Mother yells at me in an accurate depiction of the long-suffering matrons on primetime Sun TV soap operas.

The boy grins at me sheepishly when I gape at Homer Simpson’s lines, remembering suddenly where I’ve heard them before.

Everyone who’s anyone on my Facebook feed is talking about the latest ‘it’ show that I haven’t managed to catch since I don’t buy that channel/Cablewalla hasn’t heard of it/I’m not cool enough for it.

My life is run by television script-writers. *SIGH*

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