General

20 Jan

Lockdown 2: A New Hope

If ever there was a year that’s under a lot of pressure to deliver, it’s 2021. Not fair really. There’s been this unspoken, unfounded but understood belief that last year’s horror show would somehow vanish as soon as the Town Hall clock struck midnight on January 1st. With each and every one of those chimes ringing across the soggy Copenhagen night air, we would bid good riddance to a year blighted by pandemic, and usher in a new dawn of viral-free freedom. Except it didn’t. Funny that.

2021 has already caved under pressure. It’s told us we shouldn’t get our hopes up. Within only a week of its birth, this year delivered us an unbridled attack on the very seat of US democracy. The images of a failed coup ascending Capitol Hill was a sight to behold. A conflagration of jagged, angry flags, ludicrous facial hair, UFO abductees, Far Right nutjobs and extras from Deliverance. That wasn’t so funny.

Last year was especially turbulent for me. January 2020 alone saw an unexpected and tragic death in the family, me blighted by a nasty bout of shingles and then both kids simultaneously struck down by chicken pox so aggressive, they resembled those doomed engineers ordered to cool down Reactor 4 at Chernobyl. And then, a few weeks later, just when things started to calm down for us and sickness had waned, the entire world caved in on itself. What a time to be alive. But I remain hopeful.

Globally speaking, we are lucky to be living here in the time of corona. The UK crumbled. The British government proved even worse at handling a pandemic than Brexit. I remain largely disinterested by Danish politics – too much choice and not enough variety – but I do applaud the current government. Their relatively swift action enabled schools and nurseries to reopen and people to return to work in good time, albeit under different, strange conditions.

As a parent, I was grateful my kids could continue to enjoy their own kind and we could preserve our sanity. As a performer, I know just how fortunate I was to spend a large chunk of last year doing stand-up comedy and improv to paying audiences all around this city, when so many overseas had their professions and employment crushed overnight by months of interminable lockdown. OK, so things have since gone backwards, but we turned it around before, I remain hopeful we can do it again.

Now Brexit has happened, along with all other Brits living here, I must reapply for residency. I remain hopeful this will be just a formality and not a hurdle. I’ve lived here half a decade now, this is my home. It is my kids’ home. I want them to enjoy growing up here. Then in ten years’ time, we can visit the smoldering ruins of Daddy’s homeland and buy a Chelsea townhouse for five jellied eels and a pickled egg.

I also remain hopeful I can shed the lockdown weight and keep it off. I have no patience for diets. Now is not the time. We need all the comfort food we can get. So home exercise that doesn’t involved being screamed at by a lycra-clad YouTuber is the way forward. After years of being a proud member of gyms I won’t go to, the other week I stumped up for a rowing machine. A fancy one. I’ve already used it. I remain hopeful I will use it twice.

Finally, I remain hopeful you will buy my book. It’s entitled Stan Lee: How Marvel Changed the World, out March 31st. It’s about the man who helped invent some of the world’s most famous comic-book superheroes. But I’ve cunningly written it so you don’t have to be a comic book fan to also find it interesting. It’s a joyous romp through a century of mainstream entertainment – stage, radio, TV, film and online – seen through the life of a man who was at the forefront of popular culture for over seventy years. It’s fun, funny, full of weird trivia, and I hope as fascinating to read as I found it to research and write. You can pre-order now directly from White Owl Books or via Amazon. It’s my first book, but I remain hopeful it won’t be my last.

By admin Books General News Uncategorized comedy, comedy writing, Copenhagen, corona, COVID-19, Expat life, lockdown, Marvel Comics, Stan Lee
05 May
Diary of a Lockdown Nobody
Recently those delightful folks at The Copenhagen Post collected my social media ramblings during the Coronavirus lockdown for posterity. You can read the original article here, but I’ve also shared them below. Enjoy.

