We live in the middle of nowhere, in the mountains, in what I am certain is the wettest, greyist, rainiest plot of land on the planet. So, we are subject to storms now and again. Mostly now and now and now from December to March.
And, last week, we were subject again to one of those bouts of non-stop rain and hurricane force gusts.
And, again, that meant our internet connection was blown.
BT really don’t seem anywhere near as bothered by this as we are. Hopefully we’ll receive a new hub one day next week.
In the meantime, it’s old school for us. You know, newspapers – except we have to drive into town to choose those and, frankly, that’s a hassle; books – we’re both happily reading thrillers at the moment; what’s on the actual tellie (I know! No Netflix! Can you believe it?); and what we’ve managed to record. . . .
So, catch up time it is for me and man.
Feud—Bette and Joan (BBC Two/iPlayer): Brilliant. Outstanding. Watch it. You probably have an internet connection, so hop on iPlayer right now and watch it. Binge watch it. Eight episodes. Do it. If you aren’t familiar – the man wasn’t, sometimes I’m in awe of what he’s missed out on in his life. . . – Joan Crawford and Bette Davis hated each other. Arch rivals. Arch enemies. Hence ‘Feud’. These two are, of course, icons of a different era, and their quotes are stunning – not white-washed or gloved like the barbs of today’s PR conscious – and, indeed, Feud takes full advantage of this. But, what makes Feud truly wonderful is that it takes its opportunity to treat Crawford and Davis as human beings, as real people, as women in a man’s world (is there any other?), as single mothers, as professionals and artists manipulated by an uncaring system.
McMafia (BBC One/iPlayer): Personally, I find the cutesy reference to the global fast food chain more than appropriate. Just as I find, when I enter MickyD’s, that I’m overwhelmed by the various combinations of super-sized, out-sized, overly complicated combos, I’m more than bit undone by the complexity of this number. Seriously, I just want a cheeseburger and fries, and I just want a British Russian Israeli money laundering drug smuggling mob story that doesn’t add a new character each episode. . . .
Catastrophe (Channel Four/All 4): The man refused to watch anymore of this, and I’m sympathetic. We never really took to this series the way everyone else around seemed to. For us, what was hailed by many the critic as a ‘real life look at sex and relationships’ was really just crude and whiney. But, the man was away and I was desperate and I had read that the end was truly devastating – and who doesn’t jump at an opportunity to be devastated. In fact, I did find the portrayal of Rob’s alcoholism moving – his isolation, his ability to hide what was happening from almost everyone, the absence of help, the building desperation – and the end did leave me feeling punched in the gut. Still, though, I do struggle with the navel-gazing-funny-not-funny-woe-is-me ‘comedy’ of the overly comfortable.
Chrisley Knows Best (itvbe/The ITV Hub): A few years ago my sister introduced me to The Real Housewives. I’ve yet to forgive her. Every intellectual snob out there will turn up a nose at the mere thought of slowing the clicker at an episode of Housewives. Every real life person whose head isn’t completely up their arse can realise there is a certain appeal to watching a completely unreal portrayal of women behaving in both very real and unreal ways. I’m hooked. I’ll admit it and I won’t apologise. But, yes, even a hardened addict like myself sometimes needs a break from all the Housewives serve up. Todd Chrisley and family to the rescue. I readily admit that a large part of the appeal for me of Chrisley Knows Best is its Southernness – the accents, the language, the glimpses of Atlanta and Nashville, the hint of decent weather. But the Chrisleys offers more than that. This is laugh out loud funny. A family being a family. It’s so clearly scripted that I prefer to view is as one of the worst-acted sitcoms ever produced (instead of as a reality show). And, as such, it’s pure joy.