If I gave a single shit about Game of Thrones I’d f**king watch it

By Nikki Hollis

I DO NOT live in an underground bunker. Nor am I a lighthouse keeper in the South Atlantic. I have not recently awakened from an eight-year coma. 

So yes, I have heard of Game of Thrones. 

You may therefore, given that I responded to the question ‘Do you watch Game of Thrones?’ with ‘No’, safely assume that not doing so was my decision, rather than mere oversight.

But instead, fucking hell, do you explain it to me. At length. Seriously marring the tale in the telling.

Why can’t people accept that I don’t give a toss about dragons and incest and what is essentially The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe on bad acid?

Whilst everyone I know thinks I’m missing a huge cultural event akin to the Enlightenment, I just can’t be arsed. Half an episode of blokes in leather mumbling in dark corners like my local pub’s goth night.

Only five more weeks. Five more and you’ll never bore the tits off me again. It’ll vanish like Downton Abbey, forgotten by those who were once its closest fans.

God, remember when you were all into Lost? Pricks.