I’ve been watching Dive Club on Netflix with a sort of stunned fascination. I know I could summon more enthusiasm for the series if I was 16, and accept that it wasn’t made with my demographic in mind.
The all-girl club on the fictitious Australian island of Cape Mercy has the quirkiest clubhouse ever, its own cool boat, and every time the quartet of members go diving they seem to come across priceless artefacts. I admire their sunny dispositions: even though their bestie goes missing, presumed dead, early in the show, they rarely let this spoil their fun.