WHEN I was a kid it was really important what you did and didn’t watch.

My parents were pretty strict in their views on what was and wasn’t acceptable for us to watch so EastEnders, Grange Hill and Brookside were out and Last of the Summer Wine and Blue Peter were in.

Now I don’t know about you, but the playgrounds of the early 1980s where I was playing hopscotch and making daisy chains were not aflutter with chat about what Compo and Cleggy had been getting up to that week.

No. Everyone was talking about Den and a group of Walford residents breaking into that dirty flat and discovering poor Reg’s body.

They were marvelling at Zammo and his brave chums’ ability to Just Say No in the face of drug addiction.

They did not get to stay up late on a Sunday as a special treat to see how wrinkly Norah Batty’s tights were that week.

And then later, in secondary school when the Fast Show was considered just a bit too grown up, I desperately wanted to be able to chip in with some of the inane catchphrases flying about the corridors without any type of clue what “Scorchio” and “Suits you Sir” meant.

At that point I realised the importance of keeping up with the programmes everyone was watching but I had forgotten about it until recently when I got caught out again by proxy.

My ten-year-old, in what I felt was quite an accusatory manner, asked me why I don’t watch Love Island.

Apparently everyone is watching it and all her friends’ mums watch it - so why don’t I?

I know what it is about - a group of single men and women are in Majorca aiming to couple up and win a cash prize. Are they actually in love or just faking it for the money?

It’s the non-cerebral equivalent of not watching a Game of Thrones.

Everyone is talking about it but apart from about half an hour, I haven’t seen it at length.

In truth it is easily something I could get obsessed with but the snippet I glimpsed involved non-stop shrieking and crying and it put me right off.

It’s basically Big Brother but on a Spanish Island and with Caroline Flack doing the sombre announcing.

Emma Willis must have been miffed since she presents everything else on television right now.

Not even the playground pressure of being the only mum in the village not to be glued to the shenanigans of these bland people will make me catch up with what’s been going on.

But I might Google it so I can hold a basic conversation should I bump into any other mums over the summer holidays.