When Homecoming was released on Amazon Prime in early November I tried, I really did, to love it. I sat stoically through three episodes, eyes bleary as I blinked at my computer screen. At the end of the third, tricky half hour of drama, I gave up.

There wasn’t anything wrong with it, per se. Julia Roberts was, unsurprisingly, fantastic, the staging was stellar, I thought all that funky aspect ratio switching was neat. But I wasn’t enjoying it. So I switched off and onto another Amazon Prime program: The Marvelous Mrs Maisel. I felt my body sink into the warm, gooey world of Midge Maisel, a realm of swishy coats and melt-in-your-mouth brisket and creator Amy Sherman Palladino’s trademark rapidfire jokes. It was fun and fizzy and a total, complete fantasy. I adore it.

The Marvelous Mrs Maisel isn’t for everyone. (Emily Nussbaum, the Pulitzer prize-winning critic from The New Yorker just gave it an absolutely savage review, blasting it as “treacly and exhausting”.) In a straw poll amongst my friends, I discovered that there were at least two of them who thought it was a waste of time, as well as a further four who called it their favourite television series of the year.

Currently, I’m justifying my monthly Amazon Prime membership because I am still yet to finish season two, and I need to know what’s going to happen between the implausibly broad-shouldered Dr Benjamin Ettenberg (Zachary Levi) and deranged, loveable Midge (Rachel Brosnahan).

“Why the term guilty pleasure needs to be banned from our vocabulary immediately”