March 11
With Denmark now on lockdown, the mask of civilisation starts to slip. The happiest people on Earth turn and eat each other. The welfare state transforms into a police state. Strings of Danish flags will be replaced by barbed wire. Hygge becomes hazmat. Quarantine zones erupt with hideous violence, with once-decent folk ripping each other to pieces over a single pastry. The seas boil, the skies fall. Christiania becomes a huge prison – a deep, yawning chasm pulsing with broken, seething, angry, drug-fuelled Danes. Blood lust will be satisfied via live prime-time competitive entertainment, played out on stolen TV sets powered by rats. From this fallen city, heroes will rise who will lead us from this nightmarish Babylon to a place of sanctuary … That’s what I’m hoping anyway.

March 14
As we begin two weeks in total lockdown, it’s vital to stay calm. Here are five top tips on how you and your family can make the enforced isolation more tolerable.

Read the dictionary out loud until the inevitable collapse into violence. Savour every punch.
Keep the kids occupied by signing them up to work multiple shifts at the supermarket. In Minsk.
Hide in the fridge until your partner opens the door, then scream ‘OH CHRIST NOT YOU AGAIN. STOP TELLING ME HOW TO LIVE MY LIFE!’
Recreate key scenes from ‘The Battle of Algiers’ using whatever food you have left in the cupboard.
Teach yourself how to defeat a bear. Trust me, it WILL be useful.

March 16
Whatever happened to quicksand? It was a big deal in the ‘80s. People got stuck in it on TV all the time. Now not so much.

March 17
Look on the bright side. Because all meetings now take place remotely via video, we can have a good old snoop into people’s homes.

March 18
How hard is it working from home with kids? Put it this way. It’s taken me 48 minutes to listen to a song that lasts just over four.

March 19
What I want to know is why are there so few cases in Russia and India, which border China for thousands of miles? And how can a country like China, with over a billion people, and traditionally underwhelming hygiene and food preparation records (relative to other developed countries), have contained this so quickly? Why has their economy now recovered suspiciously quickly while Europe is on its knees. Are the Chinese now rapidly buying up shares, assets and investments in Western stock while we’re busy staying inside? And why-oh-god-please-help-me-I’ve-been-stuck-inside-for-three-days-and-I-need-some-evidence-based-facts-before-my-addled-mind-lumbers-further-into-paranoid-conspiracy-theories.

March 20
Six months of dark, grey Danish winter. Now glorious sunshine, we all have to pretend we’re in ‘The Shining’.

March 28
With the world going to hell in a handcart, only a fool would try to sell their home, right? We’ll I’m that fool. If you know anyone interested in a piece of prime Copenhagen real estate so desirable and at such a bargain it would make Lex Luthor collapse with joy, then please share or recommend.

March 29
A belated thank you to all who took the time out of your busy schedule to wish me a happy birthday. Those of you who know me will be aware I have trained my whole life for this lockdown.

I grew up glued to the TV. I don’t much care for being outdoors. I enjoy my own company. I know how to keep myself amused for weeks on end without leaving the house and I have no great itch to do anything physical other than pour a fifth gin. I could have ridden this out without breaking a sweat.

In fact, when the pandemic lifts, I’d probably be the one person asking for another couple of days to prepare myself for interacting with society.

March 31
Just sent my finished book to the publishers. Thanks to all who made it possible. Am now going to stay in and get wrecked.

April 3
Right now I’d happily start an aggressive and destructive drugs habit just for the stint in rehab #lockdownwithkids.

April 9
I went for a run today. An actual run. I actually ran. And I was bad at it. Just terrible. Caught a glimpse of myself as I wheezed past a shop window. I looked like an overweight bear standing on its hind legs for the first time. How can this be? How can someone be bad at running? It’s a basic human ability. We evolved to run. Fight or flight. I can’t do either. Here I stand, a miracle of evolution. They should make a Netflix documentary about me. About my shocking inability to rapidly move my limbs. And I wasn’t even wearing heavy tweed or holding a sherry. So I shall continue this endeavour until I have mastered the art of swift movement. Wish me luck. Donations welcome.

Easter Sunday
It’s so important to remember why we celebrate Easter. How, two thousand years ago, Jesus was sent to prison by a military court for a crime he didn’t commit. This man promptly escaped from a maximum-security stockade to the Lost Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, he survives as a soldier of fortune. If you have a problem, if no-one else can help, and if you can find him, maybe you can hire … Jesus.

