Amid geopolitical chaos, ITV2's Love Island is enjoying a renaissance

With a government still to be formed from election rubble in the UK and one poised to be razed to the ground seemingly at any moment on the other side of the Atlantic, a television viewer might seek catharsis from the current feeling of instability in a show that holds a tinted mirror up to society like The Handmaid's Tale, or it might escape to the blissful triviality of Love Island.

Like many others who should know better, I've found myself watching the latest series, currently airing on ITV2, sort of passively transfixed by its reassuringly consistent non-events.

An attempt at a synopsis of Love Island

Assorted young men and women so ripped and cosmetically enhanced that their bodies somehow look constantly angry sit around in the walled garden of a villa and ogle/talk about each other before heading inside to get dolled up for sitting around some more and further ogling/talking about each other. I've yet to work out the competitive element - a sense of goal or objective or episodic peril - but it doesn't seem to matter; it's not about 'who goes' each week as much as 'who bangs'.

Love Island started in 2005 on ITV1 and ran for two seasons before being cancelled. It was then revived on ITV2 in 2015 for annual editions. As reality TV goes, there is absolutely nothing remarkable about its concept or execution, nothing to set it apart from Big Brother or Geordie Shore (which it seems to be kind of a hybrid of), which makes this next bit an anomaly.

Extensive, objectively impressive ratings data provided by ITV

A bit about why this might be happening

There is obviously a loyal reality TV viewership out there, a contingent of the public who have ensured X Factor's return for 13 years straight and who click on MailOnline stories about an ex-TOWIE star standing next to a bin on holiday, but they don't explain the year-on-year increase, the new viewers.

These, I believe, are those of us who are guilty of sometimes retreating from the 10 o'clock news lately for fear of horrifying breaking news chyrons, or of putting off binging that critically-acclaimed new drama series because it looks just too emotionally scarring. In more stable times we grew bored of reality TV, but now we're getting almost nostalgic for it, and are happy just to spend an hour in a place where the only bombs dropped will be human ones into a swimming pool, where the only exit negotiations will be between nipple and insufficient swimsuit.

It's not even 'guilty' viewing anymore, it's a de-stressing watch as unashamed as the double entendre of the neon 'BANGING' sign hanging behind Caroline Flack on sister show Love Island: Aftersun.

Will Darren tell Dave that he heard Jade erotically applied suncream to Jason on the decking? I don't know, but I will sink into a blissful sofa coma as we find out regardless.