‘I WAKE up and I think: ‘Again? Really? I have to do this again?’”, ice-cool female assassin Villanelle – played by Jodie Comer – tells the recovery meeting in episode six of Killing Eve’s second series. Her previous “poor me” routine didn’t play well with the group, who dissed her inability to get real with herself. Now she’s trying honesty for the first time, and it’s working.

“It’s so boring,” she says of the emptiness of life on Earth. “What I really don’t understand is why everyone else isn’t screaming with boredom too.” The others in the circle nod knowingly. “We can all relate to that,” says the meeting leader.

I’ve watched this despite the box set having been online for mere days. I’ve gobbled it in a heady high of endorphin-driven pleasure and with only two episodes to go, I’ve already had a glimpse into the empty chasm lying in wait when the ride is over.

So maybe that’s what’s driven me back into the hunky arms of Love Island, the ITV2 summer-in-the-sun dating show and ratings phenomenon.

Now in its fifth series, it once again features a parade of body-beautiful “sexy singles”, who sign up to spend eight long weeks lounging around in uncomfortably skin-tight, floss-like swimwear in a villa on the Spanish Balearic island of Majorca.

There’s an infinity pool that no-one ever seems to use, maybe because it might ruin their fake tan. And they claim to be looking for love – this year casting producers even managed to turn up air hostess Amy Hart who, at 26, has never had a boyfriend – but there’s also a £50,000 prize, lucrative social media sponsorship and tabloid coverage to be won.

Recently, however, it emerged that there is far more at stake. In the past year, three people connected with the reality TV show have taken their own lives – Sophie Gradon and Mike Thalassitis were contestants, while the third was Sophie’s boyfriend, Aaron Armstrong, who killed himself just weeks after Gradon’s body was found in her home last June.

The circumstances were complicated, of course, and inquests into their deaths made no suggestion of causality. But it highlighted the vulnerability of reality TV stars. In the outcry that followed producers promised things would change, with a stricter vetting process, bespoke training and support, a “proactive approach” throughout filming and after-show support. Other criticisms would also be addressed, they claimed, with diversity of body types and more BAME contestants introduced to counter charges of racism after the majestic Samira Mighty – the only black woman on last year’s show – being repeatedly overlooked.

I first tuned in to Love Island last year, initially baffled by the world of symmetrical features, layered tans, whitened teeth and shaved chests. I couldn’t make myself care whether Wes Nelson chose Laura Anderson – last year’s blond air hostess – or straight-talking stripper Megan Barton-Hanson. But the more I watched, the more addictive it became.

Here, hiding beneath the supposed raunch of bed sharing – and swapping – was a weirdly old-fashioned Cinderella heteronormative and conservative vision. And alongside that was a hilarious rolling social media commentary that made this show a fascinating window into 21st century life. It was sheer escapism but with plenty of juicy bits to deconstruct.

I didn’t watch this year’s launch but 3.3 million others did – the highest-ever ratings for an opening night. The following night, viewer numbers peaked at 3.7m, taking an 18.5% audience share.

Fair to say then that it’s still popular. In terms of ethnic diversity, it’s undeniably moved away from the almost all-white line-up of last year, though there were early rumblings about the lack of screen time for black scientist Yewande Biala this year, and predictability some racist abuse online.

Body diversity, meanwhile, extends to the fact that Anna Vakili, a 28-year-old pharmacist who lives in London, is tall and curvy. But plus-sized? Puhleeze. Otherwise it’s the same array of muscly men and well-toned women. Producers are unrepentant, arguing this is a dating show and they need everyone to fancy each other. Who could fancy someone who looked normal, right?

It’s other world oddness is just as striking this year too. Countries across the globe are declaring climate emergencies and our plastic-infested seas are rising as you read this. But here on Love Island everyone arrives in their own jeep – whooping with excitement on approach – the villa is “lit up like a Christmas tree” every night, and we’re sold fast food and fast fashion relentlessly throughout the ad breaks. The only time climate change is mentioned is in a hashtag in a text telling Biala she’s going on a date and getting a change of scene.

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And then there’s the boredom factor – that stifling ennui that oozes from the early episodes, so familiar to Villanelle and anyone who’s read a Jane Austen novel. Everyone is looking to steal someone away for a chat. Usually, in the case of Scottish gym owner Anton Danylu, it’s to hit on them or tell them he’s about to hit on the woman they’ve been trying it on with, and yet no-one has anything to say.

Caterer Joe Garrett tries to impress Lucie Donlan – who is dreaming of being out surfing – by telling her about his favourite sandwich, while boxer Tommy Fury (the biggest revelation of the early episodes being he doesn’t know how to make a cup of tea) tries out some new vocab, proudly pairing the word breakfast with exquisite.

Danylu tries to cheer up Amber Gill by introducing her to laughter therapy. “The theory is your body can’t tell the difference between a fake laugh and a real laugh,” he tells her. There is a catch in my throat as I watch her faking it until she manages a hollow chuckle. The contestants’ eyes glaze over as they spend another long day lounging, but maybe it’s against the rules to say the b word.

Perhaps that’s what happened to Sherif Lanre – the rumours are he had to leave after nine long days for transgressions involving mobile phone use or masturbating in the hot tub. But I bet he just let loose a scream of boredom.

Just when I’m fantasising about letting Villanelle loose amongst this bunch of losers, trouble enters in the form of [boxing] ring girl Maura Higgins, who makes an aggressive play for Tommy – at one point attempting to kiss him in what many on Twitter regarded as harassment.

We know she’s a faker because any woman who maintains she fancies a man who has just served her a piece of bread and processed cheese with mayonnaise and ketchup squeezed on top on a first date, is 100% at it.

For Instagram star Molly-Mae Hague – who has been blowing hot and cold on the boxer for days – the competition is hard to take and suddenly the gloves are off. Higgins keeps on the mask for now, but there are some real feelings on show (maybe) and the audience is mostly rooting for Hague as a result.

Meanwhile, Hart turns on Donlan for distancing herself from the other women. Donlan, in tears, admits she’s got no female buddies because she prefers the company of men. There are kisses (at last), and loyal friendships blossom.

Wrapped up amongst all this are some unpleasant twists being rolled out by the producers – is this really the responsible TV they promised? But it’s undeniable that as well as more drama we’re finally seeing more emotional honesty. And that, in truth, is always where things are going to get interesting.

You may not have watched episode six of Killing Eve, so all I’ll say is whatever happens next on the island, let’s hope no-one is as reckless as Villanelle after pulling back the curtain on her inner feelings.

Emotional truth and reality television are never an easy mix. The challenge for Love Island is to serve up the authenticity and vulnerability that audiences can relate to, while leaving the cruelty firmly at the door. In the meantime, I’m going back to Killing Eve – and contemplating the void.