April 15
Here’s a thought. If you’re feeling anxious, stressed or scared. Stop watching the news. Stop reading articles about coronavirus. It’s not helping. It really isn’t. It doesn’t make us feel good. The press don’t thrive on making us feel good. Never have. Never will.

Currently there are too many stories floating around about how terrible things could be – rolling-news padding that serves as filler in between what scarce real news there truly is. And by ‘real news’, I mean information that will move things forward. And trust me. We’re so plugged in, anything productive that we need to know, we WILL hear about. Vaccines, antibody tests, the dead rising from the grave, you’ll be notified. In the meantime, absorbing endless charts of death or journalists and politicians politicising a pandemic will only trigger and fuel anxiety, anger and blame.

Truth is we’re all still in stasis right now. That’s about it. Nothing has changed. The virus is here. It’s not going away. Many people are getting it. Some are dying. It’s horrible. We must be vigilant. So it goes. Anything else is purely emotive click-bait. So while we wait for things to progress, let’s just keep talking, stay in touch, and find the funny side wherever we can. So here’s the fish-slapping dance.

April 19
You know you need to exercise when you see a ‘before/after’ gym ad and think: “I’d just be happy with the ‘before’ pic.”
By admin General News Writing comedy, comedy writing, corona, corona diary, coronalockdown, coronavirus, COVID-19, lockdown, writing
30 Nov

I Live in Denmark and Don’t speak Danish. Here’s why.

I recently wrote something for The Copenhagen Post which I knew would cause a bit of a ruffle. But I stand by it. Here it is in full.

I had an epiphany the other day that reduced my stress levels no end: I am no longer going to feel guilty about not speaking Danish.

I’m going to let it go.

Some people say to me I should speak Danish. Like it’s an easy task. Like it’s not a hard language to learn. Well it is. It really is. I mean, there’s a reason it never caught on. And I’m raising two tiny kids. I’m not going to dedicate what precious little down time I have to sitting in a classroom of an evening learning Danish. I’m too tired.

Some people have said that the fact I don’t speak Danish is disrespectful. I’ll tell you what else is disrespectful. Trying to make me do something I don’t have the time, money or inclination to do, just so you can feel a little less uncomfortable. Me not speaking Danish is not going to undermine Danish culture, tradition and heritage. I’m polite and courteous, I work hard, I obey the law. I pay my taxes. I’m just trying to get through the damn day. Leave me alone.

And if you’re not comfortable speaking English? That’s fine. I’ll meet you half way. We can still converse. Because I guarantee your English will always be better than my Danish. And speaking Danish to Danes is a grueling, demoralizing ordeal. Why? Because Danes are just not used to hearing their language spoken with a foreign accent, so there’s no cognitive elasticity. That’s why, if you mispronounce a Danish word, even slightly, they often won’t understand you. They won’t meet you half way.

Some people have told me I’m arrogant. How dare I come over here and not speak the language. I’m not arrogant. I’m just honest and realistic. I do understand why some ex pats feel they should learn Danish. They see themselves as guests in this country. Well I’ve got news for you. You’re not a guest. You come here legally and pay your taxes? You’ve got as much right to be here as any Dane. And if you think being born here gives you the right to tell a foreigner how they should conduct themselves, if they contribute equally to society, then you’re just a big old racist.

I’m not patriotic. As you can tell. Take my own country. There are things I love about Britain. There are things I hate about Britain – especially right now. But it has great pubs! I loathe nationalism. It’s dangerous, it’s divisive and it’s destructive. I don’t care where you’re from. Just be kind, be generous of spirit, be open to others’ differences. That’s enough surely?

I love the ex pat community. Because here, we interact with people from all over the world, bringing with us a veritable multiverse of culture, history, customs and experience. Denmark is a monoculture. The ex pats bring the diversity. They bring vibrancy. This is not a ghetto, it’s a wonderful rainbow of inclusivity, splattering colour over all this Danish grey. I’m proud to call myself an ex pat. We don’t all need to be waving a flag all the time.

