Kirstie and her upcycling can peddle out of my life

I don't know about you, but that sentence makes me bilious.

Firstly, I don't know what any of it means.

Secondly, I'm fairly sure 'furniture hacker' is not an actual job. Milkman, hairdresser, farmer: these are jobs - these are jobs I understand - but 'furniture hacker'? That's just two random words lumped together. Look, I can do the same: 'gas stylist', 'computer romancer', 'canary nanny'.

Thirdly, the term 'playfully upcycles' is the devil's work. It is evil. It is sent from the depths of hell to drive us normal folk - folk who don't live in Camden and wear normcore clothes made of hemp - completely insane.

And we all know who the devil is here, don't we? Kirstie Allsopp.

Kirstie and her strange bouffant hair, Kirstie and her constant cold, Kirstie who thinks ripping a lampshade to shreds and then covering its spindly frame with ribbon is the height of interior design.

Without a doubt, Kirstie's Fill Your House For Free is the most baffling programme on TV.

Who's it for? What's the point? How? Why? WTF?

It's very clear from the first 10 minutes that filling your house for free is a very bad idea - unless 'Common Room Decorated By Sixth Form On The First Day Of Term' is the look you're going for.

This week, Kirstie and her merry band of artists, designers, upcyclers and furniture hackers (*vomits*) painted a couple's living room bright yellow with a whacking great flamingo on the wall and then filled the entire space with what can only be described as 'tat'.

It wasn't a home for grown-ups. It was a home for 1950s Picnic Sindy.

It was like living inside a yellow and pink Party Ring. A tat-filled yellow and pink Party Ring.

Apparently, this makeover - put together through swapping, salvaging and the begging of builders - was the equivalent of spending £4,000 on the high street. Yeah right. Excuse me while I laugh myself into the nearest branch of Ikea. Seriously, they should have just spent the money. At least then they'd have a decent front room instead of a pastel version of Steptoe's yard.

Thing is, I feel a bit sorry for Kirstie.

I understood the point of her a decade ago, back when we all had money and homes and a spring in our step. But now, now that we're skint, remortgaged and unemployed, she doesn't really have a place any more.

Who is Kirstie for? Who does she appeal to? She's fallen into that same pretty-but-useless - pretty useless? - category of Dawn O'Porter and Sarah Beeny. What she needs to do is upcycle her CV and hack out some new, more relevant skills.

Now, if you don't mind, I'm off to decoupage an old rollerblade and turn this chicken-stained dishcloth into a pair of curtains. They'd cost you £3.72 on the high street dontcha know.