THERE is one pitfall into which I could fall when visiting our daughters in the UK. I have managed to get through life without seeing a single complete programme of East Enders. It is quite an achievement really, because that is 30 years of ducking, diving and dignified exits, going to see a man about a dog.

It was quite easy when I lived in England. The eldest was about 12 when it started broadcasting in 1985 and as they seemed to want to watch everything from Grange Hill, Home and Away, Neighbours building up to a crescendo of vomit-induction with East Enders, I invested in a television for them to watch upstairs, along with a video recorder.

Yes I did witness the launch of Coronation Street back in 1960 and was hooked by Elsie, Mrs Sharples and Dennis Tanner et al. I revisited it occasionally in my life but, by the 1980s, it was part of my television memories along with The Groves, The Appleyards, Emergency Ward-10, Mr Pastry and Whirligig.

We had other things to do. In latter years, Ellie took to watching it in what we called her studio, but admitted it was so “depressing”. Since living in France for nine years come the end of this month, although we have access to BBC programmes, we have not watched East Enders. I have offered Ellie the opportunity but once you have broken the habit, you find there are other things to fill your life.

Probably, we watch more television/dvds now than ever before but I recall back in the 1960s, colleagues asked me what I did of an evening if I did not watch television. Try it: pick your programmes I suggested and you will find there is a whole different world out there without the telly on.

So our only soaps are restricted to the bathrooms and sinks but, when returning to Blighty or visiting our daughter near Barcelona, I am under pressure: time for East Ender avoidance.

I have been in houses where it has been on and stumbled across it by mistake. I have checked my watch and sat patiently waiting ten minutes maximum for the end, taking in a smidgeon of depression before the best part of the programme: the drumbeats signalling it is all over.

However, when your daughters watch it, then it is hard to escape. I have taken the dogs out in the pouring rain, spent an inordinate time in the loo or decided the suitcase needs sorting, in order to avoid the programme. I have considered other alternatives but none of my daughters have an exposed beam or a length of rope lying within reach.

I spent 12 of the 14 days of our recent visit to the UK in the company of people who tend to watch the programme but again I escaped unscathed. It really should be an Olympic event – East Enders avoidance - and I am not saying that because my record would put me up with the best.

I have one son-in-law who will not allow the programme on in the main room and the grand-daughters have to scamper upstairs to watch on their television. Should he come home late and be presented with a fait accompli with all the family spread out with their evening meal, watching another edition of the programme, he resists reaching for the sharpest knife in the cutlery box and pops down the pub for a pint of Hookey.

It is the perfect solution if you suffer from East Enders’ blight. He is happy while they are hooked on depression.

I have never been one for calling in at the pub on the way home from work but if the family, like Dracula hunters, combine to create the televised equivalent of a stake through the heart, there is no alternative but to flee the house and seek solace in one of the finest pints of real ale in the sadly diminishing business.

Truth be told, I‘d even settle for a pint of the gas-filled stuff they call lager rather than find myself in a room before those drumbeats. If you cannot imagine what a pint of lager means to a real ale man, it is like a connoisseur of fine wines being offered a glass from a wine box.

Sorry. You love East Enders? Of course there are millions who do, judging by the viewing figures. Obviously, its appeal eludes me. My only positive thought is that there must be a degree of therapy emanating from a half-hour watching people worse off than I am. But I will do without it.