On average, people watch about four hours of television each day. Having thrown my telly down the cellar steps more than ten years ago, in a fit of self-righteous indignation, I’ve freed up a lot of time. Four hours, seven days: yes, I’m gaining one extra day every week just by not watching people getting their antiques valued or trying to buy a house. However bad the programmes were ten years ago, I’m pretty sure they’re even worse now. I’m grateful not to have to watch celebrities eating grubs in the jungle, or anything featuring Simon Cowell (I’m proud to say I don’t even know what his voice sounds like).
I keep myself acquainted with TV trends, mostly so I can keep up one end of a dull conversation. But, from brief viewings, TV seems ever more intent than ever on insulting the viewers’ intelligence. I don’t think I’m missing anything of value (apart from cricket). So what do I do with those extra four hours each day? Well, this morning, I put new laces in my boots, a job I’d postponed for weeks. Time well spent, I think. And I need to sew a button onto my trousers. Maybe next week…
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