Reasons to be (un)cheerful

1.     Donald Trump takes office.

2.     North Korea threatens to hit the red button.

3.     The UK hit the red button, triggering Article 50.

4.     Theresa May’s inauguration speech on ‘fairness’ seems like a distant memory.

5.     If you should ever run into trouble abroad, Boris Johnson is the man responsible for your well-being.

6.     Michael Gove coming in from the cold.

7.     Labour should be doing so much better.

8.     I still worry about myself more than others.

9.     When I was in Sri Lanka I said to a relative, “The country is a lot more advanced than I thought.’ Like an Eton colonialist.

10. Watford throwing away goals in the last minute.

11.  I’m not sure if I’ll ever be the teacher I want to be.

12.  Reading Adam Kay’s brilliant ‘This Is Going To Hurt’ and thinking if the public can’t get behind doctors, then the rest off us haven’t got a chance.

13.  Marco Silva peacocking Everton.

14.  British managers moaning they don’t get a chance.

15.  BANTER!

16.  The term ‘virtue signaling.’ (Some good deeds need promoting, otherwise others wouldn’t do them.)

17.  Dan Walker.

18.  The fact that Mike on BBC Breakfast is the best sports reporter, but barely gets a run out.

19.  I’ve become desensitized to the Gilmore Girls intro music. I should still be raging against it.

20.  I’m still guilty of over-writing.

21.  Despite attending a DIY course, I’m a Nick Knowles and the team waiting to happen.

22.  The Girl buying reduced salt ketchup – it was an abomination.

23.  I should spend my time on the loo reading a book as opposed to being on Twitter.

24.  When on the john Donald Trump should be concentrating on defecating as opposed to grandstanding.

25.  Politicians really should stop tweeting.

26.  My laptop is in such a sorry state that only I can now operate it.

27.  I see new challenges as mountains, as opposed to hurdles.

28.  I just don’t get Christopher Nolan films.

29.  I don’t savour books; I complete them.

30.  I’m so behind with music. The Pitchfork Top 100 looks hieroglyphic to me.

31.  Adults doing high-fives to each other. Have some self-respect.

32. Adults high-fiving children. Do you want some bamboo to go with that pandering?

33.  I see mistakes as calamities.

34.   The demise of Troy Deeney.

35.   Powerful men thinking they’re above the law.

36.   Good people in hospital.

37.   My warm-down at the end of a run is now longer than the run itself.

38.   My stomach doing gymnastics in Sri Lanka.

39.   My love of tea is fading. Down to a cup a day now.

40.   Not seeing friends as much as I would like.

41.   Wasting time.

42.   Living for the weekend. (Like Hard-Fi.)

43.  Working for the cash machine. (Like Hard-Fi.)

44.  Being creatively redundant (Like …)

45.   X Factor is still going.

46.   Citizen Kane is still in its cellophane from 2010.

47.   The New Years Honours List.

48.   Amir Khan in the jungle.

49.   The end of detectorists.

50.   My knotty stomach means I can no longer eat like I’m on a midnight feast.

51.   I wouldn’t know how to work the boiler if The Girl wasn’t here. (I don’t want to be one of those men.)

52.   I’ve been having a cheese roll at work for two years now. Being frugal has its downsides.

53.   I used to leave conversations thinking, ‘They could have done better there.’ Now I leave them thinking: ‘I’m to blame for that not going so well.’

54.   Sometimes saying anything is better than saying nothing.

55.   I don’t always get my personality across at work, which is a shame because on a good day I’m scintillating.

56.   Kind people who are hurting.

57.   I live my life relieved nothing bad has happened.

58.   I need to go and watch more live music.

59.   I sometimes forget that most students are lovely.

60.   My descent into baldness is unavoidable.

61.  There is now video evidence that I can’t dance.

62.   A few years in and I still haven’t finished those short stories.

63.   The end of Broadchurch series 3.

64.  Martin Freeman doing Vodafone adverts. (Tim Canterbury would raise his eye brows.)

65.   How Sherlock put style before substance.

66.   Watching ‘I, Daniel Blake’ and remembering it’s set in modern England.

67.   Getting to the bottom of a bottle of Bailey’s.

68.   The Girl putting empty wrappers back in the box.

69.   Brexit news coverage.

70.   The buffet season is over.

71.    Being disappointed by Wuthering Heights. (I’m not saying I could do better, but I just felt Kate Bush’s version was better.)

