Television is a world of minor miracles, of odd little triumphs and things that shouldn’t work but do. Take Taskmaster. A show where comedians are filmed playing stupid games, then gather on a stage to argue over the footage is somehow into its eighth season on the jolly banter channel Dave. It evidently costs about £65 to make, it is a completely ephemeral waste of everyone’s time, and its continued existence offers an invaluable means of escape.
What worrying or stressful consequences can come from discovering whether the narrator of Love Island can fashion a sexier ventriloquist’s dummy from everyday objects than that guy from The Inbetweeners? Or from knowing who is quicker at finding the other half of a baby monitor,