By admin General brexit, British Ex pat, Copenhagen, Danish, Denmark, Ex Pat, Ex pat life
01 Jul

No Sex Please, We’re Creating: Gender and Equality in the Writers’ Room

There was a bit of a hoo-ha recently when it was reported that ITV’s Head Of Comedy, Saskia Schuster has banned all-male comedy writing teams.

Monty Python (less Terry G) 1969: arguably the most famous comedy writing team ever. The Oxbridge graduates used to meet regularly upstairs at Soho’s famous Nellie Dean pub in Soho. Women need not apply.

This lead to all sorts of misguided and unhelpful online outrage about men being marginalised so women could be fast-tracked into the British comedy industry, regardless of merit.

Now, as anyone with even a Trump-sized brain knows, this is not discriminating against men. It’s a laudable attempt to redress the balance in what has historically been a male-dominated space.

The Simpsons writers’ room, early 90s. Note: the only female present is cardboard. And a baby.

Writer and performer Brona C Titley offered this excellent response in The Guardian, which compelled me share my own experience of working in a comedy writers’ room.

My sole experience is an odd one, and not much fun.

I worked on a (thankfully) failed attempt to replicate a US late-night talk show for UK audiences. I spent several weeks trapped in a braying sausage fest, all white men, leftovers from Loaded magazine.

My overriding memory is just how exhausting it was. All the banter about ‘fit birds’ and ‘’aving it large’ (whatever the fuck that means) turning to tedious white noise.

Funny thing is, I was completely marginalised and ignored throughout the process even among ‘my own kind’, because I was the only one in the room who knew nothing about football and wasn’t a lad, thereby somehow invalidating my input.

This wasn’t an awful experience because they were all white men, but because they were monstrous arseholes who happened to be white men. But the fact there was no diversity didn’t help.

You gather together one type of ANYBODY in a room and the experience will nosedive pretty fast.

I’ve had incredibly satisfying creative collaborations exclusively with white men, exclusively with white women, and with a diverse mix of talented people.

Crucially, I’ve also had awful experiences working with all of the above.

Tina Fey‘s brilliant 30 Rock, based on her own experiences as Head Writer in SNL.

Equality and diversity should be encouraged in every endeavour; Titley’s article is bang on. It’s tragic we still even have to say this. But what irks me is that such dialogue in the public space often rapidly descends into identity politics. Which is a cop out.

Monty Python, a lot of whose output has dated horribly, will always be a profound influence. As is Peter Cook and Peter Sellers. As is Jerry Seinfeld and Robin Williams. But I don’t admire them because they are all white men. But because their comedic brains resonate with me. Still do.

The greatest thing about the greatest comedy is that it transcends class, race and gender.

Alternatively, Fleabag, the best comedy I’ve seen in a long time, isn’t superb because Phoebe Waller-Bridge is a woman, it’s because she’s a phenomenal writer, actor and director. But thank God we live in times where she was given the opportunities to gift the world her brilliantly warped mind.

Because, as Titley correctly asserts, everyone who works in the creative industry does so because they were given an opportunity.

Fleabag. Created and written by a hugely talented human. Who happens to be a woman.

There is no doubt that diversity tends to birth infinitely more interesting work – IF the chemistry is there. And I think that’s crucial for me. That’s how you create your best work and ultimately, it’s the work that counts.

Bottom line, I don’t really give a shit who is in the room with me as long as they bring something to the table.

By admin General News Radio Stand Up TV comedy, comedy writing, diversity, equality, gender, ITV, jerry seinfeld, monty python, robin williams, Saskia Schuster, sex, television, writers room, writing for tv
24 Jun

The Fox in the Henhouse: Boris Johnson Will Be Our Prime Minister

I continue to watch from across the old sea as my country collapses in on itself. Weird times. Strange days.

Three years ago, when we had the chance to stop Brexit, we failed. Even those who canvassed so aggressively to leave looked as surprised as us ‘remoaners’ when the results came in. Gove, Johnson and Farage stumbled out, blinking into the morning light in utter bewilderment.

They tapped into the anti-establishment malcontent, patriotic impotence and paranoid xenophobia that had been brewing among the British population following 2008’s banking crisis and years of subsequent austerity, and their barrage of bluster and bullshit actually convinced some people this might dig us out of whatever hole they perceived us all to be in. Well, look at us all now.

