress Holly in what can only be described as ‘a Daily Mail outfit’ whilst Fearne tries to kid us into thinking that she’s a fan of Siouxsie Sioux. Imagining Fearne being forced to listen to ‘Mittageisen’ at ear splitting volume is like trying to imagine Gordon Ramsay with a smooth face. Once again, I can see straight through Fearne Cotton and there’s nothing in there. Of course, we’re supposed to imagine Holly Willoughby sat in some idyll, knitting and watching her children gambol. I know she isn’t really like this by virtue of the fact she works in media.

This gruesome twosome interview poor unsuspecting sods in a beer garden (how modern!) and ask the most inane questions ever. “Are you more Robbie Williams or Mr D’Arcy?” The sensible answer to that is “I’m going to murder the pair of you in cold blood” One lass who is in need of love… a posho with an overbearing mother… is sold to the desperate gents as a ‘girl is a bit arty but has a horrendous overbearing mother’. Now, can you spot the flaw in this hard sell? You guessed it. The poor girl ends up with desperate losers. The chat flows, but so do awkward hugs on departure.

Of course, whilst the girl sits on the dinner date, the horrific presenters sit mere meters away with ear pieces, grimacing and chirruping absolute guff. In fact, the more they speak, the more I a) Forget what decent humans look like and b) Want to throw myself headlong into the blades of a combine harvester.

Presumably, the participant participates at gunpoint and is contractually obliged to choose one of the presenters choices. Thankfully, the participant chooses Holly’s. I say thankfully, I only wanted Fearne Cotton to lose. So what happened next? Did we see them a week later in romantic bliss planning a holiday by the sea? Or did we get the “we went on a couple more dates… but we didn’t really click… we’re staying friends”? Well, we got neither. The programme is cut short. Part of me is amazed at the amazing low level of television on show, another part of me cheers and celebrates that this skid mark of programme is off air.

If anyone at ITV1 has a brain, they’ll pull this show now. The only reason anyone should pay Fearne Cotton and Holly Willoughby any money is to put them in a reality TV house for 3 years, but forget to turn the cameras on. The only thing worse than watching Fearne Cotton is having your love life chosen by her. [Mof Gimmers]