Verity Lush is a 36-year-old mum-of-two who lives in Portsmouth.
She is a tutor in philosophy, English and maths and has written a book for newly-qualified teachers, plus textbooks and articles for teaching magazines and supplements. Follow her on Twitter @lushnessblog
Weekend television: the domain of tired parents.
However, it would appear that if one wishes to watch anything on a Friday, Saturday or Sunday night, then one had best enjoy The X Factor.
How it is that this is given the entire weekend to air is beyond me.
Long gone are the days when I used to tune in and amuse myself with my mates, posting witticisms about the contestants on social media.
Instead, even if there are good contestants, it is still dull because it is ceaselessly the same.
The songs are the same, the contestants are the same and the judges make the same comments.
This Saturday, I tuned in at 8.30pm with the intention of seeing if these suspicions were correct. Indeed they are.
The only thing to really change is that Simon looks like his baby Eric has been keeping him up all night.
I reckon he needs to change his surname from Cowell to Jowl.
The ever-present ex, Sinitta, oozed on to screen dressed as a Carmen Miranda tribute act, only missing half of the clothing required and practically tripping over her cervix.
Lauren Silverman must be trying to slip chilli powder in that woman’s Immac cream at every chance she gets.
The contestants are the same as ever, dribbling out the same songs as though nothing new has been released since 2002.
If Total Eclipse Of The Heart hasn’t yet been warbled by one of Jowl’s tuneless twits then it can’t be long before it makes its 2014 debut.
As for Cheryl can’t-pronounce-her-name-now, she is ill-equipped to give singing advice.
That’s because these days, having a singing career does not equate to having singing ability. Just ask Jedward.
The contestants themselves were the same as always, each with their fair share of personal tragedy to weep over.
When the SEE advert featuring an orangutan popped up in the final ad break, it took a second to register that it was indeed an advertisement and not another of Jowl’s charges.
It wasn’t the lack of singing, of course, that gave this away, more the fact that the dear little creature was in receipt of obvious talent.
The only saving grace is that this will not be followed by another series of Plebs Wobbling On Ice in the new year. Small mercies.