A SAFE MOORING: On The Telly

Vive la France

Wednesday, February 05, 2014

Things I've Been Obsessing Over

Friday, December 27, 2013

How to make the most of Netflix

Thursday, November 21, 2013

After audience testing revealed an overwhelmingly negative response to 2013's working title, 2013: Worst Year Ever, I've decided to rename it 2013: The Year of Netflix. Because when I haven't been whining about how it's been the worst year ever, I've been watching a scandalous amount of television to make my mind off how it's been the worst year ever. As you can see, it's been working really well.

After nearly a year of practising this questionable avoidance technique, I now consider myself something of an expert in consuming mindless, repetitive hours of American TV. If you'd like to become an expert too, here's how.

1. Get hooked up

Unless you have one of those fancy TVs with Netflix built in, you'll be watching it through your computer. Watching TV on the computer is all very well if you're having a particularly bad day and just want to watch the entire second series of Dawson's Creek from the comfort of your own bed (no judgement), but for everyday viewing, I recommend getting a cable that hooks your laptop up to your TV. They're cheap, easy to set up, and make it so much easier to poke fun at Dawson's terrible hair.

2. Become an American

Or, rather, let Netflix think you've become an American. If you're in the UK, you need to sign up for a UK Netflix account (it's £5.99 a month). The trouble is, UK Netflix is fairly new and, frankly, it's a bit crap. American Netflix, on the other hand, has a huge bank of amazing programmes and films just begging to be watched. If only there was a way to access it... oh, hang on, there is.

You'll need Google Chrome for this, but I promise it will change your life. Or, at least, your viewing habits. Install the Hola Better Internet Chrome extension and you can cross the Atlantic at the click of a mouse. Thanks to the magical power of the internet, it lets Netflix think you're watching from America, giving you direct access to all the unimaginable wonders our American cousins take for granted. The best part is you can turn it back off again should you want to access UK-only content (some shows only seem to be available over here, like The Fall or, weirdly, the Hobbit).

3. Watch all the things

Right, down to the nitty-gritty. Here are my top Netflix picks, which you should all watch immediately so we can talk about them:

Parks and Recreation: Endearing, characterful, so funny it will make you snort.

House of Cards: Worth watching for Claire Underwood's hair alone.

Mad Men: Essential viewing if, like me, you missed it first time round. Slick, stylish, smouldering.

West Wing: Duh. We have big plans to watch all the Christmas episodes in one giant festive slob-fest. I am excited.

Sherlock: With the new series imminent, it's time to remind yourself of the brilliance of Benedict Cumberbatch. (Or Bernard Cumberbosh, as he is affectionately known in our house after Fin couldn't remember his name. Generate your own alternative here.)

So there you have it! Now you too can give up that pesky social life and spend all your time watching television series several years after they were made. Hurrah!

I'm also dangerously close to running out of episodes to watch, so all recommendations for new shows will be warmly welcomed in the comments.

All Will Be Well

Friday, September 20, 2013

The truth about pixie crops

Friday, May 31, 2013

Democracy in action

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

I cut my hair off. Who am I to argue with the popular vote? But part of me wishes I'd waited until it was actually, as opposed to nominally, spring. Specifically, my ears and the back of my neck are less than thrilled. Brr.

Speaking of the popular vote, we're agonisingly close to finishing the final season of the West Wing and I know we're supposed to care who wins the election but OMG WHO CARES ABOUT THAT WITH ALL OF THE ROMANTIC TENSION OMG OMG. How the hell did people cope, watching this unfold over weeks? I am beside myself with excitement. If you haven't seen it, what are you waiting for? And if you have seen it YOU KNOW WHO I'M TALKING ABOUT. (Sorry, the West Wing has a tendency to bring out my all caps.) There's a faint whiff of Grey's Anatomy lingering in the White House corridors these days, with all of the snogging. There doesn't seem to be much governing going on here, people.

I doubt that sort of thing goes on over at the Scottish Parliament. At least, I hope it doesn't. Let's just say there aren't many Holyrood couplings I'd be quite so happy to watch on screen. The mind boggles.

For those of you who might not be fully up to speed with your Scottish politics, we have a referundum coming up next year to determine whether Scotland should remain part of the United Kingdom or become a fully independent country. Facts and figures are being hurled at us from all sides already, but neither camp has yet addressed my primary concern: what about Eurovision? I don't know if I'm ready to face a future where Scotland's finest musical talent has to slug it out in the semi-finals against the demented warblings of some former plumber from Azerbaijan. It's time for the campaigns to stop fretting about taxes and national identity and start getting into the serious issues.

Just as long as they don't start snogging.

P.S. On a completely unrelated note, I added some new pictures to the portfolio. Thanks, Lauren!

Image: Frank Egel Photography. Just to be clear, that's not me. In case there was any confusion. Ahem.