LOOK. AT. US.

We thought it was bad then. It’s a fantasist’s utopia compared to the toxic clown convention currently seeping amidst Whitehall today.

Three years on since we cracked open the Hellmouth, unleashing all these foul demons, and Britain still festers as the punchline of a truly abysmal joke. But here’s the topper. A ridiculous, scheming oaf is set to rule Albion.

We’re about to witness the keys to the Kingdom being handed over to a self-serving shaved ape who lacks the charm or grace to see that he lacks both charm and grace.

A coiffured suet pudding whose existence is so rarified and exclusive, he equates human suffering with not having that fifth helping of Sasquatch steak and mermaid caviar.

A conniving boar-bear chimera who mistakes stubborn tenacity for guiding principles, bare-faced mendacity for political acumen and cheap charisma for intellectual savvy.

A fair-weather politician who switches his views and policies at the drop of his topper to manipulate whomever he is trying to either bully into submission or woo under the jizz-splattered sheets of his extra-marital bedchamber.

To call him a swivel-eyed loon would be an insult to swivel-eyed loons; he is a dog chasing cars.

He just wants to clutch his Golden Snitch, all consequences be damned. A glorified journalist with a nose for popular rhetoric and received opinion, which makes him more dangerous than the facade of public buffoonery might suggest.

At some point in his bafflingly-fascinating life he decided to imitate his political idol Sir Winston ‘it’s complicated’ Churchill.

He thought he could position himself as the determined British Bulldog, chugging down Blitz spirit as he bulldozes his way through to the hearts and minds of the people and into the hallway of Number Ten.

After the Bus Debacle and the very public professional evisceration, we all thought he failed. Then This happened. He’s only gone and done it. He’s only gone and bloody done it.

Despite all those lies, gaffs, tricks and blunders, it’s actually happening.

The worst part? When this overgrown homunculus lumbers into the top job – which he inevitably will – he’ll feel utterly vindicated in his self conviction. That he was right all along. That he was destined to be Prime Minister.

Fuck all you naysayers and fuck all your slandering, he proved them all wrong. He’s reached the top of the tree and you know he will only go down swinging. And all we can do is watch this unholy shitshow unfold in hideous realtime.

There is nothing we can do except witness this monstrous arsehole take the reins and charge the stallions over the precipice.

This is why I drink a lot of gin.

By admin General boris johnson, brexit, british politics, conservative party, conservatives, pm, prime minister, rubbish, shitstorm, tabloids, tories, tory
25 May

Excelsior! I’ve Signed a Deal to Write a Book About Stan Lee

Hello world.

I am thrilled to announce that I have been commissioned by Pen and Sword Books to write a shiny new book about Stan Lee.

In case you didn’t know, Stan is one of the most important creative forces of the twentieth century. He helped shape pop culture as we know it. The cavalcade of flawed, multidimensional characters he co-created for Marvel Comics (including Spider-Man, X-Men, The Fantastic Four, Iron Man, Hulk and Black Panther) still resonate with millions across the globe.

His work helped spawn the most successful film franchise of all time; the Marvel Cinematic Universe has collectively grossed nearly $20 billion – and counting. Not too shabby.

On a personal note, Stan’s iconic work has been a constant in my life. From being an excitable kid prancing around the house in a Spider-Man costume and the hundreds of Marvel comics still gathering dust in my mum’s attic, to bunking off work to catch a 9am screening of the first Avengers film (sorrynotsorry Comedy Central) and now sharing these film with my son, his vibrant imagination continues to excite me no end.

This is a dream come true for a grumpy ageing fanboy such as myself and I can’t wait to get stuck into the next chapter of my career.

I’d like to offer my heartfelt thanks to Hannah George, Marc Burrows, Dave Jackson, Matt McAllister and Kate Bohdanowicz for their help in making this happen. Now all I’ve got to do is write the damn thing. Because as the Man says, with a small amount of power, comes a small amount of responsibility. Or something.

More updates on this, including release dates, to follow. Watch this space.

