The Real Housewives of all the Places are my crack. Also the Kardashians. And Vanderpump Rules. Shut up.

So my dopamine levels went sky-high this week when the Real Housewives of Melbourne returned to my telebox.

Is it my favourite of the Housewives? That’s a big call. It’s hard to go past the ladies from Beverly Hills, largely for real estate reasons – I’m looking at you Villa Rosa and Yolanda’s house. Also Yolanda’s fridge, obvs.

But it’s hard to deny that the fact many of us have walked the same streets (not like that!) as the Melbourne housewives gives us a connection that isn’t possible, regrettably, with the Beverly Hills ladeez.

So it was a happy day last Sunday when the time came to lock our eyeballs on the Real Housewives of Melbourne.

Minus Andrea. Thank fuck. Because RHOMelb wouldn’t have been worth watching without Gina who, as we know, wouldn’t have come back if Andrea had graced our screens with her presence. And her checklists.

We kick things off with a reminder (or introduction, for those who are late to the party) of who the Housewives are.

Ohai Lydia. Wow! (See what I did there?). Her body is banging. They’ve clearly cut back on the trips to King Island, because not a lot of cheese has gone into those guts over the past year. And yes, we do think you’re pretentious.

Chyka obviously wins Best in Show for her opening montage wardrobe choice. Frock, coat, statement necklace and handbag – all flawless. *applauds* HOWEVER, is it just me, or did anyone else think it was weird that she talked about how proud she is of her marriage? Well no wonder, because hello – BRUCE IS GAY. Also he probably styled her. Good job Bruce.

Jackie could do with Bruce’s help. There is no excuse for the necklace she was wearing. #Lovisa. It’d be good if Jackie could stop talking about Lydia’s sex life, because eww.

Janet looks like she has an invisible wind-sock attached to the back of her head. Given I’m shopping for a botox provider myself right now, I really shouldn’t be critical, but CHRIST ON A TRIKE JANET, give it a rest with the work. She’s what, 127 years old? Her poor toyboy Carlos is going to get an awful fright if he ever gets to second base.

Speaking of Carlos, Janet was planning to use his “venue” (because “restaurant” is totes pedestrian) for her 128^th birthday party, but it’s not going to be ready. It’s a pretty tedious scene until Janet says “FAAAAAAAARK”, which is almost better than when Chyka blurts out “bullshit!” when Lydia says she drinks 8 coffees a day. Anyway, Janet’s elderly mates will get confuzzled if they have to reset their Google Maps to a different “venue”. Also, there’s no way Janet will put out unless you get this sorted. So no pressure Carlos.

Big news! Lydia is going to be a mother-in-law!! Although she prefers to refer to herself as “mother of the groom”. Whatevs. Can you even imagine having Lydia as your monster-in-law?? Actually, I followed the whole thing on Instagram months ago and it was lovely – although Lydia must have been 14 when she had her son.

But now that she’s a grown-up, with a PA and everything, who’s running around Melbs looking for conditioner. I dunno why Jackie is so horrified. When I was a PA, one guy I worked for asked me to shave the back of his neck. *gags* Compared to that, Lydia is boss of the year. OF COURSE I QUIT I’M NOT MENTAL!

Anyhoo, Janet is off to see her hairdresser Patrick. This guy is a gift from the reality TV gods. His hair is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. For YEARS I tried to create a fringe flick like his. The layers at the front of his lob (long bob – I’m practically a beauty blogger) frame his face perfectly. It’s glorious.

She discusses the catastrophic state of her party planning, and decides to call Gina to invite her. Hurrah! So she does that weird reality TV thing where she makes the call on speaker phone. (I understand why they do it, but I swear if someone did that at a table next to me, they would need to cut that shit out quick smart.) In a happy turn of events, it went to voicemail so she could avoid that awkward talking business. Except that Gina called straight back. HA! EXCELLENT! Gina agrees to come to the party, because she’s a trooper. And because her audience demands it!

Cut to Gina, looking bodacious in red, heading to lunch with her sister Bettina. The jeans one. They have an odd convo about Gina’s boyf Dean, with Gina confirming that they’ve agreed to “be together”. Which is nice.

In breaking news, Carlos has come through with a venue! This storyline would have been a disaster if he hadn’t. Such a relief. So Janet needs to get her skates on and sort out a cake. Because the party is tonight. WTF. Janet’s time management is shithouse. She needs Lydia’s PA.

I reckon Janet’s Cake Dude and Janet’s hairdresser would totally get on. I’m just saying. Cake Dude wants to design something involving glitter and the world. Because Janet is worldly. Sah clever.

Ohai Lydia’s mum. I cannot fathom why you’re there – I could not be less interested in you.

Cut to the limo taking Chyka & Jackie to the party. Jackie is all “look how hot I look!” and Chyka is thinking about what a good job Bruce did on her outfit tonight.

Meanwhile, it’s deadset arctic in Gina & Lydia’s limo. Gina is looking faboosh, and kicks off strongly by telling Lydia she’d heard that she and her husband Andrew had split up. Lydia is horrified, and announces how much she hates gossip. Baahhahahahahaaaha.

