I’m a dedicated follower of box sets (and their fashions)

IT HAS been almost a year since I jumped on the Netflix bandwagon.

I had stubbornly refused to pay for any of the on demand services due to a combination of stinginess (£7 a month, or two Starbucks), liking to be contrary and not really understanding it. However, last year I went for it. The catalyst for this, along with much worse things, was Trump’s inauguration. As I watched the handsy man child swear on the bible, I desperately flicked through the channels for something else.

Turns out the only other things on TV, except insecure septuagenarians, was Big Bang Theory and old episodes of Crystal Maze.

Now don’t get me wrong, watching Richard O’Brien run around the Aztec Zone was first-class entertainment but it would not distract me from a man in a golden, phallus-shaped tower promising to build walls.

It was this moment I decided to sign up for Netflix.

I got my month’s free trial and began working my way through a seemingly never-ending supply of content that will simultaneously entertain me and suck my free time like nothing since Candy Crush.

I started tentatively, mainly just rewatching things I have seen before.

I worked my way back through the Louis Theroux documentaries and Blackadder series two, three and four (don’t even get me started on the monstrosity that is series one).

It was then that I started to expand my box set horizons.

Now, I should say that I have a personality which means I get very invested in things. It takes a lot for me to get past general apathy but, once I am into something, I go whole hog.

My mates have labelled this in a variety of different ways.

The kinder ones call it “heart on sleeve”. The less kind, “nutter”.

This ability to get a bit obsessed with stuff has manifested itself in many different ways.

For instance, from the ages of 11 to 13 I went a bit Tolkien mad.

Inspired by the Peter Jackson trilogy I read everything Middle Earth related.

This included The Silmarillion, which is the definition of a slog.

The culmination of this was that when I came to do my GCSE French (for which I got a D), I actually knew more Elvish.

On an entirely unrelated note I received exactly no female attention during this period.

So when it came to Netflix, there was a serious risk of me getting a little obsessed with these shows – and I did... in a big way.

Like a functioning alcoholic, you would not have known I had a Netflix addiction to look at me, but scratch below the surface and there were signs (or cries for help). These tended to come in the form of my dress sense.

For instance, the first thing I started watching was Suits.

For those who don’t know, the plot is based around very slick, polished and ruthless corporate lawyers.

It also starred a certain Meghan Markle which the more eagle-eyed among you will know is marrying some bloke soon.

These lawyers seemed to work about 26 hours a day, drink very heavily and yet always look dapper in their “suits”.

When I was going through this particular binge my wardrobe took a turn for the expensive.

At the time I thought I looked very sharp. Looking back it was another word beginning with “sh”.

After I got sick of Mike whining his way through the series I moved on (watch it and you’ll understand). Next up I was onto Narcos or, as it was dubbed by house mate, the Summer of Cocaine. The title is a misleading way of saying that I spent the best of the weather inside watching a gang of determined yet heavy-drinking US cops take on Pablo Escobar. This led to me ditching the pinstripe blazer I had been sporting since the spring for a brown leather jacket (fake). I also began the “growth” of a moustache that would have drawn scorn from even the most downy haired pre-pubescent teenage boy.

However, without wanting to give too much away (Google Escobar if you don’t know how it ends), I finished Narcos in the autumn.

Finally I came on to my latest addiction – Peaky Blinders.

If, like I was, you were part of the 1% of people who haven’t seen this programme, I have to say you are missing out.

It follows a criminal gang in Birmingham during the 1920s. It is beautifully shot with perhaps the best music of any series I have watched.

This led me to dressing in a long black duffle coat and adopting an accent which sounded like Jasper Carrott having an identity crisis.

I am not sure what my next series will be – I will keep “yow” informed.