Yesterday I was despairing. A week of rain and the house was wetter inside than out. (Which you might think would prompt Teflon Man to chase up the roofing contractors to fix our sodding roof…but, d’oh, not in my world.) Being dripped on every time I needed to go to the fridge wasn’t pleasant. Considering I’ve previously broken a toe slipping on a post-rain utility room puddle, it was a tense situation too. I wasn’t happy.
However, come 9 o’clock, with both children tucked up in bed I took to mine and indulged in the upside of autumn: comfort viewing. The visual equivalent of cheap chocolate or a McDonalds: if anyone catches you indulging you’ll feel ashamed and you know it won’t really satisfy you, but in that moment it just hits the spot!
And thus, to banish fears of the roof caving in or the prospect of having to put on a coat that hasn’t fully dried out (yuk – a very bad icing on the cake of it’s-going-to-be-a-horrible-day) my shallow viewing pleasures for the weeks ahead are:
Made in Chelsea
I want to slap each and every cast member. Just when I think no one of Earth could be more annoying than Louise – too petite and giggly to be likeable – then the lads pop up being all posh-laddish, and especially Proudlock and his stupid ponytail/glasses/name and Louise is comparably fine. But then they’re usurped by Mark Francis and Victoria looking down their noses at everything that isn’t them…and I fear I may self-combust with rage.
But, with all of its faux-reality set-ups and awkward silences as someone drops their alleged bestie into a pit of trouble with a shock revelation, I realise that they can have their endless glamorous parties, swanky lunches, flash pads and rolling holidays. I don’t want to be wrapped in wealth if that level of shallowness and relationships that wooden are what come with it. But I do want to gawp at its ostentatious, awfulness each week.
I’ve been craving this since the summer as the World Cup pushed it back in the schedules. But it’s back and we might only be one episode in, but it’s promising to be a doozie! (*Rubbing my hands with glee.*)
Again, it’s more very annoying people, but, even better than in MIC, this time we get to see them mess up royally and get fired! Yay!
It was just a shame that the girls won tonight as Sarah very much deserves to be given the boot early on as she massively cocked up being PM tonight by:
a) Rubbing her PM position in everyone’s faces even though she was doing horribly in the post;
b) Informing the girls that they needed to wear lots of make-up and short skirts in order to sell. (Surely it depends what you’re selling, and as the task wasn’t about literally whoring themselves around London – although surely that would be an interesting week! – it was an insult in the extreme.);
c) Just being awful. At everything.
You could practically hear the nation’s collective jaw hitting the floor every time she opened her mouth.
But then as soon as one gobby, obnoxious loudmouth talks themselves out of the running another cock-up in a suit takes their place.
But yet again I can’t look away, but instead relish the schadenfreude. Marvellous!
By now it may be clear that when I’m in a trashy mood (which is somewhere close to always) I have a thing for ‘constructed factual’ TV. You can keep your quality imported dramas. I don’t want to have to puzzle pieces together and work out bluffs from double-bluffs. If I have to retain plot twists in my brain I fear for what information it could replace. I already struggle with my kids’ names and online passwords – I daren’t risk it. I especially don’t want to have to deal with subtitles on top of having to work stuff out. (The exception being The Returned, which was fantastic and I’m gutted that its not yet returned itself.) I want things nice and light and easy. Even if it’s not a credible use of my time.
But Gogglebox is turning out to be everyone’s dirty little Friday night secret. Mention aloud that you like Gogglebox and someone somewhere will leap out shrieking ‘Oh my God! Me too! Whose you’re favourite?’ Which is a stupid question because everyone’s favourite are perma-drunk posh couple, Steph and Dom.
But not only do I get to feel better in comparison with the dubious intellects and opinions of several featured on the show, but best of all not having a social life is now fine because you know that those people who are out on a Friday night really wish they could be uncool and just stay at home to watch. There may be catch up TV, but that’s such a faff. And you can’t keep up with water cooler chat/Twitter reaction if you’re behind. Ha! Take that, popular young people. I win this round! #SmallVictory
Strictly Come Dancing
Ah, the sequinned, fake-tanned cheese-fest that is Strictly! Funnily enough, it’s right up my street! There’s so much about it that drives me insane: the time they waste on filler even when they’ve got to plough through 15 routines, the inability of some celebs to pick up even the most basic of steps despite 40+ hours of one-to-one top-class training per week; how I could never be as skinny/have hair as fabulous as the pro dancers; the devastating realisation that I would now qualify as an older celeb were I to become famous and get on the show. (Surely one day they’ll be scraping the barrel so much that barely-recognised bloggers will qualify. Well, at least that’s my dream.)
But then someone will come out and WOW! Last year it was Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s charleston. This year, already (and we’re only in week 3) Jake Wood’s salsa was a joy to behold.
(*Seriously, Bruno, SIT THE FUCK DOWN and calm down. What is wrong with you?! Why can you stay in your seat?!)
And this Saturday nights are happily spent at home too. My ambition of being a winter-hibernating creature are partly coming true. All I have to do now is set Dominos Pizza on speed-dial and hope the roof doesn’t give in and I’m set at least until Christmas. And then I guess it’s the true meaning of ‘bleak midwinter’ but let’s deny that bridge is going to need crossing any time soon. In the meantime let me use trash TV as my crutch to get me through autumn. It may not be healthy, but it’s better than the other option of gin.