Today's the day.

Tuesday, November 06, 2012

Observations by a first-time viewer

Wednesday, May 09, 2012

Before Saturday, I had never, ever seen Die Hard. I'll pause to allow a collective gasp of child-of-the-80s horror at this admission. Of course I was aware of it, just like I'm aware of Miracle Whip and people who vote for Boris Johnson: I know these things exist, but I don't feel the need to experience them personally. It was always just another noisy, explosiony action film for smelly boys and I was too busy watching Beaches five million times to make room for it in my busy viewing schedule. Plus Bruce Willis is, like, totally not attractive.

But apparently everyone loves Die Hard, and Fin couldn't believe I'd never seen it (mind you, he also couldn't believe I'd never seen Predator, which, frankly, I don't think is that difficult to believe). So when it came on Channel 5 on Saturday night - always at the cutting edge of entertainment, Channel 5 - I thought, "Fuck it, there's nothing else on," and settled down to watch it. That's right folks, I know how to have a good time on a Saturday night. I was even slow-cooking some pork at the same time. Crrrazy.

Anyway, having finally watched Die Hard for the first time in 2012 at the ripe old age of 28, I feel compelled to make the following observations.

1. I take it all back. Bruce Willis is, like, totally attractive. Also related: why don't men wear vests any more? They really should.

Yippee ki-yay, indeed.

2. Only in the 1980s would the "good guys" be a global corporation running a shady business involving massive oil rigs and constructing motorway bridges through Indonesian rainforests. "Contrary to what you people think, we're going to develop that region, not 'exploit' it." Sure you are, Takagi. Sure you are.

3. Alan Rickman is, as I have long suspected, a total badass. Obviously his evil German terrorist performance pales in comparison to his later evil English sheriff performance, but every evil [nationality][noun] performer has to start somewhere.

4. The ending. Oh, the ending. Let me check I've got the backstory right: cop shoots and kills a child who was holding a toy gun, because "it was dark" and "he was big for his age". Cop (quite rightly) gets taken off the beat. There is an emotional scene in which the cop confesses that he (again, quite rightly) lost his confidence to use a gun after the whole accidentally-killing-a-child fiasco. But then, in the end, cop whips out his gun and kills a long-haired crazy German terrorist. Cop looks at his still-smoking gun with wonder in his eyes; cop is, finally, redeemed.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

A heart-warming tale of how one policeman with questionable judgement is reunited with his twitchy trigger finger? That's what everyone's been going on about all these years?

I can only assume its success is almost entirely down to the fact that Bruce looks so darned good strutting around in his vest.

Am I the only one with glaring gaps in my 80s action film education? Anyone else rewatched a childhood favourite and realised that - hang on - it's completely fucked up (hello, Watership Down)?

{Images: 1. Poster by Olly Moss. Moss also made these amazing papercuts, including one of Bruce Willis rocking a vest. Nice. 2. Via Hot Bruce Willis. Clearly they knew something I didn't.}

Best in Show

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

This weekend, I watched Crufts*. I don't mean I watched it in a "it came on while I was doing the ironing and I was too lazy to change the channel" kind of way, or a "had it on in the background while I wasted hours of my life on Pinterest" kind of way. I mean I sat down on my couch and, quite deliberately, watched it. I checked what time it was coming on and watched the clock compulsively until it started. I perused the programme of events online to see when the hounds were being shown. I expressed opinions on obscure dog breeds about which I know precisely nothing. I even, in a brief spurt of enthusiasm, followed Clare Balding on Twitter. All of which led me to ponder the following question:

What the f*ck has happened to me?

I've never been a dog person. The only dog I had regular exposure to as a kid was my friend's springer spaniel. She would bark hysterically every morning when I appeared at the back gate to collect my friend for our walk to school. What I initially mistook for joyful exuberance turned out to be a post-traumatic reaction to being tripped over and trodden on by me one too many times (accidentally, I hasten to add). She would scrabble frantically at the kitchen door in a vain attempt to evade me and my clumsy hooves, the fact that I had been present in the house when she first arrived from the breeder completely overshadowed by my subsequent inadvertent trampling.

Coincidentally, this is pretty much the reaction I receive from infants too (I have a bad habit of dropping them on their heads. WHOOPSIE) and so throughout my adult life I have always proclaimed, with a breezy indifference, that animals and children "just don't like me."

I can't explain the mysterious transformation that culminated in us acquiring Smidgen; the process was so incremental that it's impossible to point and say, "there, that's it - that's the moment I became a dog person." It's a bit like falling in love. You're merrily bumping along, skimming the surface like a stone, until one day you look down and realise you're actually waist-deep, and sinking fast.

