You know what I mean - Kevin Bloody McCloud, Caroline Quinton and the rest of the appalling pack that roam the country looking at dream real estate, vicariously enjoying the thrill of massive indulgence on the private pleasure dome. Winkling away at the practicalities. Renovation, building permissions, acres and acres of countryside going under the bulldozer... for THE HOME. That actually is more the size of a motel and with about as much charm or personality. Architects! Designers of living, for those that want to live like designs or designers. All of it fake. All of it market driven.
It's probably more of a sociological or ideological interest really - that these shows thrive in the current economic climate. A deep-seated escapism. A man's home is his castle. But of course, not everyone gets to have a castle. And if everyone did, that wouldn't leave much space, would obviously devalue castles. It's a hopeless ideal really, a bit like a religion. Everyone revelling in vast canyons of PRIVATE SPACE. Don't you just love the way all these childless couples live in something that looks more like an airport terminal - no thought to maintenance! The amenities bills, the cleaning. They're above all that - life! They're above that too. They're professionals. They have vast office spaces incorporated. And of course, they're only for one as well.
And even where they do have children, they've usually built their dream home on the top of some remote mountain or on an island or something, so that you wonder how - when they ever get to the shops or schools? What about going out? Concerts, visiting friends? Who will come all this way and how often? Only business. Will there be a private school mini-bus for the 45 min trip to the nearest village school? No. The kids are probably shipped off to public school dorms when things turn practical. Life! It's something to defer if not escape.