Alright, humes? I have every sympathy with humes who say they’re fat because of their genes. I’ve had a few weight problems myself over the years - and it’s no fun at all when the pounds won’t shift, even when you’re fed nothing but overpriced feline diet food. Once, I even had to suffer the indignity of my female hume setting up a pointless cat-gymkhana in the living room to “encourage” me to exercise. Naturally, I ignored the whole charade.

Anyway, I digress… That nice Dr Dawn from Embarrassing Bodies is now fronting Channel 4’s Fat Family Tree - in which she unlocks the secrets of a fat family’s genes. In tonight’s show, the McConnons from Stevenage underwent a unique DNA test and discovered their genes really could be to blame for their weight woes. Apparently, they’re pre-programmed to prefer the taste of fat, not realise when they’re full-up and store excess pounds around their tummies. Poor lambs.

So once they knew this, what could they do about it? The ever-enthusiastic Dr Dawn had plenty of ideas - which she dressed up as “INTRIGUING experiments” and “ASTONISHING findings”. (Alright, love - calm down.) Some examples? Drinks contain calories, too. It helps if you exercise. And white toast doesn’t quash your hunger pangs as much as pumpernickel bread. (Heading for the bread bin, humes? Think once. Think twice. Think pumpernickel.)

Convinced you’ve heard all this healthy eating advice before? Yeah - me, too. And I couldn’t really see how knowing this stuff addressed the McConnons’ gene problems. Still, four months later, the family had managed to lose an impressive amount of weight and were feeling happier and healthier as a result. So good luck to them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off for a bowl of overpriced feline diet food - with added pumpernickel, obviously…

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!

Alright, humes? Think there’s something different about me, but can’t quite put your finger on it? I’ll put you out of your misery. I’m sporting a blonde wig today in homage to Sharon off EastEnders, who’s been going through a rough patch recently. Yep, even by Walford standards, she’s having a really horrible time.

First she was jilted at the altar by Jack. And now she’s been turfed out on to the street by Phil. Oh, the indignity! Despite being a one-time alcoholic and former crack addict himself, Ol’ Potato Face - as I prefer to call him - showed no signs of empathy when he discovered Sharon has been popping one too many industrial-strength painkillers. He really is a nasty piece of work, isn’t he?

Still, addiction problems are two-a-penny in Albert Square. Take troubled teenager Lauren, for example. She’s been stumbling around half-cut for weeks - and it looks like she’s set to spiral out of control before too long. Even a brief stroll around the block with cousin Joey couldn’t sober her up. If only she’d set off five minutes later, she’d have bumped into Sharon being thrown out by Phil. The pair of them could have compared notes. Ah, happy days!

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!

Alright, humes? I know what you’re thinking: what’s with the dodgy syrup, Sid? Well, I’m wearing this wig in a bid to look more like Jason Isaacs in BBC One’s Case Histories. It was an ambitious attempt that didn’t quite come off. But it turns out this wig doesn’t quite come off either. So I’m stuck with it for now. You live and learn, humes. You live and learn.

Anyway, it was nice to see Jason back as dark and brooding Edinburgh-based private detective Jackson Brodie. It was even nicer to see him joined by none other than Victoria Wood for this series opener. Big Vic played Tracy - an ex-copper-turned-security-guard - who took the law into her own hands when she saw a child being ill-treated.

Rather than contact social services or call in a favour from her former colleagues in the force, Tracy opted to keep the child herself. Now, I’m sure there are rules about that kind of thing - but we were clearly expected to accept that this was by far the best outcome for the kid. Fair enough, I suppose. After all, who am I to argue with Victoria Wood?

By the way, that wasn’t even the main plot-line. Jackson actually stumbled across Tracy when he was investigating another case involving decades-old police corruption. And aside from all that, there’s still the smouldering sexual tension between Jackson and his one-time colleague Louise. I doubt anything will ever happen between them, though. She’s too sensible and he’s too dysfunctional to make a move. Honestly - what a muppet!

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!

Alright, humes? Being a live-and-let-live kind of cat, I usually try to steer clear of politics. But I do think it’s about time the government held a referendum on Europe. And by Europe, I mean the Eurovision Song Contest. Why the hell do we keep entering the bloody thing? It’s just an utterly humiliating, headache-inducing waste of time - cluttering up the Saturday night TV schedules when we’d all prefer to be watching Casualty and Match of the Day. It’s about time we made a stand and withdrew from the whole charade.

I mean, it’s not like we Brits really need to prove we’ve got musical talent, is it? This is the country that produced The Beatles, Rolling Stones and David Bowie. We’re the world’s leading exporters of bubble-gum pop and indie rock. So why do we persist in competing with the likes of Latvia, Slovakia and France (although I’m still not convinced that last one’s a real place) to see who can come up with the best song? It makes no sense.

