This week my Beloved and I – along with a lot of other people – have been watching Riot Women on BBC iPlayer. Superficially, it’s sweary and funny and loud. We’d have loved it for the soundtrack which is punky and riotous and had us shazamming like mad at times. It’s enjoyable on that level but there’s so much more going on. I’ve recommended it to pretty much everyone I’ve spoken to this week, especially my middle aged women friends (and my hairdresser, my work colleagues, people on the bus…)
Created by Sally Wainwright (Happy Valley), the central premise is a group of middle aged Yorkshire women who get together to form a punk band for a local talent contest. So far, so cosy British comedy. You know the band is going to come together, you know there will be trials and tribulations along the way, and you know there will be a happy ending or at least a cliffhanger teaser for season 2. I won’t give away any spoilers here.
These women, including the always excellent Tamsin Grieg (Black Books, Friday Night Dinner), and Joanna Scanlan (No Offence, The Thick of It), are full-on menopausal. This is not a drama of stereotypical hot flashes and ‘ooh, it’s her time of life’ comments. It covers the depression, the rage, the way relationships change, the lack of tolerance for other people’s rubbish, the invisibility. Dr Louise Newsom of The Menopause Charity is credited as medical advisor.
Behind the punk band and the anger, there’s the women’s relationships with the people around them: Scanlan’s adopted son is pulling away but searching for his birth mother, and she no longer feels needed. She’s also coping with her mother, who has dementia, and battling with her sibling over the best care for her. Greig’s mother (Anne Reid on top form) is also declining, and as she’s recently retired from the police force she’s called on more and more to cope with her. She’s also still trying to support a young protegee in the force with misogynistic behaviour, and navigating single life. There’s domestic violence, frustration, sex, estranged children, extended families, childcare responsibilities and life juggling in a way that feels all too familiar. There’s sexist men who don’t deal well with rejection (Peter Davison, among others), and bosses turning a blind eye. HRT alone is not going to solve this lot.
In some ways the subject matter is close to that of the equally funny and angry We Are Lady Parts (Channel 4), and a battle of the bands between the two might cause some sort of TV explosion: expectations of how women ought to be behaving at certain points in their lives. Who puts these expectations on us: the young Muslim women should be getting married and finding a good job. The menopausal women should be content with being unpaid carers and shouldering the responsibilities the world is giving them. Being given a mouthpiece – or at least a microphone – is the release. Both bands have to deal with their families being embarrassed or outraged by their behaviour, as they’re sticking several fingers up at societal norms.
Both series are worth a watch – they are sweary though, so maybe not with the kids!
Things making me happy this week
Crocheting a tiny sprout. He’s called Barry, after Barry the Time Sprout who features in a lot of Robert Rankin’s extremely silly books. We first meet him in Armageddon: The Musical, where he’s lodged in Elvis Presley’s head. Of course.
Christmas jumper crochet on the train. Next up, more of these and back to the piggies. I’ll be at Epping Christmas Market on 6th December, unless the weather misbehaves again.
“Suspension of disbelief or willing suspension of disbelief is a term coined in 1817 by the poet and aesthetic philosopher Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who suggested that if a writer could infuse a “human interest and a semblance of truth” into a fantastic tale, the reader would suspend judgment concerning the implausibility of the narrative.
Suspension of disbelief often applies to fictional works of the action, comedy, fantasy, and horror genres.”
Dear readers, this is my text for the week and the reason I spend a lot of time wishing to strangle my Beloved. Obviously I love him dearly, and he tolerates my snoring and the fact that my cooking is usually singed as I’m so easily distracted, but he does have one terrible habit.
Recently I have been watching Sons of Anarchy – I like the soundtrack so I thought I might enjoy the series. It has Ron Perlman and Katey Sagal and Jimmy Smits and Henry Rollins and other good people in it. It has redemption arcs and romance, and while I want to tell Charlie Hunnam to pull his trousers up I am, indeed, enjoying it. Yes, it’s all about a biker club who are – by their own admission – breaking the law and generally not being very nice people but (and this is an important but) it’s a work of fiction and thus requires the suspension of disbelief. This is the whole point of fiction.
