This is it. This is your reward. For getting through Christmas, for getting through the crisis-laden sorrowfest that was 2025, the gods of television have vouchsafed us all The Hunting Wives, eight episodes of the most perfect trash to fill our screens since – well, I don’t even know when. Since Rivals? Maybe, but like the book it was based on by the late, great Jilly Cooper, that show was too good to qualify for this coveted title. The Hunting Wives is not. The Hunting Wives is perfect trash. The most perfect trash possibly ever – how’s that?
I’m not sure I can explain quite how much fun it is with only the paltry resource of the written word at my disposal but let me limn first its hysterical outlines and we’ll see how we get on.