Anyway, rant over. We’re stuck with it for now. And poor old Bonnie Tyler’s been sent to Sweden to belt out some god-awful power ballad in Saturday night’s televised showdown. She won’t win, of course. The voting’s rigged from the start. All those tin-pot nations vote for their mates from other tin-pot nations, regardless of the quality of the music. Although, that said, we’re usually guaranteed 12 points from Malta. Wherever the hell that is.

Sorry - I’ve slipped into a rant again. Eurovision does that to a cat. To redress the balance, I should mention that some Brits actually look forward to this annual extravaganza. Indeed, tiresome nuisances up and down the land will be holding “ironic” parties tonight - with Abba, Bucks Fizz and Katrina and the Waves blaring out until the early hours, once the show’s finished on BBC One. Stay strong, humes - it’ll soon be over…

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!

Alright, humes? Against my better judgement, I ended up watching The World’s Biggest Braying Nuisances - aka The Apprentice - again tonight. The latest challenge? To design an exciting new piece of multifunctional flat-pack furniture then pitch their invention to retailers. (It’s almost as though Lord Sugar sets these tasks purely for our entertainment, rather than to genuinely test the nuisances’ business prowess, isn’t it?)

Anyway, the boys’ team came up with Foldo - a table that turns into a chair. And the girls came up with the Tidy Sidey - a box on wheels, for all your putting-things-in-a-box-then-wheeling-it-around needs. Funnily enough, the Foldo proved far more popular among professionals - so the boys got to climb up the Millennium Dome and enjoy unparalleled views across the Isle of Dogs and Woolwich, while the girls went off to bicker in the losers’ café.

To be honest, humes, I haven’t quite got a handle on everyone’s names yet. It doesn’t help that a lot of the nuisances look remarkably similar - so I’m never sure if I’m looking at two different contestants or just one numpty standing in front of a mirror. But I’m pretty sure the girls’ project leader was called Natalie - and the two nuisances she chose to accompany her back into the boardroom were called Uzma and Sophie.

Determined to win Ol’ Gnomeface’s favour, Uzma and Natalie began squawking and squealing at one another - in scenes reminiscent of a bar-room brawl on TOWIE. Meanwhile, Sophie did the decent thing and squirmed silently in her seat, perhaps contemplating whether or not to jump into the Tidy Sidey and close the lid. But then Gnomeface put her out of her misery by firing her - at which point the other two shut up and went back to Chez Nuisance.

Cheerio, Sophie - we’ll never forget you. Honest!

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!

Alright, humes? My two humes had one of their tiresome disagreements over what to watch tonight. The male wasn’t at all keen on the female’s suggestion that we try BBC One’s new district nurse drama, Frankie. He didn’t think anyone could match up to Nerys Hughes in the classic ’80s series, The District Nurse, you see. But he finally relented when he learnt that Frankie stars Eve Myles from Torchwood.

Anyway, Frankie really cares about her patients, who this week included an elderly man, who ended up being sectioned while his heartbroken daughter wept in the street, and a heavily pregnant army wife, whose eight-year-old daughter needed an emergency heart op on the same day she went into labour. Meanwhile, Frankie’s layabout boyfriend Ian was planning to propose at her surprise birthday party - but when she got waylaid at the hospital, he slept with her colleague instead. (Chuckles-a-plenty? You got ‘em, folks!)

Despite all the misery, there were occasional attempts to lift the mood in the form of over-long shots of Frankie singing along to weirdly appropriate songs on her car radio. You know the kind of thing? ‘The Boy Does Nothing’ after her boyfriend’s left the house in a mess, ‘You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me’ after a heart-to-heart with a patient’s distraught relative, ‘My Old Man’s Just Been Sectioned’ after… well… you get the idea… The only problem? She’s a rubbish singer. So on balance, I think I prefer the misery.

“See?” said my male hume, triumphantly, as the female wept through the last 15 minutes of the programme. “I told you we should have watched Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? instead.” Incidentally, he’s now left the sofa and gone off to read comics on his “special chair”, which only has a very limited view of the telly. There’s only one hume who can cheer him up now. Nerys Hughes!

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!

Alright, humes? Tonight’s lesson? Be careful what you wish for. I’ve grown weary of ITV1’s Monday night comedy hour - the unlikely replacement for Broadchurch - so decided to watch BBC Two’s new thriller, The Fall, instead. And having done so, I’m now too scared to shut my eyes or venture outside for a late-evening stroll. Help me, humes! I’m doomed to sit here for the rest of the night, watching chat show re-runs and Jackpot247.

So what’s The Fall all about then? Well, it stars Gillian-Anderson-from-The-X-Files as the slightly plummy London DSI Stella Gibson, who’s been drafted over to Belfast to help out on a murder enquiry. (The truth is out there, Gillian - remember?) Still, as far as viewers are concerned, this is no whodunnit: five minutes in, and we were introduced to the killer who’d already lined up his next victim, a solicitor called Sarah.

