My guilty obsession, UK

I'm from Ireland, though I was plunked at a young age by my parents in the heart of Canada.

Going back home for visits has been a regular indulgence for me over the decades. At first, l would stay with amazingly welcoming relatives or, when I was old enough to rent a car, in hotels hither and thither about the entirety of Ireland.

That routine, but for the car rental, was happily shoved aside when my father built a vacation home in Mayo in the Southwest, a county I had always loved. Like everyone you'd meet over there, the Mayo folk are warm and welcoming, and have always accepted every visitor as one of their own. No fuss. No fanfare. You're home, and that's it.

Ireland is a truly beautiful country if you're someone who appreciates near grandiose landscapes, breathtaking cliffs with tides breaking alongside, or verdant valleys and fields where heather and bracken invite the visitor's attention whether one is traversing them, or simply driving by in an undoubtedly rented car.

But enough of the tourist board's inducements. The only reason I referred to Ireland at all was simply to provide the setting and context for my discovery of, and addiction to, a wholly English (treason!) TV program that demanded my being entrenched in front of the telly with several cups of tea and a few scones every weekday afternoon during my annual trips.

No more for me the treks through gorse, wild cinquefoil and cowslip, nor strolls along silver strands where stones and seashells are left unapologetically by the cold north Atlantic.

Instead, my treks have been reduced to short stretches between kettle and comfy chair, interrupted occasionally by nature's call. In between interruptions and snacking, I’m ensconced comfortably mere feet from the television enjoying the competition among four, sometimes five, sometimes three couples to find who among them can hold the crème de la crème of dinner parties; all the whilst serving the best dishes over a one-week spanse. It’s a simple concept.

Come Dine With Me first drew me in when I was visiting Ireland and my annual haunts in 2014. It may have run for years before that, it may have premiered that year, or it may have nestled somewhere in between. Perhaps it is an idea that was born in another country. I know it’s expanded its franchise to Come Dine With Me Australia, Come Dine With Me Canada and, for all I know, Come Dine With Me Global (you pick the country).

They say if you want to know me, come and live with me. CDWM is cohabitation at its finest. Though not large in land mass, England is divided into distinct counties, or shires, each with its own highly distinctive accent. The accent of a person from Yorkshire resembles that of someone from Cornwall, for example not even a bit. Then there’s the divisions of the United Kingdom: do folk from Scotland who speak with a thick burr understand exactly what someone in Cardiff down in Wales says? And Northern Ireland is a whole other matter, with regional dialects galore, none like any other spoken in the rest of the UK.

Come Dine With Me takes you into the many UK counties and cities – and different parts of some cities – providing a keen insight into the various lifestyles, activities and passions of the locals. And, of course, the countless preferences in comestibles and cooking styles. From the hankering for chips (French Fries) to a yen for black (blood) pudding, the British/UK palate is, appropriately, the star of CDWM. From one shire to the next, from one townland to another, the differences are broadcast in actual living color. Even more on display is the humor, ranging from silly to sardonic, from light to dark and everywhere in between.

All cuisine aside, I find myself glued to the show – long available here with its own channel on Pluto – mostly to hear the voiceover guy. The man narrating the show, whether scripted by someone else or winging it himself is, for me, the best part. The flawless editing melds with the commentary in a characteristically good-humored, and always wry, wit. No matter how bad of a mood I’m in, or how enraged I might be at someone (it happens), I can always find comfort and a laugh provided me daily in the likes and dislikes, the ‘here’s and ‘theres’, the pretentious vs the unassuming; and just people engaging with each other over a myriad of libations; from the dizzy, fizzy heights of Champagne and Prosecco to the murky depths of lager and stout.

But it’s the people and their habits, quirks and idiosyncrasies that render the show an obsession for fans. It’s a people-watcher’s dream, and I can while away hours - on either side of the Atlantic – calorie-loading and lounging comfortably (yes, ‘fan’atically) for as many ‘Come Dine With Me’s as daily stretches of time are mine to waste.

CDWM is not a show for the adventurous gadabout who loves to explore new countries and haunts, with backpack or knapsack and a decent pair of heavy duty, waterproof boots. Watching Come Dine With Me (whichever version) is decidedly not for you.

Layabouts, however, your carriage has arrived.