Life is fiction

The best soap operas take a normal situation and turn it into agonising drama that can stretch for weeks, months and sometimes even years. It is beautifully achieved with mood lighting, a kilo of makeup (and that’s just the guys), Botox, and the sort of overacting that would have you burst your appendix just thinking about it. What’s not to love?

I mean, the acting! With an arched brow, we just know Mr Tall Dark and Handsome is really listening to his emotionally overwrought partner as she tells him she just can’t go through with having her half-sister’s triplets. And when he takes her in his arms, intensely stares into her eyes and tells her that everything will be okay, that the triplets need her, it’s all we can do to jump off the couch – clapping, tears streaming, popcorn everywhere – yelling bravissimo!

I seriously love it when someone has a good howl over a boyfriend who cheated on them, ran away, had a car crash, and then returned to beg forgiveness. Different actor? No way – that’s the same guy with a surgically altered face. He was horribly disfigured in that car crash, you know.

But will she still love him, after all the horror and betrayal she has endured? Remarkably, I tune in to find out.


Is it just because it’s an excuse to lie on the couch and eat a packet of chocolate biscuits? And maybe some chips? And, hey, it’s Friday, let’s throw in an ice-cream. Just a small one though – we don’t want to go too crazy.

Or is it because my own life is so paltry by comparison?

Uh… Did I just say paltry? Never! I have a life just as full of drama as the next guy. For instance, just the other day, my kitchen caught fire after a nasty accident with a toasting oven. In attempting to douse the flames, I slipped on some oil, hit my head, and ended up in a coma for a month. When the very handsome doctor unwrapped the bandages and handed me a small hand-mirror, I was shocked to see I had a totally different face.

True story. Promise.



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