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Woodford Towers deserves a makeover. But save me the tears.

I recently had the misfortune to encounter that terrible BBC show in which members of a family have their home made over by local tradesmen. Because there's zero justice in the world, these homeowners are picked at random to have tens of thousands spent on their property, which is usually some kind of tip beforehand.

The format involves teams of plumbers, electricians, chippies and so on descending on the house and blitzing it - probably doing more actual work in the space of a few days than most of them have managed in the past few years. Inevitably, when the family arrives home, they are bowled over by the transformation that's taken place.

So far, so good. I guess I could cope with all of that. But the next bit is truly unbearable. The family members - having inspected their new-look home - are expected to go to the front of the house where the workmen have gathered. What follows is something akin to a religious ceremony in which tears are shed and thanks are offered. Given the large crowd basking in the glory of the philanthropic endeavour, one starts to wonder how it was possible for everyone to have fitted into the house.

If the BBC approached me to have Woodford Towers done, I'd definitely opt out of that last segment. I'd ask whether I could maybe just wave to the plumbers out of the window. Or perhaps send them a thank you letter in the post.

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