72.   Taking a chance at a restaurant. (Always play safe – there’s too much money at stake.)

73.   I’m concerned I’m going to be that Brando speech: “I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody.”

74.   Me leaving a chair in a slightly different position to prove I’ve vacuumed. (What do I want a medal?)

75.   Feeling cold all of the time. (I’m going to take a Joey Tribbiani ‘could I be wearing any more clothes?’ approach to old age.)

76.   I take Mark Kermode’s word as Gospel on films. Sometimes second opinions are available.

77.   People who take deliberately contradictory positions. (If you think Paddington 2 is rubbish, you’re an attention-seeking liar.)

78.   My admin skills leave a lot to be desired.

79.   I built on my half-marathon success by not running for two months.

80.   Forgetting to buy biscuits. What’s a brew without them?

81.   Leon from Gogglebox dying. Him and June were an advert for domestic bliss.

82.   It took me so long to get into Spaced, League of Gentlemen, Alan Partridge: I should have just listened to my mates all those years ago.

83.   Being too tired to read.

84.   Feeling like work is a treadmill with no ‘stop’ button.

85.   People talking to each other less. The screen has become king.

86.   Prince Phillip’s racism being spun as ‘old man joshing.’

87.   I think The Girl supports me more than I do her.

88.   James Corden’s laugh.

89.   People who write cliffhanger statuses on Facebook. (I can’t believe this just happened.) Don’t make people unnecessarily worry about you.

90.   Ticket prices at football. Families are priced out.

91.   Watching Gilmore Girls and realising that I could have done so much more with my university experience.

92.   Watching Battle of the Sexes and thinking, “John Inverdale still says this kind of shit.”

93.   The façade of my shopping centre needs some Betjeman ‘friendly bombs’ to rain down on it.

94.   Families not watching tele together.

95.  People who say they don’t have a tele as if that’s a good thing. Television has never been better.

96.   Forgetting how lucky I am.

97.   Twitter doubling its character length = more Trump.

98.   Aung San Suu Kyi going from hero to villain.

99.   It’s 35 years until I can retire, where I can then volunteer in the library – if they still exist.

100.      My computer can no longer copy and paste normally. I have to ‘paste special’ into word, then copy it onto a powerpoint from there. This might not seem like a big deal to you, but to a teacher who uses Google images constantly this is the worst thing of the year.

The Nutcracker

Yesterday I went to the ballet.

Knowing that we’d talked about going for a while, The Girl’s parents bought us tickets for Christmas. My curiosity in ballet has been growing over a number of years; firstly, because one of my favourite films is Billy Elliot- admittedly, this is much to do with my interest in Thatcher’s Britain as it in Billy's transformation. Secondly, as a child, The Girl was a fine ballet dancer appearing in a number of amateur productions; therefore going to the ballet would be a window into her youth. (If The Girl should ever want to experience my youth, she need only visit a municipal field and occupy a bench for ninety minutes.) Thirdly, I’m slightly more interested in dance now than I used to be. The Girl’s friend is currently in 42^nd Street- which is Lionel Messi footwork put to showtunes- and Strictly is so ubiquitous in our household that I would have to go paintballing with Byker Grove to be excused from it.

The Nutcracker seemed like a good place to start for a first-timer like me, because it’s the most famous one and based on a children’s story. Also, the chance to see it at the Royal Albert Hall was something of a boon. I mean you don’t really want to watch something as dainty, as delicate, as ballet in a multi-storey car park; you want to witness it in a grand, palatial setting. So this is why we find ourselves on the red-royal chairs of London’s hallowed venue.

