Gap Year

Establishing shot of an airplane in the sky. Camera then pans to inside where three travellers wait for the toilet.

Sam: A what! A lads holiday in China, why are you doing that?

Sean: Well he's been away at uni for a year. So we thought we'd just have a catch up. And he's been dumped.

Sam:   Sorry that’s not what I meant. I meant why China?

Sean: I don't really mind where we go. As long as we get smashed, soak up some sun, meet some girls. 

Sam: No, you’re not going to get to do that.

Dylan: What do you mean? 

Sam: This is what I do. I’m a travel writer. Trust me when I say, China is not right for you. This is not ideal, hearing about this right now, on the plane. Sorry about that. But you have made a mistake. Unless you’re going for a reason that I’m not aware of.

Dylan: No, of course not. We just wanted to do something different. Out there. We didn’t want to fall into the same old tourist traps as everyone else.

Sam: But you will though. You’ll find them.

Sean: What’s them? Who’s them?

Sam: Everyone else. The kids exactly like you. It’s like two dung beetles on top of a pile of lion poop. And one says to the other ‘fancy meeting you here.’ You know?

Sam and Dylan: No.

Sam: You’re all into exactly the same shit. Anyway fellars I hope that your friendship still functions in a different context. In my experience it won’t. And enjoy Thailand.

Sean: But we’re not going to Thailand.

Sam: You will though.

On the plane.

The opening exchange to Gap Year is prophetic: Sam, the travel writer, a flaneuse by trade, appreciates that foreign life can be difficult. People go with the right intentions, wanting to immerse themselves in a life that is not their own, but soon find language and custom barries make assimilation impossible. So what do they do? They fall back into their old life, seeking out people and places that are familiar and comforting. Also, travelling with a friend is not the same as socialising: it’s a marriage of co-dependency that can leave both parties feeling stymied and suffocated. In the best case scenario some time apart can rekindle the relationship; in the worst, one snaps, serving the other divorce papers citing 'irreconcilable differences.'  The only time I have ever argued with friends is when I’ve been on holiday with them – and that was only for a few days. Even if you live with mates, there’s always a room you can escape to and breathe. When you’re walking the city with others, having to make choices on what you do and where to go, tensions will arise; conflict will ensue.

Dylan and Sean are friends reunited, classmates that have been kept apart by university. Sean hasn’t been to uni, preferring to pursue the trade of plumbing. Dylan, a philosophy student, is well on the way to his BSc. For Sean the trip is a holiday, an opportunity to trade smokes and jokes with a pal. Dylan, on the other hand, sees the trip as something more noble, more worthy, an 18th century Grand Tour that will announce his intellect on the world stage. Cocooned in the bubble of university, his pretension is yet to be pricked.

Dylan and Sean.

Like Macbeth on the heath, the boys scoff at Sam's prediction, vowing to press on and paint China - well, more- red. Arriving, Sean suggests they find a watering hole; a proposal soon squashed by Dylan whom is on the lookout for a more authentic experience They don’t have long to wait. Stopping for the loo they encounter China’s squat toilets. This taste of culture isn't what Dylan had in mind. So with a heave and a hightail they make their way to Costa Coffee. Whilst Dylan sits in the toilet cubicle monitoring ‘Map My Run,’ Sean waits outside with Greg, an awkward Brit, played brilliantly by Tim Key.  Greg is from the David Brent school of interaction, appearing wholly humane whilst being a complete buffoon. Over the course of the series his eccentricities become more endearing, so much so that he'll eventually become the show's beating heart.

Greg played by the brilliant Tim Key.

Greg is unlike other British travellers. He is pushing forty, in age and waist. His boasts of where he’s been, therefore smack off sadness, not arrogance. His pleasure in travelling with two girls (“we're a threesome”) is soon discounted when Sean walks outside and finds them attempting to abscond. Laden with bags, Greg is another piece of baggage they could do without. Sean, the Everyman, argues his case and the girls are stuck with him. In time Dylan and Sean will rejoin ‘the threesome’ where they’ll succumb to Sam’s prediction by discovering what all travellers find: all roads lead to Thailand.

