James Griffin: Telly to make you patriotic

Guilty pleasures. I confess that yes, I have a few. Nothing sinister, mind. They're mainly a weakness for thriller novels in which a group of Nazi multibillionaires takes over the world only to be thwarted by an ex-cop armed with only a pocket knife; or films I will watch every time I stumble across them on Sky even though I know they're bad for me because they suck up time that could be much better spent. Point Break, Starship Troopers and Falling Down are but a few that fall into this category, along with pretty much anything written by Richard Curtis.

I don't have many guilty-pleasure TV shows, unless you count flicking back and forth between Paul Henry and Oliver Driver to see who is trying to push the breakfast TV envelope the furthest on any given morning. For some reason I have this desire to see Paul and Oliver play each other at ping pong. I have no idea why, but I want Mark Sainsbury to referee when they do, also for reasons beyond my own comprehension. But enough nonsense.

What I want to talk about here is The Amazing Race, which is definitely one of my most guilty TV pleasures. I totally dig this show for many reasons, most of them based on the genius of a premise that sends avaricious Americans around the globe so they can be culturally insensitive to as many people as possible in a very short space of time. Genius.

Just last week, in season 13, the American hordes descended upon New Zealand so they could do stuff like stomp on kiwifruit until the juice ran green, drive on the wrong side of the road, play Match-the-Moko-to-the-Scary-Brown-Face with a kapa haka group on the top of Mt Eden and then run through a flock of sheep to where ex-pat Kiwi host Phil Keoghan and his dad waited on a hill to welcome them to New Zealand. They'd already had to drive from the airport up to Gulf Harbour just to untie a stupid knot that told them to drive back into the city for some shameless product placement for an inner-city hotel, after which they all had to get back into their cars and drive all the way down to Te Puke, which is not exactly like welcoming them to New Zealand at the airport when they've just got off the plane.

But it is better TV, and that's what The Amazing Race is all about. And, as an added bonus in this particularly Kiwi episode, Phil's dad hugged the two blond Southern Belle Americans who came in last and were eliminated. It was not clear which party this was a bonus for, but I was cheering all the way for Phil's dad because he seemed like a nice guy. I guess my only regret with our little stopover in the global reality TV juggernaut that is The Amazing Race is there wasn't enough time to see them compete in some uniquely Kiwi challenges.

Seeing who could mow the best lawn, for example, would have been an awesome challenge. Likewise, doing some excellent companion planting with tomatoes and basil, then waiting to see whose turned out best and wasn't eaten by bugs, would have been nice and very New Zealand - although possibly not very exciting television.

A cheese scone bake-off, on the other hand, would have taken The Amazing Race to places other TV shows never go, not even the Survivor franchise. Follow that up with some lawn bowls or a game of backyard cricket and a quick jug-scull before the competitors get into tricked-out Nissans to do some burnouts, then going for a walk to get some fresh air and burn off a few of those calories from the cheese scones and the beer.

Excellent Kiwi-flavoured stuff that would have confused the hell out of a bunch of jet-lagged Americans, half-crazy already with greed in pursuit of the million-dollar prize. Still, at least it was nice that The Amazing Race's global dash for cash finally made it to this part of the world - even if it was only so Phil could catch up with his dad.

I imagine they had a nice old chat, standing on that hill in Te Puke, waiting for the teams to arrive so Phil could intone stuff along the lines of "Buffy and Brick, you are the third team to arrive", then roll his eyes in embarrassment like a good son, as his dad hugged the cute ones. It made me proud to be a Kiwi.