Wednesday, 4 July 2012

Square eyes.

It is with a 'Whoop!' that I announce a most exciting event!!! No not the Higgs Boson thingie. The football has finished!! Normality has resumed! The seemingly endless test of televisual endurance  is finally over and I can settle back into my safe and happy routine of two hours of back-to-back soaps (apart from Wednesday which is the tv equivalent of a barren desert)). It would be more but I don't watch Hollyoaks; I cannot even attempt to identify with 19 year old blonde college-student/mass murderers with names like Mitzeeeeeee and Mercedes so I give that one a wide berth. It has been most unsettling not knowing when, or indeed if, I would see Ian Beale return as a hobo with a beard to rival Brian Blessed's (after only 6 weeks - seriously???) or being able to shout "ASHLEY!!! Tell Laurel you've got no money and no home! For the love of GOD!" at the tv. I did have a bit of a shock on Monday's Eastenders when I realised with a jolt that I owned the same top as Whitney, the Square's resident uberchav. Don't get me wrong, it's not a tie-dyed cropped batwing thing with a sequinned tigers face on, just a purple and white striped tshirt. But still. That'll be going in the next charity bag that comes through the door.

We're not big fans of watching sport in this household. Why bother when it's foregone conclusion that whatever sport it is, we're guaranteed to be shit at it? We try to show our solidarity with the rest of the nation when it's big stuff like Eurovision - sorry, I mean Euro 2012 - and the like, but we undoubtedly get bored twenty minutes in and look on demand for Louis Theroux documentaries. Don't get me wrong, there's a bit of me that's quite excited about the Olympics. How could I not be, when it's our beloved country that's hosting it ? There is a heart beating in there you know, I'm not dead inside! But there's a slightly bigger part of me that's thinking '17 days of disruption to the telly listings! Eek!' I think maybe I'm a little scared that if I have to stop watching for that long that I just might not bother starting again. And then what would I do with all that free time? It would be like living in Victorian times, I'd have to busy myself darning socks and putting on puppet shows for the kids. *Brrrrrrrr*. Doesn't bear thinking about!

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