The gang.

Tom Basden, the writer and creator of Gap Year, has done a sterling job at marrying humour and pathos. Critics got their claws out early, complaining that the show lacked laughs and depth. Like Fresh Meat, which Basden wrote for, the drama just needed time to bed in. Take that opening exchange for example, Basden was plotting Dylan and Sean's fall-out from the start; viewers just need to let the writers peel away the pretensions of the characters, trusting the juicy bits will come.

I’ve really enjoyed Gap Year; I think it brilliantly captures the strain it puts on old friendships, along with the excitement gained in making new ones. I remember when I went on a TopDeck tour after finishing my teacher training degree. Despite being averse to anything that takes me away from the BBC, I felt that I had to travel in order to qualify for adulthood. Initially on the trip, I was disappointed to find that I’d been allocated a coterie of dunderheads: many of the Aussie lads on board seemed to confuse the coach for Attenborough’s The Hunt, a battleground, where all males were threats to their female quarry. To remove me from the mating game, I was ‘accused’ of being gay- grounds? quietness and literacy. Fortunately, I would find other people that I got on with, which made the experience worthwhile.

I went on one of these holidays. Imagine the banter of being on a coach with the guy from the front. Imagine...

This illustration proposes that travelling is rarely about places, but people. In one telling moment in Gap Year Dylan looks at The Great Wall of China and asks, “How long am I supposed to look at it for?” Shrines, sites and wonders are brilliant, but that's never a question we would direct at our friends. I could make eye contact with the beauties forever and a day. Ultimately, Gap Year is an honest reflection on travelling: buildings are great, but people are better.   

The Gap Year box-set is available on Channel 4's On Demand service.

Moving House

Moving house is said to be the third most stressful thing after death and divorce. This fact is widely known, although not everyone is aware of what comprises the other top 10.

• Fourth is the season one climax of Homeland
• Fifth is seeing if Watford, in the face of defensive ineptitude and all-enveloping panic, can hold out for a 1-0 win.
• Sixth is wondering if those coins will fall on Tipping Point.
• Seventh is hosting anything.
• Eighth is discussing politics with anyone that does not share your exact ideology.
• Ninth is playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded chamber.
• Tenth is when your biscuit reaches breaking point and throws itself to the waters, like Virginia Woolf.  (Just as a note: there was a picture of Virginia Woolf in my classroom and last week a student started laughing. I said, “Why are you laughing?” They said, ‘Vagina Woolf. There’s a writer called Vagina Woolf.” I said, “I think she would find it difficult to get published with a name like that; unless she was writing in the style of E.L. James, in which case the pen-name may be something of a boon.)

 

Would a feminist called 'Vagina' be a laughing stock or an even more empowering figure?

So on Monday we moved- and fortunately it wasn’t too stressful.

We were up with the larks bright and early to go and fetch the van. I was only interested in driving the van because I liked the idea of being a brown white van man. A lot of talk has been made of the glass ceiling for women in politics and business. In my opinion not enough has been said about brown men working in skilled labour and removals. I know my time as a white van man would be temporary, but I hoped for other Black and Minority Ethnics that they would see me driving down the carriageway and think, “I could be a White Van Man too.” A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first turn of the ignition; I hope by being that man, other BAME men – and women – will make that short drive to freedom.

White Van Man was actually a sitcom starring Will Mellor. Did you watch it?

So we got back to the flat and so began our wrestling match with a settee. The Girl is a big Friends fan, so last Christmas I bought her a mug that had a picture of a couch underlined with the word ‘PIVOT!” Any Friends fans will know that this references the episode where the friends try unsuccessfully to get a settee up the stairs. Our experience was akin to this, only more desperate. For nearly an hour we attempted and re-attempted to manoeurve a big thing out of a little thing. All of the sea captains in the world wouldn’t have been enough to plot a safe enough course for that settee; it was going to the rocks if we liked it or not. In time we were forced to adopt a different approach: brute strength and a tilt-a-whirl slam; and with that the sofa was finally free.

