There are certain programmes on television which I assiduously avoid.
These include any programme involving couples on a desert island. Invariably this features “celebrities” who are non-entities I have never heard of nor want to hear of. We are supposed to identify with the characters and vote for them, or something. While desert islands are doubtless very scenic, the location’s prime objective is to get the “contestants” to swan around in skimpy swimwear, or less. In other words, pure sad voyeurism.
There are of course sub-sets of the above. I came across one where contestants are supposed to appraise others by examining close-up of their various naked body parts. This involves close-ups of tits, fannies and pricks. I couldn’t believe it when I first saw it and decided that standards surely have reached rock bottom. I have never seen anything less sexy in my life.
Another sub-set is getting families to subject themselves to some health regime. We are supposed to cheer them on as they abandon their pizzas and takeaway curries and listen to them being nagged about their “lifestyles”. Why anyone would want to volunteer themselves to be publicly humiliated in television is beyond me. Are people really that desperate to get on screen?
A different class of programme though is the “blood and guts” variety. These involve tearing around in ambulances and helicopters in order to see first hand some nasty accident where hopefully we’ll see lots of blood and broken bones. Why anyone would want to watch another person’s pain and injury is beyond me. Is this aimed at latent sadists?
There is one programme though that has me totally baffled. It’s on satellite and regularly pops up on the menu of choices. I refer to “Dr Pimple Popper”. This is a programme I have avoided simply on the basis of its name. What possible enjoyment or entertainment value is there in watching boils and pimples being lanced?
Last night I watched something or other on Netflix. It was some drama whose name I have already forgotten but that’s beside the point. When I finished the programme I disconnected from Netflix. When that happens, my television set defaults to the satellite channels. There, in wide-screen high definition and glorious technicolour I was greeted with a close up view of a very large hole in somebody’s skin as pus and gore was being swabbed out of it. This was the one programme I had been trying so hard to avoid. It was disgusting. My stomach churned. I couldn’t switch off the television fast enough.
Why would anyone in their right mind want to watch that programme?