They agree to start afresh, and by agree, I mean Gina says the words, but inside is all “oh HELL no.”

Party time, and Janet is feeling loved, so that’s nice. She lets the girls know that a blonde called Gamble (“she’s had that name from birth”) will be turning up.

Cue camera swoop over the Mornington Peninsula to Mt Eliza where we meet Gamble brushing her Pomeranian in her Louboutins. There’s a sentence I never expected to write. She describes Mt Eliza as Toorak by the sea. My grandpa lived in Mt Eliza with his garage door painted as the Croatian flag. Belgrade by the Sea.

She bangs on about her name being used in a Shakespearean play, meaning “to frolic and run free”. Which it would, if it was spelled “gambol. Fucking idiot.

Gamble is an art consultant who works “by appointment” now, which is the technnical term for “unemployed and living off my silver fox eye surgeon boyf.” She and Rick are an e-Harmony success story. Bless. Gamble’s life motto is to calorie-count, she maintains her looks with botox (derr) and will get a facelift at 50 (double derr). This is just speculation, but I reckon Gamble and Andrea would be instant besties. Oh well.

Gamble meets all the girls, and immediately develops an appreciation of Chyka’s ample bosom (which is nice for Chyka, you know, because Bruce probs doesn’t) and disses Jackie’s livelihood, which means the angels will be PISSED!

Janet’s son Jake is at the party, which is lovely because he was burnt in a terrible accident and this is his first time out. I’ll leave that one alone, because he seems nice.

Time for Gina’s big entrance. Late, obvs, but marvellous. Janet earns extra bitch points for announcing “the drag queen has entered the building” – as if that’s not going to get back to Gina, which will be excellent.

Pettifleur. If it’s wrong to judge someone on their name, then lock me up and call me Frankie Doyle. I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure I can’t stand her. Nor can her stepkids, clearly. Gina’s reaction when Pettifleur told her she was going commando was all class. While on the inside she was thinking “Skankyfleur”.

Time for the cake, and Cake Dude has come through with a cake that would totally deserve a place in the Women’s Weekly Birthday Cake Book. All it was missing was blue jelly and coloured coconut. It’s a shame we didn’t get to see Janet blow out her 128 candles (while Carlos stood at the side with a fire extinguisher).

The next morning Gina and Gamble hook up for coffee where, big surprise, Gamble tells her about some of the stuff Janet et al were saying. Although where she got the Darth Vader thing I do not know. Gamble is weird. But she gives Gina a present, because she totes knows which team she needs to be on. #TeamGin

Meanwhile, Carlos and his pet pig Crackling (funny) meet up with Janet to review the previous evening. Probs too tired when they woke up that morning. Eww.  Disturbingly, we learn that Janet is into chubbs (Google it. Wait. Don’t. Because ewww.)

They kick off Gamble’s character assassination, which seems to me a bit ill-conceived, because surely you’d go for Skankyfleur first? Anyway, things aren’t looking good for Gamble, even with Gina’s protective aura…. Be afraid Gamble…

For the first time in… well, ever… I haven’t bought my husband a wedding anniversary present. This isn’t a big deal to either of us – it’s just that I like buying presents. And getting them, derr, but if I had to choose, I’d choose giving them.

I’ve kind of fallen into a gift-giving rut, at least where my husband is concerned. Shamefully, my default gift shop has become JB Hifi. Thankfully I married a man who shares my love of gadgets, and for the past few years, most of the gifts that I’ve given him have involved a USB port. I’m the last word in romantic. Seriously, it was all I could do to stop myself getting him a dash-cam. An upgrade for the dash-cam I bought him 2 years ago. I TOLD YOU I WAS IN A RUT!

As it turns out, I didn’t get around to buying a present – wifi-enabled or otherwise this year, but the thing is, I hate the idea of our wedding anniversary going totally un-marked. I mean sure, I managed to enunciate the words “Happy Anniversary darling” before I’d EVEN HAD MY COFFEE this morning, so there’s that. (Although I’m pretty sure I sensed a “thank faaarck she said it first” thought bubble floating around above his head.)

So, in the absence of a store-bought (or, let’s be honest, internet-ordered) gift, I’ve decided to go down the tried and truly cheesy path of a public declaration of love. NOT sky-writing, because the weather in Brisbane is SHIT at the moment, but a cast-in-cyberspace list of reasons why I love him.

Before I begin, a message to my children… I know you think I’ve embarrassed you in the past. This WILL surpass it. Sorry not sorry.

