I cannot stand soap operas, I’m not sure I ‘get’ them. The cast of Hollyoaks look like a bunch of mad shaggers cast from the Argos catalogue’s home section, the lack of chin on Coronation Street’s Gail Platt keeps me awake with fear at night, and the name ‘Ian Beale’ reminds me of a local family butchers.
But there’s something endearing about the that particular blend of drama isn’t there? Can we safely say we’ve never become even an iota interested in what’s happening during a soap when they happen to be on the TV? I’ll admit that even I peered up from my laptop and watched in awe that time Phil Mithchell burst on screen with a wooden bat and started trashing some poor sod’s flat like some crazed roast potato. Many of us can’t escape the daily soaps, while others welcome it.