Katie Holland: Trashy TV the perfect cure for man flu

Arthur Green from the TV show The Bachelor.

THANKS to a bout of the man flu making its way around the city, I had time this week to catch up on a medicinal dose of trashy TV.

Surrounded by tissues in bed and feeling sorry for myself (the main symptom of man flu), I gave in and got acquainted with The Bachelor NZ.

Uuurgh, I can almost hear you rolling your eyes.

The concept of The Bachelor franchise is undoubtedly hideous. Twenty or so women competing for one man. He gets to date them, kiss them, and (I suspect) do what he wants with them, while they do everything they can to impress him and "win" him. They all profess their love for him, despite barely knowing him, and sit back and watch as he flits from woman to woman. Even worse, they have to live with the other women who are dating the same man. To quote a billboard, yeah right.

But you know what? The Kiwi version is not as much of a one-way street as the US one.

So far - six episodes in - two woman have rejected the bachelor. Which is not meant to happen. Shock, horror.

One - Rotorua-schooled Rosie - decided in episode one the handsome Arthur was not her cup of tea so she split and got engaged to someone else. Another also came to the conclusion he wasn't for her and rejected his rose. Who couldn't love that moment, the handsome bachelor lost for words as one of his harem had the nerve to say thanks, but no thanks. Oh and another woman farted - although I think the fact the producers included that in the final cut says more about us, the Kiwi audience, than it does about the woman.

What I really should have been doing this week - rather than getting sucked into The Bachelor - was checking out the OHO Fashion Show.

I'd heard there was going to be a red carpet, so I was looking forward to a bit of Rotorua-style glamour.

The last time I sashayed the red carpet it was with movie star Javier Bardem ... I use the word "with" loosely.

We did walk the carpet, just metres behind the Spanish star and hubby of Penelope Cruz, as he posed for photos and signed autographs and his fans wondered who those randoms were who looked like they'd come straight from work.

I only wished I'd known he was going to be there and I might have put a bit of lippy on before I left work. It could have been the difference between him picking Penny over me.

But just as Javier and I weren't to be, neither was my front row seat at Rotorua's most exclusive fashion event.

My FOMO (fear of missing out) was assuaged slightly the next day when I heard the rumoured red carpet was for the models on the catwalk, not for the guests. And given my only modelling experience was in a UK magazine 10 years ago where I was featured with the headline - "I want to lose my pot belly" - I'm not going to be walking that particular red carpet anytime soon. Glamour eh. It's overrated anyway.