I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit for the last month or so Mrs P and I have become glued to the telly.
Our addiction came about by mistake.
Essentially what happened is the Boomerang Child, a whizz at such technological doings, sorted us out with the means to record our favourite telly programmes on one of her frequent visits back to the Mum and Dad Hotel.
Obviously my lack of ability in anything technological saw me press the wrong button on the remote thingy and instead of recording just one episode of a particular programme I've managed to record about 30.
Not really sure how to delete them, we thought we'd watch one and see what we thought. It has proved enough to get us hooked. Again.
I say again because if I'm completely honest we have watched this particular programme before. In fact we caught the first four series and enjoyed it so much we couldn't wait for the following ones. But as often happens, life intervenes and other things rise in prominence.
It's happened before when we've had a burst of Coro or Shorty. I'm sure you know what I mean.
You go through a six week period where you watch it every night to see who is chatting up who at The Rovers or which hot blonde nurse is shacking up with the new hot doctor in Auckland (because that's EXACTLY how it is in real life).
But then you miss a night because Mrs P dragged you to a pilates class to embarrass yourself or you had to do the vacuuming because you forgot to do it on Saturday morning, went to golf on Sunday, really couldn't be bothered on Monday and were threatened with bodily harm on Tuesday if you didn't do it on Wednesday.
Anyway. Here we are again watching a programme we quite enjoy. And we've been watching it most nights for a while now, slowly churning through the many saved episodes which are apparently clogging up the space on our recording thing.
The programme concerned is Game of Thrones (Finally!, I hear you gasp in exasperation).
It would be fair to say its not your run of the mill-type programme for those of us who remember the uproar when the "F" word was first uttered on New Zealand television.
In fact, along with some fairly gritty language - most of which you'd hear at the mall any day of the week - there is quite a bit of gore and a fairly liberal smattering of nudity - which you don't usually get to see at the mall any day of the week.
Now obviously the little devil in me cannot pass up the opportunity to offer a suggestive comment to my beloved when such skin baring occurs.
Like the other night when one of the characters, basically an evil cow, got her come-uppance and was forced to make what was known as a Walk of Atonement.
In this she had to walk stark naked through the city to say sorry for past deeds as the crowd jeered and various suggestive comments and obscenities were yelled.
Now, apart from the absolute total and utter dedication of the actress to her craft, what was also on display was a fairly impressive body. I remarked as much to Mrs P ... along with the suggestion that should she wish to make a Walk of Atonement around our humble abode at any stage I would support her endeavours wholeheartedly.
I can't remember the exact words she used in her reply to the negative but I think one of them was "pervert".
"Oh well," I thought later as Mrs P took a shower. "God loves a tryer."
And as I reached round the bathroom door and sneakily removed her towel I thought if she's not keen on the Walk of Atonement then I'll happily settle for the Dash From The Bathroom To The Bedroom where her clothes are.