I’m sick of snobbery around reality television… tune into what makes you happy

In the vessels of these rich and glamorous women, we witness the lifestyles of those who have too much, live life to excess, are beautiful and famous and who often make a significant portion of money by letting us watch them have petty rows or witness their family dramas.

But the best thing about this type of television are the low stakes they occupy, in a world where we’re all increasingly too entertained and too stimulated — and it can feel like the most delicious of breaks to watch something that requires so little of our attention and concentration that it feels like true relaxation to indulge.

I’m not ashamed of this pastime but I’m used to others making me feel like I should be, or treating it as a “guilty pleasure” that should be kept a secret.

This was my mindset I first came to terms with when I first moved in with my husband. We’ve only been married for a month but there’s nothing I would hide from him — however, at the start. I only watched reality television when he wasn’t with me.

Now, I’ll unashamedly watch an episode of any reality programme I like when he’s there, no matter how little he enjoys it. But humour me by comparing watching reality television, stereotypically enjoyed by women, to another national pastime — that of football, a huge passion for so many that has sustained a colossal industry for many years.

Those of us who like watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills know all there is to know about the tumultuous relationship the three Richards sisters have with one another, while those who partake in the Real Housewives of New Jersey know all about Teresa Giudice’s new relationship with a man who has a complicated past.

On the other hand, those who love football like my husband, for example, refer to themselves when talking about their team, analysing “their” new manager or “our” performance on Saturday.

You can argue that a sport is somehow more noble or worthy of our time than a television programme but I disagree — at least Real Housewives will end one day and I’ll have to start watching something new.

On the upside, Real Housewives has never left me crying in a stadium because my team have been relegated.

That aside, it always irks me when people feel they have a right to wonder why you, a clever person, like something they think is so stupid. When each of us returns home at night, it’s true that there’s endless worthy television we can watch — the latest critically-acclaimed series for example, which I also enjoy when I’m in the mood. Or why not watch a nature documentary to learn about the state of our planet or better yet, just watch the news?

As someone who works in the news, I respectfully decline. Our leisure time is becoming altogether too policed. What’s the point in leisure time if it means we always have to be seen to be learning or doing the right thing, living life in an admirable way? Instead, let’s return to the good old days where television was known to be bad for you and a complete waste of time instead of reaching the elevated heights at which it now lingers.

Better yet, I’ve never felt I had to send a tweet, write an Instagram post or come up with an opinion for water cooler chat after watching episode 259 of any Real Housewives franchise. That’s not to say those who do have passionate opinions about the Housewives don’t exist — they do, and I love following them — but it’s a joy in this day and age not to need an opinion or a hot take, instead allowing your brain to slowly turn to mush for a few blissful minutes in total relaxation.

So for those of us who “indulge” in this so-called guilty pleasure that isn’t so guilty after all, let’s remind ourselves there’s no shame in doing something if you enjoy it and it doesn’t mean you’re wasting time either or should be using it more wisely. In reality, I’m going to do what I enjoy.

What I’m looking forward to

I got the chance to try a cream liqueur from whiskey brand Samuel Gelston’s the other day, and I think the perfect vehicle for it is a hot chocolate.

What I’m reading

Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart, the author of one of my favourite books in recent times, Shuggie Bain, and who captures a sense of place like no other.