By admin General News Stan Lee Writing Avengers, Biography, Black Panther, Black Widow, books, Captain America, Comics, Fantastic Four, Hulk, Iron Man, literature, Marvel Comics, Spider-Man, Stan Lee, Thor, writing
07 Jul

Improv in NYC and Horror on a Summer Afternoon

Hello world.

Quick update. Just returned from performing improv at the Del Close Marathon in New York. Fortunate enough to do two shows with one of my teams at Improv Comedy Copenhagen. A real honour, a real bucket list ticker and a real treat. Roll on next year!

In other news, my latest column/piece/blog/thingy for The Copenhagen Post is live. It’s all about the terrifying experience I had hosting a cake auction at my son’s nursery summer party. Enjoy!

As you were.

xA

By admin General Performances Uncategorized Writing
12 Apr

Death, Pride and Prejudice

Hello world. Hope all is well in yours.

The first part of 2018 has been a curious one for me. During the first week of January, my stepfather passed away the gloriously ripe old age of 91. He’d been battling Parkinson’s Disease for a long time, and my mother had also endured a great deal looking after him during his final years. It’s a grisly terminal illness and I was glad and thankful to see the end to both their suffering.

The greatest trick death ever pulled is convincing you its all about you. Of course it’s not. Death doesn’t happen to you. Once you’re gone you’re gone – wherever that may be. Death happens to everyone else. The shock, the tears, the seemingly endless practicalities. The tedious minutae of planning. That’s the essence of death surely. Grief and logistics. Those left behind have to process so much. Even in this case when it’s expected and indeed welcome, death really is exhausting.

So recent events ensured that start of my year was oddly timeless. At once fast yet slow. After an inevitable period of adjustment, I suddenly realised it was April. Running concurrently with family events, I’d taken a break from improv and stand up to take part in a theatrical adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. After last year’s Zoo Story, I was approached about playing Mr Bennet, the distant and sarcastic pater familias of the family at the heart of Jane Austen’s classic commentary of love, family and early 19th century social airs and graces.

I readily accepted. I like being sarcastic and if I get to do it while wearing late Georgian fashion all the better. The production is being staged in Denmark by Copenhagen Theatre Circle and I’ve had the pleasure of working with some talented, lovely people. It’s rare in this game to meet people who are both talented AND lovely – they’ve always seemed to me hitherto mutually exclusive – and thanks to this vibrant cast, I have laughed and learned a lot along the way.

Pride and Prejudice opens on April 18th and closes on 28th. It’s been an intense and intensive schedule during the build up and at times it’s been rather gruelling. I’ve been spoiled by improv I have to say. You just get up with nothing and create on the spot. I’m an impatient show off and I enjoy the instant gratification from winging it and discovering funny and extraordinary multiple characters in the moment. I find improv to be closer an experience to stand-up comedy than conventional theatre and I’d forgotten the more arduous aspects of the latter. Blocking, thrashing out character motivation, weeks of rehearsals and, of course, learning lines. Still, I was flattered to have been asked and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the process of finding the character, trying to bring a little piece of myself into such an iconic literary figure. I am proud to be involved and look forward to taking the stage next week.

That said, we haven’t even started the run and already I’m exhausted. But being exhausted seems to be defining quality of 2018. Family has been front and centre both on and off stage. Seems fitting to reflect on how one feeds into the other. As I pretend to be an emotionally absent father who struggled with his duties towards his wife and daughters, I can’t help but reflect on the role my stepdad played in my life. He too was a complicated man, but a good man. He was no stranger to stepping back from the more dramatic aspects of those around him and often indulged in considered bursts of wry sarcasm. I suspect he and Mr Bennet would have got on rather well.

Pride and Prejudice
18-28 April 2018
Weekdays at 19:00
Saturdays at 14:00 and 19:00
Sunday at 14:00
Buy tickets here

Krudttønden
Serridslevvej 2
2100 København Ø

By admin General News Performances acting, literature, performances, pride and prejudice, theatre
07 Sep

Death, Change and Flux

Weird couple of weeks. Having taken a month off work, I have spent more time than usual reflecting on everything about my life. Not to say I was wallowing, more that I have been extra mindful of my current direction and, more specifically, the choices I make or don’t make to steady the train, clear the tracks and ensure safe passage through life in all its florid glory. So, perhaps it is sadly rather apposite that during this period of introspection an old school friend suddenly passed away.

