Channel 4 love a Bodyshock show. It gives them the chance to be sensitive and kind to someone with an unusual illness whilst secretly erecting a sign behind your back that says ‘freak show’ while you cry. And last night, they did it again with Our Daughter, The Mermaid (Channel 4, Tuesday, 18 May, 10pm).

As ever, with shows like this, the reality of the subject is so staggeringly upsetting that you are faced with one of two choices. You can either openly weep about how awful and moving the whole thing is or, you can act like a tool and make constant distasteful wisecracks in an attempt to stop you from weeping yourself into a coma.

So looking at the story of Shiloh Pepin who was born with Sirenomelia or ‘mermaid syndrome’ (an extremely rare congenital disease meaning her legs were fused together below the hips), it was always going to provoke an extreme response (unless you’re a heartless bastard who is tired of this type of televisual parading of disability who greets all sad real life stories with a disaffected yawn).

Poor Shiloh’s disease meant that she couldn’t move around easily and, worse still, was born without a rectum or genitals, has almost no large intestine and just a small piece of her kidney. It was mindbending stuff and, naturally, she defied odds by reaching her tenth birthday and generally displaying the kind of bolshy attitude you’d expect from one of life’s fighters.

However, thanks to thinking about how relentlessly awful and difficult her life must be, my brain kicked into remorseless dick-head mode, leaving me sneering at the programme makers and yelling appalling jokes at the screen about ‘releasing her back to the sea’ and the like.

Sadly, I suffer from the shameful condition of not being willing to outwardly show any sympathy for another human because somewhere along the line, I was told it was a sign of weakness.

And perhaps this is one of the most telling things about shows like this? People really don’t want to deal with what unfolds on their screens. The crushing knowledge that, really, despite idle procrastinations and self-pitying bored spells, we’re an insanely lucky bunch of evolved monkeys using up great swathes of our time tugging at our genitals and complaining about ideological horseshit.

Watching Shiloh tackle life head-on whilst her family fell to pieces without much complaint or self-loathing may be a familiar TV tale, but really, the message of the show is clear: Once you’ve finished crying, stop being an idiot.

Thanks TV. I feel like shit now, complete with the knowledge that I have absolutely no right to.