From there the exit operation was as textbook as you’re going to get. Everyone knew their role: The Girl stayed in the van; the mums did the light lifting; the dads did the heavy lifting; and I went to do the heavy lifting but was soon demoted to light lifting. (Again, I defy racial expectations with my van driving, and I defy gender expectations with my lifting. I won’t be put in a box. I actually won’t on account of claustrophobia and inflexibility).

Then came through news from the Estate Agents that the previous owners had left the building, and the keys were waiting. The scenes of jubilation lasted for all of five seconds, before I retired to a corner, hyperventilating over the financial responsibility I had taken on. Fortunately, my mum is a nurse, a trained medical professional, and she was there to tell me to ‘keep breathing.’ I took her advice on the grounds that experiencing the first and third stressful moments in life simultaneously would be too much to bear.

After making my way out the abyss, I climbed aboard the van – destination: homesville. I tried to take my mind off mortgage repayments by imagining that my mum, dad and me had made off with all the loot, like in the final scene of The Italian Job. This visualisation technique soon failed when I realised I was next to my dad, a Sri Lankan pensioner, an accent that's far removed from a young Michael Caine. Despite my best attempts at bad driving, I didn’t blow the bloody doors off and we arrived safely with our swag still in tow. In your face Michael Caine!

My brother sometimes says my references are too niche to appeal to a wide audience. I'll put a picture here to illustrate my point, so as to appeal to a mixed ability group. 

Taking The Girl’s hand we walked to the Estate Agents, solvent-free for one last time. On entering, the poor man was quite overwhelmed by The Girl’s euphoria. If you could have bottled up her positive energy that day, then … well it would be worthless. Because as lovely as it was to see, there is no market for positive energy. I was watching a Jon Richardson programme the other week about fears. One fear, particularly in the city, is over clean air. So what a company in the countryside has done is they’ve gone up to the hills, bottles in hand, and caught it to sell online. If you ask me, if you’ve got money to buy £50 bottles of clean air, you’ve got enough money to buy a dehumidifier- probably enough money to put a dehumidifier over the city. Getting back to the house we took a picture in front of the ‘Sold’ sign, trying our best to avoid being defriended for looking too smug.

The Tory Government will probably put the contract on air out to tender soon.

Then came the unpacking. Well, not for me. Luckily, the van we hired wasn’t big enough for one trip so my family was tasked with going back to the flat and reloading the van. Whilst we were back at the flat, sharing drinks in the sun – my mum bought me a cream soda- The Girl’s family were at home, slavishly making beds and assembling furniture. The fools! After we finished our dinner in the pub, we loaded the desk lamp and made our way back.

After failing to assemble a coffee table, I was put on light duties and ordered to take the van back to the depot. On returning Dominos Pizza was awaiting for me. A Mighty Meteor to boot. Never has alliteration tasted so good. What’s that green grapes you want a piece of the alliterative pie? Well, sorry green grapes there’s new boy in town, and he’s a lot unhealthier than you, thus miles more delicious.

With dinner defeated I fell into bed with the woman I loved, and looking at her thought, ’She's worth 30 years of financial servitude.’ The end.

Inside Number Nine

This week I’ve chosen to write about something that I’ve covered before. Previously, I’ve written blogs on Catastrophe and Love, but as good as those returning series are I’ve chosen this week to revisit Inside Number Nine.

For me this week’s episode was manna dropped from the storytelling Gods. It is unlikely there will be a better half hour of television this year. The challenge of packing intrigue, suspicion, romance and heartache into thirty minutes is akin to fitting the England rugby team into a Mini Cooper – it should be impossible, but in the hands of Shearsmith and Pemberton it's achieved.

Typically, writers Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton deal in the macabre and the grotesque. They came to fame with The League of Gentlemen, a carnivalesque satire on small-town life that I’ve not seen, but in using highfalutin terms it appears otherwise. From there they moved onto Psychoville, a comedy horror-show, boasting an originality that needed to be seen to be believed (No, I ashamedly didn’t watch it either – I did hear about it though). With their current output, Inside Number Number Nine, they appear to have watered down the high camp scare of the aforementioned without compromising their heady brew.

