How Reality TV Saves Lives

Tonight sees the start of another Big Brother. And by rights as a fairly intelligent 38 year old mother of two (I have a Masters and everything). Whose career is spent moulding young minds. I should be going "Pah! Who would watch that load of old sh*t?!". I should be picking up a nice book or having a debate with my other half about the state of Europe. But you know what? I'm rabid. You see. "My name is Emma and I am addicted to reality television".

I have always dabbled in watching the lives of others unfold on TV. Even before I had kids. But since the arrival of my two? I gorge on it whenever I can. I wake up early on a Tuesday morning and sit quietly watching Made in Chelsea with a hot cup of tea praying the kids don't wake up so I can find out what bitchy comment Lucy has made. My husband and I howl with laughter at the drunken shagging action in Geordie Shore and more often than not my lunch breaks at work are spent discussing something a Kardashian has or hasn't done.

This is not ground breaking television. This does not stretch my mind. I learn nothing from it except phrases like "tashing on", what a slut drop is and who cheated on who. But this kind of trashy television? Is a lifesaver. It's exactly what every knackered Mother needs in her life. A way to escape. A way to watch the youth of today living their lives with such a wild abandonment that we can only dream of. I bet if they did a survey of who watched this crap? Most would be exhausted women in their 30s, sat with their bras off and pyjamas on, up and down the country on any night of the week.

I doubt the youth of today are watching it as they are living it. They have lives. We? (Well I) Certainly aren't living it. I work. I clean. I read stories. I play with LEGO. The highlight of my week is ignoring my husband on a Friday night after we have stuffed our faces with take away. More often than not we are ignoring each other whilst watching people have sex on Love Island. It's tragic. But? It makes me happy. Do I wish I was 22 again? Living in a world where heart ache was splashed all over social media and you had to know how to do contouring? No.

I did contouring once and it looked like I had wiped mud either side of my face. So this is a high five and a hats off to the younger generation who display their lives for us warts and all. Yeah we may have seen you p*ss in the street, and OK I may have screen shotted you looking particularly awful when you were pregnant but to us you are a way we can escape. A bit of light relief for the sometimes boring life you lead as you get older. So tonight I will watch the randoms go into Big Brother and laugh at their outfits, shout "WHAT THE F*CK IS SHE WEARING?" and have a right good time. Nowt wrong with that.
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