Skins. Oh how their lives reflect my own (ahem). (From Watford Observer)

Skins. Oh how their lives reflect my own (ahem).

4:59pm Monday 8th February 2010

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Settling down on the sofa.

Its 9:59 pm and I am watching ad after ad, not once being thrust into a state of dizzy hoover-based need.

E4 springs into life with the welcome sound of that-guy-that-does-the-x-factor's voice.

Skins is introduced.

I tuck into my packet of biscuits.

Let me just make perfectly clear on the outset- SKINS IS STRICTLY NOT FOR PARENTS.

If you have ever endured an hour of wince-tastic viewing whilst teenagers shag the living daylights out of each other you will understand what I mean. At intervals you are plunged into the apparent safety of the ad break only to be met by a severely uncomfortable and possibly worse silence. Everyone pretends to be watching the smartly-dressed meercat jabbering away on the screen, but in actual fact (a fact everyone in the room is well aware of) you cannot, and will never, stop thinking about the images that have just been incarcerated into your brain.

However, if you are watching alone (not in a pervy way) or with a group of like-aged people, you are sure to enjoy it. It not only makes drugs, alcohol, vom-ing all over your shoes, and public nudity seem somewhat attractive but makes us all want a slice of the action. This, I must admit, is not a likely possibility. And when thinking about it in more realistic terms I can almost feel myself reaching for my slippers, my blanket and a cuppa.

Skins is a brilliant creation and one that I will enjoy for as long as it is on.

It is in its forth series now and I am getting the slight impression that the writers are struggling to come up with the same level of ‘cer-razy’ story lines. They are becoming A LITTLE BIT UNREALISTIC.

Oh the irony.

Watch it. Enjoy it. But 'don’t try this at home'. And don’t watch it with your parents. Or anyone over the age of 22. Or anyone, in life, likely to ask, 'Sorry, Cheryl who?'.