Men's TV is a completely different gear. It is basically all centred around men watching other men doing things which they themselves ought to be doing, but aren't. The fundamental format is a man in a shed . . . or a garage . . . building something. There is a man for every type of male viewer to relate to. A young handsome builder with a disconcertingly plummy English accent building himself a trendy shed. An old man and his middle-aged son building motorbikes in an unremarkable garage in an unremarkable small town in middle-America. I think there is actually a programme called Two Men in a Shed which features . . . wait for it . . . two men in af I can't even be bothered to finish the sentence.

The undisputed king of the shed TV is Tommy Walsh who 'shot to fame' as the grumpy builder in the gardening show Ground Force. This paunchy middle-aged cockney is the secret pinup for a generation of couch potato DIY telly addicts. "Cor . . . I dunno . . . I'm up on the roof and it's raining as usual, " complains Tommy with understated hilarity as he hauls himself up onto the roof of the small shed he is showing a generation of shed-aspirants how to build.

Maybe one day, these men will take some time out of watching other men moving widgets and drill bits around in their shed to build themselves a shed of their very own. Then they could get cable put in and sit in their very own shed watching other men in their sheds building sheds. Or maybe they could just get a shed company in to put the shed up for them so they don't miss an episode of Two Men Showing You How to Build a Shed.

I wish I could do that. I wish I could watch How Clean is Your House? without having to get up and hoover under my couch halfway through or rush to freshen my microwave with a bowl of lemon juice and vinegar. I wish I could watch How To Look Good Naked without rushing upstairs for a bottle of body lotion to quickly moisten my disgracefully dry knees. Actually, I don't. I wish I was the sort of mature, intelligent person who could sit down and watch the ground-breaking Prime Time and then switch off the television and read another few chapters of Booker-shortlisted novels I am determined to get through before my big night in watching it on Channel 4.

When it comes to TV viewing I am caught between a rock and a hard place. I am sufficiently addicted to it to waste time, but not relaxed enough to allow it cure me of my neuroses. As I watch my husband watching Tommy and his performing widgets, inside I am screaming "when are you going to build us a bloody shed!" Which, as any DIY TV aficionado will tell you, is not the point of it at all.