So now, for better or worse, I'm officially a dog person: boring friends to tears with tales of sleeping patterns and gastric worms; befriending strange and slightly shifty rottweilers on buses; conducting in-depth research on different brands of dog food; and, yes, watching Crufts. (This fundamental personality shift doesn't bode well for if we ever have children. Am I suddenly going to start finding breast pumps and Supernanny terribly fascinating? File under: Worrying.)

And even while part of me is despairing at what I've become, another part is screaming, "where has this been all my life???" Because - and I don't know if you know this - Crufts is actually AMAZING.

As well as the almost deadly levels of cuteness on display - the pomeranians! the dachshunds! I die! - there is just something so wonderfully bonkers about the whole thing. People travelling from all over the world to have their dog fondled in front of thousands of people. Lengthy features on the history and preservation of otterhounds. Animals who experience more grooming in a single day than I have in the last month. A dog wearing an actual RAF cloak with actual medals.

And oh lordy, the heelwork to music. Heelwork to music! The ice dancing of the dog world! Who knew such a thing existed? When Mary Ray strode out into the arena clad in her M&S dungarees and ill-advised headscarf, I had a feeling it would make uncomfortable viewing, and I was right. The dog was clearly some kind of genius, but surely even he was cringing as Mary swept away the last shreds of his dignity with her patriotically-striped broom. I could just picture his wolf ancestors shaking their heads sadly, wondering how it had all come to this. You know, if they were watching it on TV.

But despite the nonsense, there is a genuine sense of pride underlying the whole affair. It's impossible to remain scathing in the face of such passion and commitment. Frankly, I would rather live in world where people care so deeply about something, even if that something is training their dog to dance around a broom. I would rather be the kind of person who high-fives her husband when the greyhound makes the cut in the hound group, and then goes in the huff when the borzoi wins (the borzoi? I mean come on, that thing looks like a greyhound and a retriever welded together). What it comes down to, I suppose, is that I'd rather be a dog person than not.

Pretty sure kids still kind of hate me, though.

What about you? Are you a dog person? Or - *shudder* - a cat person?

*Random fact: Did you know that it used to be called Cruft's, before the Kennel Club "rebranded" the show in 1974? The Waterstones apostrophe's got NOTHING on the Crufts apostrophe. I like to imagine it slumped in the corner of a bar somewhere, pickled in gin and yelling "dachshund" and "kooikerhondje" at random.

I'm sorry, WHO?

Wednesday, September 07, 2011

I make no secret of the fact that I'm a Strictly Come Dancing fan. It's not an exaggeration to say it's one of the highlights of my year. That wall display up there? I made it. That's right. I also cut out and hand-lettered eight complete sets of gold paper scoring paddles for my friends and me. Some people might say I have too much time on my hands; I prefer to think of myself as simply enthusiastic. Either way, when I heard this year's squadron of starlets was to be revealed yesterday, naturally I was beyond excited.

Excited, that is, right up until the moment they were announced.

Seriously, BBC, WHO??? Did you already spend all of your budget on Formula One and royal wedding documentaries? Who are these people?!

Okay fine, it's not a total celebrity vacuum, but Lulu and Jason Donovan can't carry an entire series on their teeny tiny shoulders, not even with the assistance of mildly attractive actress-turned-popstar-turned-actress-again Holly Valance (you know, that one that used to be on Neighbours). Thank God for Kristina Rihanoff, that's all I have to say.

Speaking of old Lulu, the hot question on everybody's lips (fine, just mine) is whether she'll be going for Posh Lulu or Weegie Lulu. For those not familiar, Lulu, like my mum, grew up in Glasgow in the 50s and 60s (my mum once chatted to her in the toilets in a club when she was a teenager. Terrible skin, apparently. So there you go).

Upon Lulu's arrival in London in the early 60s and her sudden rise to international popstardom, she promptly abandoned her Scottish roots to adopt a bizarre mid-Atlantic accent, something she has valiantly maintained to this day. So what? She wouldn't be the first and won't be the last to discard a regional accent to advance her career (although she should have done her research first; just check out this not-at-all biased article from the Glasgow Herald entitled "Scottish accent is best, yet another survey reveals". Indeed).

But what really hacks me off is the fact that when she does decide to grace our humble country with her presence, she feels the need to don the most ridiculous faux-Scottish accent you have ever heard. Seriously - just listen. Does she think we're daft? Does she think we don't have televisions north of the border?

Lulu, love, the game's up. If you want Scotland to vote for you (incidentally, why, in these TV talent shows, do people feel compelled to vote along national lines? Just look at Jedward - don't you think the Irish regret it now?) then the time has come to just pick an accent and stick with it. Stop changing your accent more often than you change your sparkly, flesh-coloured leotards. Thanks.

Anyone else got Strictly fever?

**If you've come here from the BBC Strictly website in search of more Strictly goodness, I strongly suggest you check out these amazing write-ups. Seriously. You won't regret it.**