Ges on the Box; Magic of Merlin has me hooked

THERE is something exhilarating about making a discovery. Exhilarating and reassuring. Not that I’m prone to making earth-shattering discoveries like how to split the atom or even what to mix together to make chocolate.

No, my discoveries are more of the mundane variety. Like where to buy blue bizzie lizzies and how to fill in your self-assessment tax form. Not that I’ve actually discovered how to fill it in, but I hope to. One day soon. Before I get fined yet another £100.

And I’m reassured when I discover something new because it reaffirms I don’t know everything yet. Despite what I think.

And no discovery is more enjoyable than the unexpected one. When you confidently expected to hate something and then, when you try it, it turns out to be the best thing since sliced bread.

Like olives. For 40 years I avoided them. They look like slugs. Well, the black ones do. Then I was given a salad with feta cheese and olives and basil and discovered I loved them. Couldn’t get enough of them.

And opera. How odd is that? Here’s a woman steeped in The Beatles, Bruce Springsteen and Celine Dion and suddenly I find I love opera.

Conversely, every summer I discover I hate strawberries. They look so yummy.. Then I eat one. Maybe next year. . .

Anyway, to get to the point of all this, when Him Indoors wanted to watch “Merlin”, I knew I’d hate it. Fantasy, sword fights, magic and an old fairy tale. Not even one bit of reality about it. Not my kind of thing. Almost as bad as “Dr Who”.

But, like I say, we’re still at the lovey-dovey stage, so I let him choose what to watch. Sometimes. Which is why we came to be watching “Merlin”.

First episode, I settled down with a cuppa and my book. But, actually, I ended up watching it and, surprise, surprise, enjoying it.

I know it’s aimed at kids, and I agree it’s quite difficult to take a a rather camp-sounding dragon seriously. Not to mention Victor Meldrew in a bad wig pretending to be someone called Gauis. Or the man from the coffee adverts dressed as King Uther Pendragon.

But, casting-oddities aside, it’s quite gripping. Of course, it stretches credulity. Like when pictures on a shield turn into snakes. And chain mail polishes itself. Not to mention a singer who can put everyone to sleep. Oh, no . . . that bit’s quite realistic really, it always happens to me when I stick a Bryan Adams CD on.

It’s my turn to choose what we watch tonight. I live in hope that he’ll discover he likes reality TV after all. I’ll start him off with “The Family”.