SIX more lambs were led to the slaughter, erm, I mean "aspiring chefs" were given the chance to showcase their skills in last night's MasterChef on BBC2.

Just watching this show makes me nervous. As the wannabe Gordon Ramsays shake and sweat over their kumquat coulis and crusted cod extravaganzas, I just want to grab them by the shoulders and yell "For God's sake, pull yourself together!"

One woman even cried last week after John Torode (the one who drifts in and out of an Australian accent and always seems to struggle getting the food into his mouth) said her food was badly presented.

If I ever did build up the skills necessary to enter the show I'd still have a number of concerns, namely, if I was last to have my food tested, wouldn't the judges be less hungry and therefore not enjoy the food as much?

Also, it bothers me that the food never looks particularly hot.

You can always bank on a number of things happening in every episode.

Greg Wallace will always start moaning in a vaguely embarrassing way and talking about his "sweet tooth" and the pair will always tell off some city boy for talking about his love of "locally-sourced rustic ingredients".

I'm glad MasterChef has been moved to 8.30, though.

At least this way you've already had your tea and don't have to face crushing disappointment at egg on toast.