Being a streetwise urban cat, it takes a lot to ruffle me - but this creepy fella’s given me the right willies. A few days prior to carrying out the murder, he stalked through Sarah’s empty house and rifled through her drawers. He then left some lacy undies and a strange-looking courgette-shaped object from her bedside cabinet as a sinister calling card on the bed.

Naturally, Sarah called the police, who rushed straight round - then suggested her cat may have been responsible for the disturbing duvet display. That’s right: her cat. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? Do you honestly think we’ve got nothing better to do than rearrange someone’s smalls? Still, that’s the kind of wanton discrimination we felines have to put up with on a daily basis. When in doubt, blame the cat. Oh well - let’s hope Her-off-The-X-Files is a bit more clued up when it comes to finding the real culprit…

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!

Alright, humes? I can’t tell you how chuffed I was to see my hume-crush Olivia Colman back on the telly - although I do think the poor woman deserves a break. Following the rather unfortunate turn of events for her character in the final episode of Broadchurch, she was put through the misery mill all over again in ITV1’s The Suspicions of Mr Whicher.

This time, OC - as I affectionately call her - played too-nice-for-her-own-good Susan Spencer, who’d journeyed to some of Victorian London’s dodgiest areas to find her “niece” Mary. On the plus side, she soon bumped into also-too-nice-for-his-own-good Jack Whicher (Paddy Considine), who gladly accepted the role of private investigator in the search for Mary. But on the downside, Mary promptly turned up murdered. (Don’t you just hate it when that happens?)

Needless to say, Susan was devastated at her loss - and spent much of the rest of the programme hiding behind a veil and black crinolines, while moping around looking weepy and broken. But the ever-suspicious Mr Whicher was determined to find the killer, and - what do you know? - just managed to succeed in his quest before the two hours were up.

At this point, Susan cheered up a bit, and - unless I’m very much mistaken - appeared to be giving Mr Whicher the glad-eye. But did he make his move? Did he hell! So you know what Mr Whicher is, don’t you? A damn fool.

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!

Alright, humes? Don’t I look slick in my WPC’s uniform? I’ll be honest with you: although I’m very much an Alpha male, it’s nice to get in touch with my feminine side every once in a while. In case you’re wondering, I’m wearing this get-up in homage to my new favourite TV copper Denise Woods - heroine of ITV1’s three-part police drama, Life of Crime.

Like all good small-screen cops, Denise - played by that nice Hayley Atwell - is a bit of a maverick. She doesn’t always play by the rules. She acts on her gut feelings. And she’s not prepared to let a little thing like lack of solid evidence stop her from seeing wronguns thrown behind bars. As is traditional, Denise ended up being suspended from duty for not towing the line - but she quickly chose to continue her investigations independently.

So - I hear you cry - what makes Life of Crime different from any other police drama? Well, I’ll tell you, humes: this one’s set in three different time periods. The first episode focused on Denise’s days as a rookie WPC in 1985. We knew immediately it was 1985 because Maggie Thatcher was on the telly, Culture Club were on the radio, the Brixton riots were in full swing - and Denise had to work with a bunch of wall-to-wall unreconstructed Gene Hunt types.

Next week, the action fast-forwards to 1997 - so it’ll doubtless be all Tony Blair, Princess Diana’s death and the Spice Girls. But don’t let that put you off. From the teasers, it looks like we’re in for more twists and intrigue, as Denise’s spot of evidence-tampering 12 years earlier finally catches up with her. Marvellous!

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!

Alright, humes? Tsk! As if there wasn’t enough to worry about during the Blitz, it turns out there were common-or-garden murderers on the loose, too. And how do I know this? I’ve just watched the first episode of Murder on the Home Front - ITV1’s new two-part drama, set in World War II. Our heroes are pathologist Lennox and his new secretary Molly - both intent on using ground-breaking forensic techniques to bring criminals to justice.

The only problem? Nobody else seems to be taking their methods seriously. Everyone keeps blithely walking across the crime scene and tampering with the evidence. These modern-day types on CSI and Silent Witness think they have it tough? They should walk a mile in Lennox’s shoes. Although preferably not all over the scene of a murder. That’d just add to his frustrations.

Anyway, the investigations focused on one particular murderer who’s developed the nasty habit of carving swastikas into his victims’ tongues. (Yeah, I know. I felt a tad queasy when I first heard that, too.) The police seem happy to lock up the first suspect who comes to light - largely on account of the facts that he’s got a foreign name and generally seems to be a bit of a weirdo - but Lennox and Molly aren’t convinced they’ve got the right man.

And frankly, I’m not at all sure they’ve caught the right bloke either. Otherwise, what the hell are they going to do to pad out the time in next week’s concluding episode? Mark my words, humes: there are more mutilated tongues to come in this sorry tale…

Want to help a cat become Top Dog, humes? Help me see off that pesky pigeon Pete on my favourite app, TVcheck. You can download version 2 from Google Play or iTunes. Don’t delay - ruffle some feathers today!