Allison Pearson Normal rules shouldn’t apply to friends of Isil
It is a truth universally acknowledged that if you put 30 scantily clad young people in a well-appointed summer villa then romance will ensue. I put off watching Love Island for as long as possible. I suspected that the dating format would be horribly addictive, and I was right.
Jane Austen would instantly recognise the appeal. Human beings, it seems, are hard-wired to be fascinated by coupledom. Will air hostess Laura, who was cruelly spurned by Jack the Lad for surfer chick Laura (keep up!), find happiness in the outside world with mesmerisingly handsome Paul, the half-swedish model?
Don’t bet on it. Paul has the looks capital to trade up and Laura, ancient at 29, would have been called an old maid back in the day.
Monday is the grand final and the smart money is still on Jack (not the Lad) and Dani, daughter of Eastenders’ star Danny Dyer, to emerge as the eventual winners. Devilishly, they will be handed two envelopes; one contains nothing, the other £50,000.
If it’s true love, they’ll split it. Romance isn’t dead, it just went into showbiz.