I’m lying on the sofa, flicking. Flick; BBC News. Flick; Jay Leno. Flick; horrible wedding dress programme. Then Flick; and hurray it’s Tiffany, but this time on Maltese television. Norman Hamilton is interviewing her, his questions are pretty run of the mill, even maybe a little bit oily so I flick again.

But the next best thing on is back-to-back airport control for the next six hours, so I raise myself on one elbow and flick back to Bla Aġenda.

The first thing I think is “What an odd programme”. Everything about it is just wide of the mark, just slightly off what a real chat show should look like and everything is, well, just odd.

In its oddness, it looks almost interesting. I sit up to take a better look.

First of all the line-up; OK they got it right with Tiffany, now the nation’s darling, but live in the studio is a hodgepodge of guests; an actress, a band showman, the chairman of One TV, and then, of all people, an eye specialist. How peculiar.

Then there’s the host; it seems he’s a travel agent by day and a television presenter by night. How very unusual.

Then there’s a young woman standing to the side with a laptop reading out random phone and facebook messages at will. How strange. Even stranger than this, the viewers at home can enter to win, amongst other things two blood tests at a private clinic. Now that’s just plain weird.

Then there’s the lone cameraman that insists on showing part of himself and his camera in almost every shot. Does he work there or did he just wander in off the street to get on TV? How funny.

Then the ad break. It seems that Bla Aġenda’s only agenda and raison d’être is promoting holidays and cruises. Curiouser and curiouser.

But the oddest thing about the whole show and my absolute favourite is the totally random inclusion of questions about various eye problems with really long names. One minute they’re talking showbiz, the next the opthalmologist is discussing retrolentilfibroplasia. This is beyond odd, this is bordering on farce.

Speaking of farce, there’s a great moment when our host presents Niamh Kavanagh with some gifts, which she, naturally enough, tries to accept. But he won’t let go and there’s this silent tug of war going on between them until finally she surrenders and goes off to sing her next number.

Despite these quirks, it turns out to be a painfully boring few hours. For a while, I slump so far down on the sofa that my chin touches my chest.

There are some singularly uninteresting questions addressed to Sandra Davis; when did you start acting and so on. I lie on my back and start to do a bicycle with my legs in the air. Jason Micallef shamelessly promotes his own station’s new schedule, on his own station, which this is. I do a few star jumps to get the blood flowing. Maestro Joe Brown gets to say his piece. I try a downward dog. Then Dr Mercieca, the eye specialist talks for a while. I curl up in a foetal position on the sofa.

By the time Niamh Kavanagh comes on, I’ve lost all hope. I put my legs up against the back of the sofa and let my head hang down off the cushion. I watch the rest of the programme, the endless backslapping, the congratulations and the thanks like this, upside-down. Actually, I think it’s slightly better this way.

Bla Aġenda is on One TV on Saturday nights at 8.40.