Homemaker shows. You know the ones.
Where shiny, happy people show you how to make paper pom poms for children’s birthday parties as a stuffed Barossa chook finishes itself off in a fancy oven in the background.
I think that they are dangerous and I recently very nearly fell prey to their evilness.
It was last Friday Night and the combination of a rapidly diminishing bottle of wine in the fridge; me assdown on the coach suffering from mild intoxication; complete exhaustion and a lost remote control left me with no choice but to watch a homemaking show.
