I'd always assumed daytime TV like this was for people on industrial pharmaceuticals or those who think the vital and only ingredient in a good breakfast is strong lager. When I watched the US equivalent my consciousness was nestled under a quilt of prescription opioids so strong that I once misjudged the wide entrance to my kitchen by such a wide margin I ended up in the wardrobe. That wasn't so bad, it was the fifteen further minutes I spent trying to find the fridge in there. Honestly, had I found a talking lion in there, I would have just asked who took my oven.
I suppose it's a bread-and-circuses thing, as a sanctimonious middle-classee I feel uncomfortable criticising such things, but it seemed grim from the few clips I've seen rise to the surface, and nothing I've read over the last few days has been endearing. At the end of the show, those are actual people and not TV characters. That someone had to die for the producers and ITV network to look at their feet and mumble a half-hearted apology (while emailing their PR team), well, I think that says something.