My dedication to watching woeful late-night TV is apparently a health hazard. Should society do more to cater to night owls?
In my (admittedly self-regarding) opinion, I do my very best living between the hours of 11pm and, say, 3am. Thatâ€™s when my children have been confined to their beds and I have the relative freedom that allows me to consume television until my eyes start to sting. Essentially, Iâ€™m talking about repeated episodes of Bullseye (the original Jim Bowen incarnation, not the abhorrent Dave Spikey reboot), maybe some BBC4 music documentaries that Iâ€™ve already seen seven or eight times, or one of the 45 episodes of A Place in the Sun that are clogging up my Sky box.
Essentially nothing that represents challenging viewing, because Iâ€™m too done in to think properly by then â€“ anything on Netflix feels like a chore, plus thereâ€™s the added time needed to scroll through endless menus, deciding on what to watch.
This post was syndicated from Health | The Guardian. Click here to read the full text on the original website.