I had read the synopsis of the first act of the ballet because I know I’m susceptible to a daydream. Therefore, I was clear about what was happening at the beginning. Clara and her family are having guests over on Christmas Eve, where her uncle then gives her and other children a present each. These toys aren’t typical though: they’re more like automatons, mechanical devices that can spring to life. The kids bloody love these toys, but they’re put away for safekeeping. Worry not though, Clara, because here’s a nutcracker to keep you occupied, says her uncle in the form of dance. Today’s children would deliver a nutcracker to the groin if any adult dared offer them such a gift, but this being the 19^th century she's admires the craftsmanship that’s gone into the object. Her brother Fritz though sees her joy and tramples all over it, breaking the nutcracker in the process. Later, in way of succour, Clara is carried away into a fairy kingdom where the subjects treat her to a quasi-jubilee, rolling out the red carpet and having sweets perform dances for her. (Just as Krampus entered our movie market a few years ago, showcasing a dark version of Christmas where naughty children are punished for naughtiness; I think there should be a sequel to The Nutcracker where Fritz is taken to the underworld and serenaded by Bounty bars, strawberry creams and other unholy confectionary. Subjected to awful sweeties, he would think twice about eviscerating his sister's future presents.)

Imagine giving this gift to a child now.

In all honesty I only understood the story from talking to The Girl afterwards. I didn’t realise at the time that the Spanish dancers were meant to represent chocolate; the Chinese tea and the Russians candy cane. In fairness, it didn’t really matter that I wasn’t sure what was going on; because to put it plainly I was so beguiled by what I saw- that for once- I didn’t really care about the narrative. Normally, I’m terrible if I don’t get something – this is probably why I don’t appreciate modern art, David Lynch or Rugby Union; but here it really didn’t matter. In all my life, I don’t think I’d ever seen anything as perfect as the ballet. Watching these super-talented humans transform into glorious spinning tops is a thing of wonder. Witnessing the springboard skill of dancers turn trampolines out of their bodies is something else. Seeing music box ballerinas in the flesh is an incredible privilege. Ultimately, narrative comes second to artistry.

Why do rugby players do this?

And I haven’t even mentioned the music? Normally, orchestras are treated with contempt. They're thrown in the ‘pit’ and told not to move until the performance is over. Here though, they were in full-sight, above the stage, earning the coverage they deserved. Hearing Tchaikovsky’s compositions in such an esteem setting is a Christmas memory no one can ever take away – not even that over-indulged, cruel-headed Fritz.  I hope Clara cracks his nut next Christmas.

The Nutcracker is at Royal Albert Hall until 31st December.

The League of Gentlemen

“Hello, Dave!”


I’m sitting in my Year 11 maths class. An unfortunate looking teacher walks through the door. This is the cry that greets her. It’s so ridiculous and random that it can't hurt her – it’s a non sequitur forged in surrealism, made from nonsense. My friends around me laugh because they know where it’s from. I laugh because of the incongruity: a colourful outburst in a a grey classroom. I don’t know where the reference is from or what it means. It’s taken me 15 years to understand what I laughed at that day.

The League of Gentleman was on my friends radar for years. Out of my schoolmates, Ian, Dec and Coxy were huge fans. At university Jim had the VHS on the rack (him and Phil would often quote lines from it). Even though I admired this league of gentlemen and their comic sensibilities, I never felt compelled to watch. I’d seen the front cover and assumed it wasn’t for me. I was always of a mainstream disposition. During school my favourite comedies were Friends and Only Fools and Horses, comfort sitcoms that celebrated friendship and family. Even though my tastes would change, taking in more obscure fare like Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace and Nathan Barley, I never felt the urge to visit The League...

The League of Gentlemen is a long way from Friends.

I think my indifference to The League... was down to two factors: one its sketch show format; the other its characters. As far as I was concerned The League was a revolving door of grotesqueries, demonstrating no through-line or continuity. The thing I love about sitcom is it has a depth sketch can't achieve. Great sitcom is about more than laughs. Our great comedy characters are imbued with a tragedy that increases over time. In the first few episodes these creations initially appear monstrous, failing quite spectacularly in the business of civilisation. After a series though their humanity unfurls so you no longer see beast, but human. Fawlty, Brent and Partridge aren’t so different to you or me: they’re confused by the world and resentful they’re not doing well in it. (If you’ve never felt this way, you’re a liar.) So The League of Gentlemen seemed like a sketch show for sketch show people. I wasn’t welcome there. For me, sitcom was a Sistine Chapel, an artistic wonder celebrating theme and character. The sketch show- conversely- a child’s painting, a slapdash slather of caricature. 

