Sorry, Doc, you've got a galloping case of telly presenters' disease: CHRISTOPHER STEVENS reviews last night's TV 

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The Doctor Who gave Up Drugs (BBC1)

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My Floating Home (More 4)

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Dr Chris van Tulleken’s eyes were glittering. ‘I’ve come up with a test nobody’s ever done before,’ he proclaimed, as he fronted The Doctor Who Gave Up Drugs

Dr Chris van Tulleken’s eyes were glittering. ‘I’ve come up with a test nobody’s ever done before,’ he proclaimed, as he fronted The Doctor Who Gave Up Drugs (BBC1).

Minutes earlier, his skin acquired a slight sheen when he warned us that superbugs resistant to antibiotics spelled ‘the end of life as we know it on this planet — that’s a Doomsday scenario’.

And his veins were throbbing when he announced a treatment for a 24-year-old patient with chronic depression: ‘I want to take her swimming in water so cold it could kill you from shock.’

This looked like a nasty dose of telepresenteritis, an ego condition spread by cameras. Serious infections can develop into a messiah complex, where the victim is convinced that his destiny is to save the world by making shoddy BBC1 documentaries.

The worst cases can end up like poor Gregg Wallace, who runs round factories and supermarkets goggling like a maniac. It’s very sad.

A glance at Dr Chris’s medical history reveals he has a galloping case of the disease. It’s only a few weeks since he and his brother Dr Xand were struggling to cure the migrant crisis, by taking the temperature of refugees who paddled ashore on Greek beaches.

Now he’s trying to wean Britain off its addiction to painkillers and anti-inflammatory tablets.

The world needs saving, and only Dr Chris can do it.

He’s right, of course, that most of us are lazy about drugs, and will pop a pill without stopping to ask whether it’s always necessary.

Dr Chris's solution to the craze for antibiotic cure-alls was to sit in with a GP in East London and try to dissuade patients from taking prescription drugs

He calculated that each of us takes 100,000 tablets and capsules in a lifetime, and laid out that many pills on his living-room floor. This should have been impressive, but I was distracted by his front door: the inside of it appeared to be coated in reflective metal, turning it into a giant, full-length mirror.

Does Dr Chris feel compelled to inspect every inch of himself before he steps outside each day? This telepresenteritis is more advanced than we’d realised.

His solution to the craze for antibiotic cure-alls was to sit in with a GP in East London and try to dissuade patients from taking prescription drugs. Instead, he was offering them a squeezy bottle of honey, a lemon and a James Bond DVD.

The idea was that, when you’re under the weather, the best treatment is a hot, sweet drink and an afternoon curled up on the sofa.

The medics humoured him by attending his Powerpoint presentations and extracting the mickey. Dr Chris thought they were taking part in the experiment in a spirit of scientific inquiry, but it probably had more to do with the platters of sandwiches supplied by the BBC caterers.

Does Dr Chris feel compelled to inspect every inch of himself before he steps outside each day? This telepresenteritis is more advanced than we’d realised

Still, every revolutionary must be prepared to face mockery. Think how the world laughed when a telly sports pundit declared he was Christ reborn, and that the planet was ruled by alien lizards in human form.

His name was David Icke. Left untreated, that’s how serious telepresenteritis can become.

Mark Evans, the vet turned all-purpose presenter, reports on everything from motor racing to wildlife conservation, but so far he hasn’t shown any superhero delusions. He stayed in the background and let the story tell itself, in My Floating Home (More 4).

Sailing fanatics Mark and Holly had inherited a mooring on the Chichester canal in Sussex and, instead of buying a barge, decided to build a house . . . on the water. This meant constructing a 45-ton concrete hull and floating it — then building a wooden cabin and balancing it on the base.

Despite all their calculations, the house was a few inches bigger than the foundations, so it hung over the edge. I’d be worried that, every time a motorboat went past, the wake would set the whole thing sliding into the water.

It was great fun to watch this floating luxury caravan being designed, built and transported —a logistical impossibility, forced through by Holly’s unstoppable determination. And if the scientists are right and the ice caps melt, we’ll probably all be living in floating houses before long.