I’ve just moved house. That’s of no interest to you I would have thought. Obviously it’s of great interest to me. Not because of the stress induced shakes and vomiting that it’s given me. Hell no. It’s the fact that my gigantic television hasn’t made the move with me as yet. So I’ve taken to staring at the wall where my telly should be and imagining what is going on in the world.

Things have got so bad that I’ve started to deny myself TV listings so I don’t keep up with plots and storylines. Instead, I eavesdrop on people and catch snippets of TV storylines and try and piece together the ‘facts’. Sadly, when I’m spying in on these chats (be it in a queue or something) I don’t always catch on to which show we’re talking about, leaving me with fanciful notions of twisted plot swerves and the like. In fairness, I may have been listening to people talking about their own lives… but living in modern Britain, I can’t imagine for one second that people will be open enough to talk about their emotions and thus, they must be talking about the idiot box.

In my time away from a TV (and an internet connection to boot) I’ve imagined that everyone on TV is looking older and more weathered than when I last gazed upon them. Like when you go on holiday for a couple of weeks and you come back, and everyone looks a bit weird. I’ve no idea if this is true. My imagination has gripped me in a most usual manner of late… it may well be the fever of illness, it may well be the fact that I’ve gone frozen turkey. So what is going on in TV Land? Well, let me tell you (and then you can tell me how wrong I am).

Sadly for me, the programme I’ve found myself dreaming about most frequently is Hollyoaks. It seems perfectly reasonable that the most far-fetched things I can come up with may well coincide with the brain-wrongs of the Hollyoaks script writing room. Firstly, our good friend Justin. Since my TV drought, I honestly believe that our Justin has gone and learned himself a whole host of expressions. He’s gone from looking plain slackjaw to slackjaw with a smile, with added tears effect. If you squeeze his middle, he does a little wee as well. I bet he’s a brilliant actor these days. All the pain and suffering he’s gone through (and caused) hasn’t been in vain!

Another wooden moron in the Hollyoaks cast is that bloke with the webcam. I bet he’s been rumbled by now hasn’t he? Of course, I would have liked to have seen the climactic scene which saw what’s-his-chops dangling a terrified child from a rooftop in an attempt to tell the world he isn’t completely insane (WILL! That’s his name!) and how he really really really cares. Led away in shackles, Will is set to return later in the year as a reformed Christian with evil undertones. You mark my works. Hollyoaks meets Waco and Will only answering to the call of “sacrificial lamb”. Oh, and Warren is probably going mental as Claire actually tries to snarl her own face off to watch it scuttle across the floor like some horrendous living pork scratching.

What else do I watch on telly? Well, I imagine that Property Ladder is still full of rich fools diagreeing with the host and generally pissing money down their pink legs. That’s a format that will never change eh? Still, my imagined advent of Sarah Beeny getting a chainsaw to terrify people with is a welcome inclusion. BZZZZZZZZ! “BUY THE MARBLE WORKTOPS YOU SCUMBAGS!!! GZZZBRZZZ”

So. Neighbours. SAVE NEIGHBOURS! Someone is going to steal the show and stick up their bum-bums and ne’er show it the light again. This is handy. Why? Well, the huge explosion caused by Dr Karl’s attempt to use the methane from his poo-poo (that he was putting on his crops now that he’s all self sufficient) to power the light bulbs in his house caused 99 per cent of the cast to die. Ironically, the only survivor was Paul Robinson whose wooden leg took all the heat and left him with nought but a slightly raw knee and an evil cackle. Thankfully, that evil little girl who moved in with Lou and Harold had created clones of the entire street who have now declared all out war on Summer Bay. Obviously, all the major stations are in a huge bidding war to capture the rights to the new show, called Antipodean Annihilation.

Of course, the news has changed too. For too long, TV bosses have seen the news as ‘too serious’, so in an attempt to liven things up, ITVs nightly news is now broadcast live from a bouncy castle with bear-traps on it. The BBC, not be outdone have also livened themselves, with a mixture of running on the spot during link-ups and shots of Huw Edwards licking batteries and whincing through the sadder news stories. Speaking of the news, I’ve also heard (imagined) that Five is to show a musical of the life and works of Moira Stewart and Myra Hindley called Oh my! Oh Moira! Oh Myra! The official blurb: “An evening of terror and factual relaying” Should be good.

Of course, when my TV does come back to my open arms, I’ll be disappointed. It’ll no doubt be the same as it ever was. Full of people spouting off about our problems and soaps that are so ridiculous that they are scandalously ridiculous or sublime (I get the two confused very easily). Guess what? I’m going to love it. [Mof Gimmers]