When it comes to The League …, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

This week I watched The League of Gentlemen Anniversary Specials – and loved it. Given I’m already a fan of the individual members work, I don’t know what took me so long. I’ve enjoyed Mark Gatiss’ modern re-working of Sherlock, looked forward to Jeremy Dyson’s Ghost Stories and marvelled over the ingenuity of Shearsmith’s and Pemberton’s Inside Number Nine.  Stupidly, I’ve watched the solo projects before the thing that made the group famous. It’s a bit like listening to Niall Horan’s ‘Too Much To Ask’ and not being aware of One Direction’s oeuvre- well, only a bit like that.

They're visionary solo artists. I imagine the band was pretty great too.

The League of Gentlemen is a sketch show, and yet isn’t one as well. It’s a sketch show in a sense that characters come in and out of view, rarely crisscross with one another and enjoy a catchphrase or two. It isn’t a sketch show in the sense that these nightmarish cartoons develop into three-dimensional personalities capable of growth. For most sketch shows, continuity is the key; it allows the viewer to anticipate what’s coming next- and be satisfied when it does. However, in The League of Gentlemen there is a greater emphasis on characterisation, which means the character comes before the catchphrase.

The first episode in the comeback opens with a callback to the first ever episode (I’ve since watched the first series). There are further nods to the past with a ‘Lost’ poster being particularly redolent. For first timers like me though, there is much to enjoy. The sight gags at the start are inspired, with shop signs lamenting, ‘Bra Shop: Gone Bust,’ ‘Sam’s Soup: Stock Reduced’ and ‘Tyres: Everything Slashed.’ These puns are in the great British tradition of gag writing, but they also hold contemporary relevance: this is Broken Britain, a town The Big Society forgot. Later, we see townspeople queuing up at an ATM ‘Food Bank’ for their processed cheese and spam. The creators of The League … said their show was never political, but it feels that way now.

Episode 1 of the original. Episode 1 of the anniversary special.

After we back in the taxi with Barbara, who in the first series was going through the process of gender reassignment. Twenty years ago, her character was played for husky voiced laughs. Now with transsexual rights in the media, she’s been repositioned as a strong heroine. With Benjamin taking the same cab journey he took in the first series, he gets into a conversation with Barbara about the preferred pronoun (he/she). Barbara’s response:  ‘Well if you don’t know, you can piss off out of here, I’m not telling you.’ Although the Royston Vasey asylum hasn’t changed, the creators have; their worldview brings the show kicking and screaming into the twenty first century.

Contemporary relevance is shown further by the main plot-line of the series. What makes The League of Gentlemen so unique is that it imposed narrative on the form. Previously the sketch form had no unity; it was rooted in chaos. The League’s first series had the story of a proposed road linking Royston with its neighbours; so although the characters didn’t leave their small world of shop, pub and job centre, they shared an overarching concern. In this series it’s the boundary line that’s concerning residence. 

Royston’s crime figures are too high, as a result authorities want it subsumed, removed from history. Tubbs and Edward, the local shopkeepers, are the type of people that make today’s Leave voters look like Gina Miller. Their characters are so shut off from the outside world, they perceive the step to their shop foreign – worse, un-local. In our post-Brexit world of insularity, they’re the final Russian Doll: they don’t care about the nation, they care only for the town. So when they hear of how Whitehall Nazis plan to annex their land, they cry foul play and promise to ‘take back control.’ In a recent interview with The Radio Times, Steve Coogan, a Remain voter, confessed he had his doubts over giving his character, Alan Partridge, airtime. Partridge’s closed-bordered view of Britain has now become a reality, so wouldn’t there be a danger that viewers would think that was his creator’s views? Coogan argued that the best way to ridicule Brexit was to have an idiot speak effusively about it. You get the feeling The League…, in Tubbs and Edward, have done the same. Brains will be spilt as the rebel army defend their homeland, but they’ll also be stroked as viewers appreciate the satirical overtones.

The Gove and Farge of Royson Vasey.

Since watching the three anniversary episodes, I’ve gone back to the beginning and started watching from the series one. It’s a wonderful feeling when you discover something new, yet realise how old it is. It means there’s the series, film and maybe even next year’s tour show to catch up on.

It would have been nice all those years ago to have understood what my mates were laughing about in maths. But there’s no points having regrets. After all when it comes to classic comedy, ‘you can’t go back, but you can visit.'

The League of Gentlemen Anniversary Specials are available on iPlayer.