League of Gentlemen

Inside Number Nine doesn’t have the frightening latex and make-up of the pair’s previous work; it is an altogether more natural affair. Set in the revolving real world settings of call centres, restaurants and film sets, the duo are no longer bringing the freak show to town; instead they’re highlighting the monsters that lay within. Over its three series, the show has excelled at presenting normal people doing bad things with devastating glee. Many of their episodes still have nods to horror genre; although for me, their two finest are complete human dramas.

The Twelve Days Of Christine premiered two years, starring Sheridan Smith. Many critics put it on their end of year list as an example of great television. It episodically told the story of Christine’s life over a twelve year period. For comedians, whose taste lies in horror, there wasn’t a more moving moment on the 2015 screen than seeing Smith ascertain the secret of her mind.

Sheridan Smith in Twelve Days...

I believe this week’s episode Empty Orchestra rivals that superlative offering. The title is so called because it’s the literal translation of karaoke- karaoke because the drama takes place inside a karaoke room marked ‘9.’ First in the booth is the sumo suited Greg. He puts on Human League’s Don’t You Want Me and proceeds to waddle around the microphone until Connie, an Amy Winehouse tribute, joins him. The two’s intense look and kiss is cut short by the movement of the door; quickly lipstick is wiped from the crime scene as they welcome Fran, who's channeling schoolgirl Britney.

It’s popstar fancy dress then; only not everyone is taking part. Rodger comes in looking every inch the office worker: the only nod he’s made to enforced fun is a red nose that sits uneasy. People have come to celebrate his promotion so it seems a little surprising he hasn’t dressed as a bon viveur. Behind him enters Janet, who dressed as Boy George immediately assumes outsider status by turning down her hearing aid.

Popstar: The love rivals.

The party is soon in full swing, although tensions lie beneath. First, there is talk of job cuts that Greg seems to be worried about. It appears that Rodger has been tasked with streamlining the company, meaning one of the partygoers faces the chop – a murder mystery without the murder then. Also, it soon materialises that Greg and Connie’s kiss wasn’t covered up because they wanted to keep business and pleasure separate; but because Greg’s lips are betrothed to Fran- his fiancée. If the adulterers aren’t careful, an evening of strangled vocal chords could result in- well- an evening of ….

Entering the mix later is Duane, an affable Michael Jackson alike, doing his best to enliven the shindig with some soft drugs. His song selection is of course Wham Rap! (‘Hey everybody take a look at me, I’ve got street credibility, I may not have a job, But I have a good time, With the boys I meet down on the line!’) I love how the writers have woven the music into the drama: this isn’t the crowbar jukebox of Homes Under The Hammer where the presenter’s line segues into a pop lyric which literalises the same thing; but a subtle nod to the keen observer. (The reason for latter choices will only become apparent on second viewing when you’re familiar with the plot twists.)

An office party.

Although Greg is dressed as Psy from Gangnam Style, he has actually come to the party as Machiavelli. He is scheming behind his fiance’s back in flirting with Connie, and he’s scheming behind his new boss's back to get an ID on the sacking. Amidst all the subterfuge, there is purity and kindness. Janet stands looking yearningly at Duane. She loves his love of laughter and music. Her deafness does not disable her from joy: she shares these passions. To participate in the majesty of music, she puts her hand to the speaker so she can experience the throb of vibration. Connie dismisses this deafness as stupidity. (Be careful though Connie: discounting Janet on such grounds may prove dangerous.) Profoundly deaf actress Emily Howlett plays Janet beautifully, showing there's more to deafness than frustration.

Even though the singing in this week’s episode was off-key, the same charge can’t be levelled at the script. In The Empty Orchestra Pemberton and Shearsmith have masterfully conducted a composition that will bring the gallery and the boxes to their feet. Take a bow, lads! Take another! We stand. We applaud you.

Inside Number Nine is on iPlayer.

