I’m sure I’m not the only one who transferred late to Earls Park, arriving for the third series of Footballers [sic] Wives, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who’ll be devastated this evening once the last episode is over. Tacky (while stylish) and melodramatic, Footballers Wives is a breath of fresh air in a schedule of dumbed down documentaries and dreary dramas. With Ross Kemp in. Or John Hannah.

It also brings back memories of seminal US series Sunset Beach, an incredible, over-the-top show in which half the cast were trying desperately to make their careers and the other half were playing it for laughs. As far as I know, it was the only soap to have characters artificially aged by cursed jewelry, but I won’t surprised if I find that’s par for the course in American soaps.

Footballers Wives occasionally seems to think it’s pushing the boundaries, which may be slightly over-stating its importance, but there will nevertheless be a Wednesday-night-TV-shaped gap in my life next week. Fortunately, my local library appears to stock the videos of the first two series. Good to see my council tax is doing some good.