The greatest trick death pulls is making you believe it happens to you; it is of course something that happens to everyone else. Finding solace in heaven, reincarnation, or a final, everlasting sleep does not change the fact that as far as this mortal realm is concerned, once you’re gone you’re gone. It is those left behind who have to process tragedy, deal with the myriad of conflicting, painful emotions and pick up the pieces. It is everyone else who has to make sense of what it means to just stop living.

Of course, those of a religious persuasion find comfort in the notion that when we die we go somewhere else, but as religions dwindle, our society finds concepts of an afterlife or the soul increasingly amorphous and vague. Everything seemed clearer in the past. However primitive, there was a system in place and, more significantly, a destination. The ancient Egyptians believed when you died you had to endure a rigorous series of trials to determine what happens to your soul in the afterlife. You needed to have memorised elaborate texts, incantations and spells from the Book of the Dead – the ultimate theory driving test. Your heart was then weighed against a ‘feather of truth’ which means, as anyone with even the most basic understanding of physics will tell you, the odds are already stacked against you. Still, when you’re being judged by a colossal being with the head of a jackal, all rational bets are off. This notion of your fate in the hereafter being determined by how you behaved in life has endured in many faiths because it IS comforting. It suggests a purer form of justice beyond our mortal reach, that life is balance, that life is fair. Which, of course, it isn’t.

Today we have no death culture and we need one. Not necessarily the need for religious conviction that when we die we go to a better place, more that as a culture we need to collectively embrace death precisely BECAUSE is unites and sustains us. In the past disease and war brought us together in mourning. Sharing a traumatic experience gave us the strength and tools to face the unknown – a united front against a common enemy. During the Nineteenth Century, thousands in London perished due to the stifling grip of cholera. The carnage of World War One saw entire towns in the North of England lose every single man and boy. In the past life was cheap. Now it is reassuringly expensive. We have spent a fortune to ensure that many previously fatal diseases are now curable and controllable, while the nature of modern warfare and no conscription means organised conflict takes place among paid volunteers in some far flung desert. It is remote, it is distant. In this country at least, neither disease nor war has the same raging conflagration that incinerates whole communities, but by the same token we are no longer brought together on a regular basis to face the white-heat immediacy of death. Thanks to scientific and medical advances, we are living longer than ever before, but this means grief is less frequently felt and so we are less equipped to handle it. The idea that ‘it was just their time’ is fought tooth and nail. Not many of us are willing to meet death head on. It’s rarely our time because so few of us are ready.

So what do we do? We hide behind language. From the comical list of euphemisms spouted with high-pitched venom by John Cleese when returning his dead parrot to the more sensitive phrases used in polite conversation to soothe, the reason we have so many alternative ways of conveying death is because for many it is too unfathomable to comprehend. We talk of people ‘passing on’ or ‘passing away’, a reminder that not only is life fleeting, but also that those who die are merely on the move, heading somewhere else. No need to get up, I’m just passing through. See you in a bit.

My friend had a troublesome life. He found certain aspects difficult and due to many factors we’ll never truly know, it all came to a head last month. Though we were close in the past, it would be untrue to state we were best buds or that even though the news came as a shock, I was not surprised. I can say, however, that my heart goes out to his family. Death also has the power to relieve and release, but to see someone never realise all their dreams, ambitions and potential is a tragedy.

And yet how do we know if we have fulfilled our potential? Potential to oneself? To others? The more you peel away the idea that we all are here for a reason, to strive towards an admirable goal, the more everything starts to unravel. Is it best just to accept that things ‘just happen’? That you just keep your head down and get on with it? No room for navel gazing here, best leave that to those furrow-browed, emotional European philosophers of days past. Whether you spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking about death or never give it a second thought, it’s going to happen whether you like it or not. Realistic? Yes. Comforting? Not really.