What, I hear you ask, does this have to do with wishing to strangle my Beloved? Surely he is also enjoying it? After all, there were seven series so it must have had something going for it. Make yourselves comfortable and I shall tell you all…
My Beloved, bless his little cotton socks, can be positively transported by hours and hours of hairy-footed hobbits, orcs, appalling space operas like Zack Snyder’s truly bloody self-indulgent and awful Rebel Moon I and II (which he is watching again, and if anything didn’t need a director’s cut it was that), smug pointy-eared blonds elf-splaining Elven lore via inescapably dire scripts like Amazon’s latest Middle Earth epic, Vikings with suspiciously perfect teeth, and Korean zombies/demons/spirits from the vasty deep. He waits with bated breath for the next series of all these things and insists on rewatching the previous series before starting the new one. This can get wearing, especially when he rewinds a bit in case he missed something important in this series he’s watched before. Bear in mind, please, that he frequently cannot remember that he’s seen the film at least twice before, until something completely minor happens and it brings back total recall. I call these his Father Dougal moments.
He cannot, however, watch a single moment of SOA without loudly critiquing their every move for not being realistic. They made their choices, he says. They are criminals and her husband was a criminal so of course she was killed! Live by the sword, he declares. Die by the sword! She is an accessory after the fact! Guilt by association! She is aiding and abetting! Why does no one come and shoot them at home? I, on the other hand, accept that it’s fiction and not a moral fable, at that, and am happy to see where the story goes*. If I wanted a factual account of biker gangs in California I would be watching a different programme on a different channel: I don’t, so I’m not. He also argues with Midsomer, most other crime dramas and – actually – most of my other TV choices on the same basis, up to and including Doctor Who. He says these things loudly and in a tone of mild outrage and disbelief, as if fiction is not allowed to be unrealistic. This, dear reader, is why I am the patient, tolerant being that you all know and love. It’s the act of not strangling him for twenty years.
*My main question about SOA is how Katey Sagal hasn’t changed a bit in 30 years and looks younger now than she did in Married with Children in 1987.
Taking part in the Miller Knoll Day of Purpose on Tuesday, helping them prep for a community event in December. Cutting and sticking and making stuff! Fabric galore! A tour of their showrooms! Excellent chairs!
A five mile walk on Saturday morning – no baby cows but a happy pig snuggled up in his straw bed and a friendly cat.
Starting the countdown to National Illustration Day with a series of weekly challenges
The end of the anticyclonic gloom being in sight – can we have some sunshine now please?
Tea and a catch-up with Miriam
A Saturday sticking PDF patterns together and cutting out fabric to sew up on Sunday, painting boxes for my stall and making a new sign
See the works on site underway – sh*t’s getting real….
Putting my pixie hat on and getting the office Secret Santa underway…
And now it’s sewing time!
Kirsty x
What I’ve been reading:
Babes in the Wood/The Ghost of Ivy Barn – Mark Stay. Also The End of Magic by him but it was so awful I returned it. Luckily it was on Kindle Unlimited.
Unruly – David Mitchell
Wild City: |Encounters with Urban Wildlife – Florence Wilkinson
Twisted Twenty-six/Fortune and Glory – Janet Evanovich (Audible)
It’s Saturday night and I’m sitting in the front room watching Glow Up with Things 1 and 2. Even my Beloved is quite enjoying this one, although he has taken a break to go and pickle some beetroots in the kitchen. Thank heavens one of us is a domestic goddess, eh? I have the same feelings towards beetroot as I do towards boiled eggs: I don’t eat them so I don’t need to know how to make them. I was deeply mentally scarred by beetroot in primary school, where it was served cold with spam and lumpy mashed potato, and the beetroot juice turned everything a uniform shade of bright pink. And, it tastes like damp smells. Ugh. