My Momma Told Me, If I was Goody...

The start of each year is always unfalteringly shit, since there’s nothing on and I’ve got no money. It’s a sorry state of affairs when you settle down to your third episode of Friends in a day (thank you, freeview/e4) because it’s the only thing worth watching. And so it was that I sat watching My Fake Baby on Channel 4.

I’m slightly horrified at myself for being so immediately suckered in by the trailer. I was cooking and I only heard the description and I knew that my 10pm was sorted. I spent the whole programme either stifling startled laughs or feeling abject pity at all three women featured; the baby makers ruthless business sense, the one who so clearly want to replace a real boy and the other one who seemed to be avoiding everything essential to raising a child except a dead plastic representation of one. It’s sort of genuinely disturbing and completely saddening. The only joy it really gave was to the real children who were playing with dislocated fake limbs, putting tiny legs out of their eye sockets and thumping each other with baby fists.