If I was going to spend a couple of hours in front of the box, it would be to watch sport or a good drama series.
But each to their own. Nothing wrong with a bit of mindless entertainment to take yourself away from the travails of the week. Unless it is so mindless that you feel brain cells wasting away.
I watched The Ridges this week, along with 350,000 other New Zealanders because, well, I kind of had to. For some reason, the Ridges, mere et fille, have become objects of scorn and derision for some sectors of the population.
Really though, the show confirmed what I suspected. That Sally is a very loving parent. That Jaime is a gorgeous spoiled princess who has a great relationship with her mum.
And that watching a show about relatively normal people is as boring as bat shit.
Where's the drama? And no, the stunt mouse doesn't count.
Jaime's lack of a relationship with her father is sad and needs to be explored in a counsellor's rooms, not on nationwide television.
It hardly counts as drama.
Conversations with my own gorgeous girl can, on occasion, be just as silly and loving as Jaime and Sally's - and we'd both run from a mouse too, stunt or otherwise.
The difference is we know our lives aren't interesting enough to fill a six-part series.
Still, a single mum has to make a buck and none of us HAS to watch the show - we all have remotes - and not a single taxpayer dollar was spent on it. So there's no reason to call for the women's public lynching.
My only real gripe is that I will never be able to travel to the provinces again. The show confirms every single prejudice those living outside of the Bombays have about who Aucklanders are and what we get up to.
