When you move in with a partner, you can no longer hide the embarrassing or unattractive parts of yourself. Your dirty laundry is metaphorically and literally aired – and so are your bad habits.

Six months ago, cohabiting with my partner for the first time meant coming face to face with my addiction: I cannot stop watching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

In less than a year, I have watched all 15 seasons of the Bravo franchise, equating to about 250 hours of reality television. I have done this while also completing normal tasks like work, seeing friends and walking my dog.

When I reached the end of season 15 this week, I felt a strange mixture of relief and fear. I was no longer captive to the show but I also depended on it.

How would I pass a day without checking in on the curated lives of extremely rich women I have never met? The only time I had previously gone without my Real Housewives girlies was when I was on holidays and without access to my laptop.

There is something about these toxic minor celebrities and their melodramatic arguments that is both extremely engaging and weirdly soothing.

Each season ticks by in largely the same format, even as the cast evolves (one tall blond woman........

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