Life is flux, and I believe embracing that flux is key to happiness. It was staring down the barrel of professional inertia that moved me to make recent changes in my own life. Were they the right choices? Time will tell. And that’s the point. We all move forward regardless and we can’t afford to be neutral on a moving train. Whether we press down hard to gain momentum, strain to apply the brakes or strive to redirect the route, all the decisions we make will affect the trip, regardless of the destination. Best make them count. My friend has reached the end of his journey. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s enjoying his slumber. As for the rest of us, fingers crossed we’re headed in the right direction; I guess we’ll find out when we get there. RIP old friend, hope you enjoyed the ride.

By admin General
20 Aug

The Great British Sod Off

Hello world,

First post in a while but that may well change. For starters I’ve unchained the shackles of Comedy Central after several years and am back out there in the real world. Glad I dived right in; the water’s just fine.

Secondly, I felt compelled to write because tonight marks the return of the adored Great British Bake Off. Now in its fourth series, that chunky, handsome man with the twinkly eyes (no, not me) and the woman who looks the evil pastor in Poltergeist 2 are back to reassure the nation that everything isn’t really that bad and we are in control; nothing calms the soul more than watching a group of people whose greatest struggle involves an inaccurately folded loaf of cholla or an overly-tart lemon drizzle cake.

I have nothing against this sort of warm cardigan telly in principal, but what I do find rather sad is that this is a prime example of an increasingly depressing trend of major broadcasters of replacing quality, thought-provoking, original and, above all, entertaining programming with what is lazy, drawn-out, quick-win and ultimately empty daytime television.

I should say, first off, that having worked in TV for a long time, I understand the squeeze programme makers currently endure. The digital revolution has diluted the water, the money is dwindling and the need to spread themselves across multi-platform outlets has seen reduced risk-taking by broadcasters in terms of the formats they commission. I understand all this; I used to see it every day.

But. Shows like this gall me because historically they would be tucked away alongside Watercolour Challenge and My First Doily in the middle of the afternoon – gentle, passive shows that brought together the pensioner and the student alike, soothing them into a soporific but beatific stupor until they go out/go to bed at about 6pm. The Great British Bake Off should not be on 8pm. At the risk of sounding like a Daily Mail article, it’s a waste of the licence fee.

Since they have made the jump to primetime, we are left with effectively 20 minutes of television cynically drawn out over an hour to fill the schedule. You just watch. Next time one of these shows is on keep an eye out for the insufferable levels of repetition in the voice over, talking heads, interviews and participants’ comments over 60 minutes. If I catch one more episode of Masterchef where we are reminded every six minutes that Gavin from Weybridge is out of his comfort zone with a fish dish I’ll build a van out of those desserts Greg Wallace loves so much and crash it through his kitchen.

I’m not saying all primetime TV should be highbrow and elitist. We do have enough channels to spread the love and there’s more than enough room for comedy, drama and documentaries that are broad and mainstream; I welcome it. I just feel (rather sentimentally I admit) that major network broadcasters should be leading from the front as they used to. Also, I just miss the craft that goes into programme making. They say a show comes together in the edit suite but these daytime-turned-primetime shows really do feel like every single shred of footage has been cobbled together just to play for time and chase ratings at the expense of well-made, stimulating entertainment.

I understand why these shows are popular. I get why people in their millions lap this stuff up. It’s gentle, it’s soothing, a balm after a hard day doing whatever it is people don’t enjoy doing on a daily basis. It’s aspirational. People doing what they love in England’s Green and Pleasant Land.

That said, television is still (for now) one of the most powerful media in the world, and there’s no reason why prime time schedules shouldn’t be used optimally to benefit the greatest number of people. We need less frothy, forgettable fare that belongs on TV during the middle of the day, and more truly engrossing dramas, uplifting comedies and inspiring documentaries the BBC and Channel 4 used to pioneer so effectively. Lastly, I also believe people will watch whatever’s put in front of them, so there’s really no excuse NOT to make it well written, well structured, well acted (where relevant) and above all actively entertaining.

Now if you excuse me, I’m off to check my Victoria Sponge hasn’t fallen over…

By admin General News TV BBC, Mary Berry, Paul Hollywood, The Great British Bake Off