This is by no means a comprehensive list, but here goes – in no particular order:

• He trusts me with everything. Wait, not everything. He doesn’t trust me with social media. Fair call.
• He understood when I went to Melbourne for the Real Housewives of Melbourne reunion.
• When there’s only enough milk left for one coffee, not only will he forego his own coffee, he’ll tell the kids they have to have toast for breakfast instead of cereal – rather than have me go without coffee. (This may or may not be for self-preservation reasons rather than actual love, but whatevs.)
• He tells me I’m a wonderful mother, even when my kid has plain pasta for dinner 3 nights in a row. And head lice (not for dinner).
• We get 2 newspapers delivered every morning. I only read one of them. When I sit down for breakfast he quietly hands over that paper without a word being said, despite only being halfway through it.
• He has put me back together when I’ve been broken more times than I can count.
• He never notices when I buy a new handbag/device/sunglasses. Or if he does, he never says anything.
• He tells me he loves my hair best when it’s long. And when it’s short. And when it’s that shit length in-between.
• When I said there’s was no way on God’s green earth I EVER wanted another baby, he said “no problem.”
• 5 years later, when I said “wait, I need to have another baby” he said “no problem”.
• He mows my little sister’s lawn.
• He listens to my Dad’s stories AS IF IT WAS THE FIRST TIME.
• He takes the kids to animated movies and the Ekka because I hate animated movies and the Ekka.
• He doesn’t mind when I wear my One Direction t-shirt to bed.*
• He cooks.
• He eats what I cook. Even when it’s crap. Which it mostly is, unless it’s spaghetti bolognese. I make awesome spaghetti bolognese.
• He doesn’t complain when we have spaghetti bolognese 3 nights in a row.
• He understood when I went to do the groceries and came home with a labrador.
• He has beautiful hands.
• He is crazy smart.
• He makes me unimaginably happy.

I love him.

*He probably minds.

I worship at the altar of crap TV. If you are of a different TV-viewing persuasion, then look away now, because there is nothing here for you.

Me outside Sur and Villa Blanca. #stalker

Wikipedia reckons the “Golden Age of Television” was the 50s.

Pfft. The true Golden Age of TV began in 2006 when Bravo, in its wisdom, gave the world the first of the Real Housewives.

The original Housewives were from the OC, and back in the day, I was a disciple.  For reasons that escape me, my devotion lapsed and I didn’t return to the OC until this season (season 8). I wouldn’t have missed that wedding for ANYTHING.

I flirted with the crazy that is Atlanta, but over the past few years, I narrowed my focus and pledged allegiance to the Housewives of New Jersey, New York, Vancouver and Beverly Hills.

I haven’t blogged any recaps of the Housewives, but honestly, trying to have a sensible (heh) conversation on Twitter with my Housewives posse is getting ridiculous. Stupid 140 characters.

With the latest season of the Beverly Hills Housewives now underway, Imma kick off the conversation (in point form, because efficient).

So in no particular order:

1. What’s with the name change Foxtel?? What for you changed it to “Beverly Hills, the Real Housewives of…”? It doesn’t even make sense. Stop it.
2. How gorgeous is Gigi?? And who’s her dad? Surely it’s not Mohammed? (BTW, did anyone see Mohammed’s house on Million Dollar Listing LA. He kind of makes my skin crawl. What was Yolanda thinking? Derr, ok, she was thinking mega-cajillionaire, but still.) I find David Foster v. attractive, BTW. Not as attractive as Harry Styles, obvs.
3. When we were in the US, we hired a Mustang and drove up to Malibu. I missed about 10kms of ocean view because I was 100% committed to spotting Yolanda’s house. I mean, how hard could it be to spot a lemon grove (? orchard?). Turns out, very freaking hard.
4. Kyle had back fat in that yellow frock.
5. I want a shop like Kyle’s. So much classier than Dash. I think. Or not.
6. That giant tray on Kyle’s kitchen counter? What even was that? If I had a tray like that on my kitchen counter, it would be full of hair ties, receipts, iphone chargers, nail polish and a high bounce ball in about 5 minutes.
7. Kim’s dog is a pit-bull. He’s gonna eat way more than her cushions.
8. I saw Kyle on an episode of ER last week. When she was Nurse Dori. Hilarious.
9. Am not entirely happy about the crossover with Vanderpump Rules. Bit of focus please Bravo! We’re here for the Housewives, not the Sur staff. They have their own show.
10. Always takes me a while to warm up to new cast members. I mean, it’s just too easy to think Carlton is an idiot, based purely on her kids’ names. Cross? Please. I wish their surname was Leggatt.  I crack myself up.  And what kind of a BH Housewife is called Joyce? This is what a Joyce looks like:
    

    Joyce Jacobs. From A Country Practice.

    Although Joyce (Giraud, not Jacobs) does have ace hair – a point Lisa made in a totally obvious dig at Kyle. And in fairness to Lisa, Kyle’s hair isn’t looking anywhere near as faboosh as it did last season.

11. Thank God for Brandi. I love Brandi. I admit I thought she was Skanky McSkankerson in her first season, but seriously, if I had a body like hers, I’d parade around in my underpants all day as well. And the girl can hold a grudge. It’s like she’s part Mafioso – Leanne Rimes should be checking her bed for a horse’s head for the term of her natural life.
12. I miss Taylor. For the crazy, obvs.

Love it sick.