It hurt, but not as much as the assault on my senses from the television. I didn't have to watch any of it, hell I don't watch TV normally, unless it's about the environment... so I was curious to see how it was going, how the message was being put out. I'm so naive.
What message? An inane backstage chat with Duran Duran trailed on for five minutes with no mention at all of the environment. Just soundbites about turning up and doing their bit. God, it could have been a clip from any one of the increasing number of Global Humanitarian Happenings.
Cut to Jonathan Ross being sarky, Graham Norton simpering and looking a bit lost. Keane being too keen. Spinal Tap utterly wasted (if only they had been, entertaining though they were). Enrique Iglesias filming himself on fans' mobiles.
I didn't stick it out for Madonna. Why should I? The realisation that I am bigger than Madonna made me feel good. It's not that difficult, being bigger than her.
But even switching off the TV didn't seem to rid me of the imprint left by a succession of posturing enviro-celebs. That's why I had to go outside. You see, it was so much worse than I could ever have imagined. I didn't even imagine it would be all that bad.
Slightly patronising maybe, but possibly worth all those Lear jets, helicopters, cars and tour buses, all the lighting, noise and pollution. It so completely wasn't. It was horrible. And I only saw about ten minutes in total. Enough was enough.
So out I went into the evening light as old Madge was doing her make-up and squeezing into her catsuit. And just around the corner from my mum's, in a little patch of suburban park that the council mowers forgot, I found My Live Earth.