Is this an image that draws forth sighs of boredom, frustration at ten weeks of mucked about TV schedules, and irritation at the plain lunacy of it all? If it does then you are welcomeme to come by my place, plonk yourself on the sofa and have a jolly good moan about it.
I usually manage to avoid the dreaded "Big brother" by judicious channel hopping and an almost pathological scanning of the weekly TV guide. This guide takes on all the importance of an ancient map that shows the only route to safety and freedom.It shows the dangerous hot spots marked everywhere, signs saying "Enter here at your own risk", "Beware of boredom" and "In here madness lies".
Anyway last night I had spent the evening doing seriously exciting things like ironing (disappointingly not 'extreme ironing', just the usual kitchen style) and didn't have the TV on at all. I was saving that pleasure for later, for PM when I would pour a glass of wine and get my weekly fix of Desperate Housewives.
Imagine my horror as I snuggled on the sofa with my glass of wine and big expectations of the lovely John Barrowman and all the usual suspects of Wisteria Lane, only to find the every watchful eye of Big Brother filling the screen. Maybe my programme was running late? Surely this would finish at any moment, stay calm it will be gone soon. It isn't, I find myself watching as a motley crew of human flotsam file in to the House. They are dressed in an assortment of styles, from a dodgy looking monk, to a jolly street urchin. There is the handsome chappy from Oz who maintains a big grin till he gets inside and lets it slip dramatically when he claps eyes on his house mates. Who can blame him, these include a Katy Price look alike who is scarily orange of skin and desperately struggling to hold up her dress, and someone dressed as a mole who the programme have cunningly put it to act as, go on, guess – a mole.
I shuffle from the sofa and desperately search for the TV guide, Ah there it is, tucked under the carpet and ferret chewed down one side. The pages are now tricky to open but I am a woman on a mission and fairly rip into it, to find out when this hell on TV will stop. 10.35pm. Realise that this is the longest I have ever seen BB in all of it's years of television domination. This feels like a good moment now, I have survived, it will finish in exactly 2 minutes, I have been up-to-date, on trend, I can officially say i have seen the damn show after many years of avoidance. Thank God this is it's last outing in tv land, I shall never have to do this again.
Oh joy, 10.35pm and BB is over, now for some sensible viewing, unrealistic lifestyles, and crazy plot twists. Yes it is my weekly fix of Desperate Housewives. I've been a fan since the first episode many years ago. I love it, it is my treat, my escape on a Wednesday evening to a land where anything can happen, be it good or bad, but whatever happens it is always done with lots of homour and some rather lovely outfits on enviably thin ladies in their perfect Wisteria Lane. Will Preston marry his Russian, will John Barrowman flash an evil grin, and will Gaby become a surrogate mother? All mindless, all fun, but always with that little hint of a moral at the end.
Oh yes, I am just as hooked on this as all those who fawn over BB. At least the fashions are so much better darling…..