The Good Wife

Sometimes it's hard to be a woman
Giving all your love to just one man
You'll have bad times
And he'll have good times,
Doin' things that you don't understand

But if you love him you'll forgive him,
Even though he's hard to understand
And if you love him oh be proud of him,
'cause after all he's just a man

(Tammy Wynette, Stand By Your Man)

As good as the song is, the sentiment is truly nauseating. Essentially, Wynette is shrugging her shoulders to adultery, conceding there is nothing to be done: this is what men are like. In her tune women are passive, waiting by the door for that wandering piece of libido to return. Men, on the other hand, are complex – it isn’t simple selfishness that causes them to stray, but a well of emotions that runs too deep for any woman to ever understand.

Even though the song predates the feminist movement, it still echoes today. Gender inequality is still rife: when a man commits adultery he is defined as ‘straying’ - women aren't granted such euphemisms. There is still the abiding theory that men aren't predisposed to monogamy, whereas women are hardwired to faithfulness. The truth is people don’t have to follow their base instincts; they can exercise control. Just because your cock points north doesn’t mean you have to follow it? Still today, the patriarchy of Wynette's lyrics persist: women forgive your men for they cannot suppress the caveman within.

In The Good Wife Alicia Florrick has to make a decision whether she stands by her man, Peter Florrick, or leave him. Peter is the Cook County State Attorney who has been caught sleeping with prostitutes. There is also a suggestion that he has been taking bribes to reduce people’s prison sentences – a charge he denies. In the first episode he stands and faces the media’s grand jury: he accepts the verdict of being a bad husband, but refutes all other allegations. His wife, holding his hand, looks at him questioningly, wondering how her husband’s rhetorical strength has survived his moral weakness. Further questions are raised when she spots a stray hair on her husband’s blazer – a blonde one that does not belong to him; does not belong to her. When this trial concludes, the two are taken out of the spotlight and thrown into personal darkness.

The first episode fast-forwards six months to Alicia’s first day at work. She has returned because her husband is in jail, convicted of the crimes he denied. With two children to clothe, Alicia returns to the profession she gave up to raise them. She is a legal associate, forced to compete with Cary, a young male with few responsibilities, for the job of becoming a full-time attorney. Despite the travails of juggling work and child-care, she is a fantastic lawyer: personable and scrupulous, a mix that clients and colleagues admire. Cary though is fast-talking, dynamic and confident, making him a worthy competitor to the reserved Alicia. 

The conflict at work isn’t Alicia’s main concern though. Work is an enjoyable distraction from the hard question of marriage to Peter. If anything having him in jail is a relief: it postpones the decision she has to make. He is seemingly remorseful and chastened: shouldn’t she stand by him? At work, she has rekindled her friendship with Will Gardner, a university friend that now heads the legal firm – is he worth taking her wedding ring off for?

Away from the romantic and political intrigues of the show, the prevailing action takes place in the court room. Every week there is a new case that Alicia must defend. Assisting her is the enigmatic Kalinda, one of television’s great female characters. Kalinda is an investigator who revisits the crime scene and reviews testimony in the hope holes can be found. She is sharp, smart and sexy – and dangerous with it. Together they make a great team, asserting the drama’s focus on strong women. What’s fascinating about these court scenes is their attention to detail: most legal dramas make do with ‘objection’ and ‘overruled’ as their only nod to verisimilitude. In The Good Wife the legal jargon is there; so too is the preparation (interviewing witnesses, gathering paperwork, pre-trial hearings, plea bargaining) – the series trusts the viewers to pick up the language and procedure; the fact that we do is a credit to the writing.

Kalinda is a badass.

The Good Wife’s title is ironic: Alicia begins by being the eponymous, but as the series develops she leaves behind the scandal that has defined her. For fans of Better Call Saul it is a fantastic companion piece: both contain lawyers trying to escape from another's shadow; admittedly the way they do it is different, but their humane charm is wholly comparable. So while Better Call Saul has us all on hold, why not dial Alicia Florrick, a lawyer you can trust.

The Good Wife is on Netflix.