Eva Bradley: Reality morphs into surreality on TV

Eva Bradley

I'M NOT sure it does my reputation any good at all to admit this, but I am addicted to TV3's hot new rip-off reality show, The Bachelor.

A long-time opponent of reality TV in all its forms except, it would appear, this one, I have been asking myself a lot lately: "why?"

I suppose the fact that the bachelor himself has stepped directly out of every woman's fantasy into prime-time reality in all of his rippled glory helps. As does the fact that he seems to constantly be finding himself in scenarios where a shirt is surplus to requirements.

Conveniently, he also seems to be flush with all the precursors to 21st-century "love" such as super yachts, mansions and outdoor bathtubs strewn with roses.

If this is "reality", then mine is seriously lacking.

It's little wonder the hand-picked "real" Kiwi girls with their perfect white teeth, designer clothes and coiffed updos are throwing themselves at Arthur Green (or Art as he's known in the women's mags).

He is without doubt everything real men should be, but are not.

And that is not intended to be a criticism of real men.

It is simply that The Bachelor's "reality" is not sustainable or even possible for almost all of us living in the real world right now.

Like most people I would absolutely love to spend my days skydiving and my nights toasting marshmallows by candle light on a couch sculpted from sand.

Instead, almost every waking moment is taken up changing nappies or digitally removing wrinkles and arm fat in photoshop.

While Art is seducing women at sunset, my idea of a good day is having baby daddy arrive home in time to lift the wriggling, soapy little mass from the bath so I get 5 mins alone in it before story time. If I squint my eyes I can just about imagine the floating bath toys are rose petals, but only just.

So what I'd really like to see in this "reality" show is, quite simply, a little bit of reality.

We know from the endless column inches dedicated to Art across multiple media platforms that he runs operations for a paleo food business and likes to work out. A lot.

So in the interests of reality, this is what I'm proposing for the next single date:

5am: alarm goes off. Sweat pants go on. Egg-white protein powder on-the-go then two hours lifting weights at the gym.

8am: Cereal followed by a romantic commute to work via Auckland's congested motorways.

9am: work.

10am: work.

11am: work.

12pm: more cereal and work.

1pm: work

2pm: work

3pm: freeze-dried fruit pieces and work.

4pm: work

5pm: back to the gym

7pm: dehydrated beef strips over a glass of chilled wheat grass.

8pm: bed (because body-con health food fanatics always go to bed early).

If this sounds like the perfect date with the perfect man, then ladies, go for it. He's all yours.

-Eva Bradley is an award-winning columnist and photographer, who runs Napier-based Eva Bradley Photography.