The lovely Mr Shev has again tagged me in a blog challenge. He desires to know of my ‘Guilty Pleasures’ and I promised him I would furnish him with tales of such. It’s been a while since he asked me, but I’m determined not to let him down, like a hired bouncy castle that no one played on.
Read his excellent blog here http://mrshev.com/2010/12/09/guilty-pleasures/
Firstly, if you believe everything you read in FHM and Nuts,you’d think that all women’s guilty pleasures involved hanging around in your underwear putting rollers in your mate’s hair who has come around for a sleep over and is also in a similar state of disrobement.
Fortunately for you, the world, and FHM readers, this is not a guilty pleasure of mine. No. I’m going to spare the world the mental image of that burnt on your throbbing cerebral cortex and give you one much less harrowing.
My guilty pleasures mostly involves shit telly
1. Coach Trip
2. The Biggest Loser
3. Come Dine With Me
4. The Hotel Inspector
5. Britain’s/Australia’s/America’s/Wigan’s Next Top Model
6. Anything involving make overs (Gok Wan, Trinny and Susannah, Ten Years Younger pre Myleene Klass).
All of these I LOVE to watch. My other half just can’t understand why I do this
“You’re an intelligent lass, I can’t believe you enjoy this shit”
Oh, but Cowwie, I do. I love no-thinking TV. I HATE watching anything to do with work as it feels like I’m still in work. My mum, in a misguided attempt to inform me, will ring me up “Sheds (as obviously that’s my real name), there’s a programme on kids with Woolly Brain Syndrome on channel four at 9pm”.
Right, then at exactly that time I will be switching over to watch “I used to look like a battered old hag but now I’m quite tasty” on itv2. Or CSI. There’s always a CSI on.
Which brings me onto my next Guilty Pleasure. CSI Miami.
Why, these shades are just so…(stands side on)…heavy
Oh it’s just ridiculous isn’t it? Horatio taking his glasses on and off like some kind of ginger automaton programmed to save kids and stand sideways. Alex the coroner with her saccharine sweet tears and “Poor baby. Looks like Heaven couldn’t wait for you, angel” lines that make me shout at the telly. Cally Du Cane and her tight tops and ridiculously long hair to be left down in a scientific environment where it’ll just contaminate all of the evidence and crime scenes. I hate it but I love it.
I’m so guilty.