TV View: There are, we're certain, many fine therapists out there, well-qualified, accomplished and skilled in the art of helping people overcome traumatic experiences.
We doubt, though, if there is a single therapist out there sufficiently qualified, accomplished or skilled to aid our recovery from the sight of John McCririck, the voice - and face - of horse-racing, in his underpants.
Yes, of course, it was our own fault for tuning in to Celebrity Big Brother, we should have known better, but the deed is done, it's a fait accompli, there's no turning back: we saw what we saw. And we'll never be the same again.
Never will we be able to tune in to the 4.35 at Kempton on Channel Four and observe McCririck, resplendent in his sideburns, deerstalker and cape, breathlessly impersonating a windmill, regaling us with the finer details of the family tree of the 3 to 1 shot, and innocently conclude: "bless him, he's completely mad".
Instead we'll look at him and picture him nigh on naked, lumbering around the Big Brother bedroom in his jocks, as opposed to his jockeys, seething about the gargantuan injustice of BB denying him his daily dose of Diet Coke, fuming about having to share his personal space with Germaine Greer, Sylvester Stallone's mother and a baby boy rapper called Kenzie (you had to be there), before sharing with us that he calls his wife 'Booby' and has a dog called 'Double D'.
When Germaine penned The Female Eunuch all those years ago she hadn't met John McCririck. Now she has, and now it may be time for her to go back to the drawing board. For John 'burn yer bras' means: "wey hey, unsupported Double Ds". Judging by Germaine's weary, broken expression before she departed the house she had concluded, having spent time in John's company, that her life's work had amounted to zilch.
Like Germaine this whole experience has taught us something: we never again want to see sporting people outside their natural habitat.
We did before, we enjoyed programmes like Strictly Come Dancing where rugby demi-God Martin 'Chariots' Offiah proved he couldn't, strictly, dance. We enjoyed tales of QPR legend Stan Bowles almost killing his rivals on a 1970's edition of Superstars because he was still drunk from the night before when he picked up his gun for the shooting contest.
We loved all that. But now it's turned ugly, we're seeing our sporting heroes in a light that, frankly, takes the gloss of their erstwhile lustre. Here's another example: darts king Andy 'The Viking' Fordham and his participation in Celebrity Fit Club.
Lest you're not familiar with Andy - where have you been? - he weighs 30st 8lb and is a literal giant amongst those men who snuggle up to the oche.
He drinks 25 bottles of a beer on an average day but once, when he was celebrating his wedding anniversary, he managed 62 bottles "and a couple of spirits here and there". If it's true what they say - you drink to forget - Andy's marriage really mustn't have been worth remembering.
Any way, the people on the Celebrity Fit Club panel set Andy a target weight loss last week of four pounds. Andy was confident, he felt this was well within his chucking range. Even if he stayed asleep for an extra half hour a day, thereby cutting down on his beer bottle consumption, he'd make it.
Weigh-in time. Andy stood on the scales. The lights dimmed. Thumpety-thumpety-thump music filled the air.
"Last week you weighed 30st 8lbs," said the panel chairman, "today you weigh 30st and . . . (Andy sweated so profusely during this dramatic pause that the Lifeboat had to be called to rescue the other contestants, Reg and Bet from Coronation Street and other famous celebrities we'd never heard of) . . . 7½ lbs." Yes, Andy had only lost half a pound. Gutted. "How do you feel about that," he was asked. "I thought it would be a bit more," he said, scratching his eighth chin in bewilderment.
Much, much less sympathy, though from one member of the panel, Harvey. "Talk to me Andy, how'd you do this man? What happened? God I can't believe that. A half a pound?! Come on man. You could pick your nose and lose a pound." It was, in fairness, a fair point.
"I went down the gym three mornings," Andy insisted to presenter Dale Winton, "I've been doing loadsa walking, 110 per cent more than what I've done before, loads, I'm quite shocked really." Dale smiled. Put his hand on Andy's shoulder, and said: "There is something I have to tell you Andy: the whole nation is behind you." Better behind him than under him.
