y wife and I decided to see what all the fuss is about with this show called Game Of Thrones. I would like to say I haven’t seen it because I haven’t got round to it, but the truth is I have a history of not engaging with things for the sake of being a contrarian. Everybody was talking about it and so I wilfully avoided it, although I was pretty sure I would like it. I have given up on that philosophy. I saw a post on Facebook, something like: “I have never seen a single episode of The Sopranos and people look at me like I’m a unicorn.” I realised I didn’t want to be that unicorn and watched all six series of The Sopranos in a single sitting. You can get misled by the hype. For the best part of last month, social media was comprised entirely of “How mental is Netflix’s The Tiger King?!” posts. I was so suckered by it that I was expecting the story of a man who ejaculates wild cats and raises them as his gay lovers. It was a great show, but the effect had been softened for me. I had no such problems tucking into Game Of Thrones. All I remembered from the days when everyone was talking about it was that it has dragons, bare breasts and a terrible ending. So we sat down to watch it with little expectation beyond that. It is, of course, brilliant. But I have issues, mainly that it was only in season six that I began to understand who everyone was. The sheer quantity of character information and backstory that the show is constantly smashing into your head is hard to take. It makes me acutely aware of the fact that you can hold only a finite amount of working information in your head; one day very soon, I am going to forget my online banking password because I know way too much about the Targaryen family tree. But the main thing that has shocked me has been the brutality of the violence. You see people getting their throats slit as often as you see them eating. Everybody dies, and rarely peacefully. One character gets arrowed to death on the toilet. Unexpected death and violence seems imminent for every single person, yet none of them seem to show the slightest degree of anxiety. It’s my reaction to the violence, however, that I have found most surprising. I have gone from somebody who doesn’t mind any level of gore to a pearl-clutcher of the highest order. On occasion, I have looked away from the screen or gasped. It has been a voyage of discovery. My wife feels the same way, and we have wondered if we are weirdos, but the problem with watching a show so late is that you can’t discuss it with other people. I’m not going to phone my friends and say, “Do you remember in Game Of Thrones about seven years ago when they had that Red Wedding? That was mad, wasn’t it?” I presented an award alongside Maisie Williams, who plays Arya Stark, a few years ago. I had not watched a single episode of Game Of Thrones at the time. I am so annoyed now that I didn’t tell her how brilliant she was, even if I know I would have fan-boyed horrifically, before saying: “Isn’t it ever so violent, though?” We will be sad to say goodbye to Game Of Thrones this week, as we watch its final episodes. We are, however, looking forward to starting on our next brand-new show: Breaking Bad.