Hairdressers, plumbers, teenagers, scholars, political scientists, real scientists and Nobel Prize winners tuned in.

Yes, folks. It was the third season of the wonderfully crappy Britain's Next Top Model, hosted by Lisa Snowdon, George Clooney's ex-squeeze who needs a hot oil treatment herself, but must still choose one girl to ascend this throne.

I confess to watching Cycle 1-8 of America's Next Top Model on YouTube (they call them Cycles, not Seasons! ). I used to sniff at my poor unfortunate, philistine friends who watched this model industry rubbish and would look down my nose at their cable and digital TV. But I became hooked and said, "I want me some of that Living TV too."

BNTM doesn't have America's Favourite Girlfriend and Oprahite Tyra Banks, who owns the franchise. Tyra sits on the couch hugging contestants one minute, stands like Miss Jean Brodie during judging the next.

Her false eyelashes blink ruthlessly like two Black Widows as she tells girls one-by-one to "pack your bagsf and go home."

Unlike ANTM, the British girls need to be bleeped and had to be separated after some nearfisticuffs. Natalie, who has 'Queen Bitch' tattooed on her ankle, said she wants to win because "people idolise and admire you".

Photographer Clive Arrowsmith said of one wannabe, "She looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame in those drawers."

Fierce!

It's worse than the addictive, hyper-produced US version.

BNTM's panel doesn't have the cross-dressing stylist Miss J, Twiggy or even Janet Dickinson as judges, just a bunch of bitter has-beens trying to emulate their fire and sass. This is worse than trash. This is the goo that is stuck to the bottom of the trash can.

Oh, mercy. Let the games beginf Now, for the other beautiful British icon, Diana, Princess of Wales. Concert for Diana started at 3.30pm on Sunday. I watched a bit, then went for a spot of lunch, set up a graphic design studio, went bankrupt, got married, filed for divorce, moved house, did the crossword, went for a walk on Killiney Hill and, when I came home, it was still going.

This gig at Wembley Stadium had everyone from Duran Duran and Elton John to Lily Allen and Fergie. Not Sarah, Duchess of York who found redemption in America, Fergie from The Black Eyed Peas, who appeared to lipsynch during her performance.

Ricky Gervais made a hash of it when he had three minutes to fill and didn't know what to do.

The concert was seven hours.

It made Live Aid look like the 20minute Jesus & Mary Chain concert in the SFX in 1987. It was semi-interesting TV if you used it as (a) background music and (b) looked for the occasional closeups of the Royal Box, where the dorky teen aristopack grooved in all their buttoned-down shirted, chino-esque glory.

Clips of Diana kneeling so a blind man could touch her face or smiling benevolently at landmine victims in Angola had the same potency. The photo-ops gave Diana her power, the masses inspiration and, as a consolation prize, forgotten souls a walk-in part into 20th Century pop culture history. Still, it's better than a Blankety Blank cheque book and pen.

Back to the Royal Box. There was a sweet moment when Randy Jackson paid tribute to the princes. Everyone clapped.

As did Harry. William mouthed something to him. Harry said, "Huh?" William said: "You're clapping yourself!" Harry said, "Oh!" and then went even redder.

The concert was better than having the radio on while doing the dishes.

The Open House set was barely buried before Mary Kennedy reappeared on Nationwide. She must really like TV presenting to schlep around the country in full make-up. I love Nationwide.

When I hear Michael Ryan's strangely lyrical nasal monotone, I always fall into a tea time trance and, arms outstretched, walk zombie-like into the living room.

This week, his voice called for me again. Here's a 1950s-style telegram review: Tour guide published in Polish. Stop! End of era for Christian Brothers school. Stop! Sculpture unveiled on N52. Stop! I'd go on, but the sheer hokiness of these items and Michael's siren-like tones lulled me into a meditative state from which I have yet to fully recover.

Reviewed Britain's Next Top Model Living TV Concert for Diana BBC1 Nationwide RTE 1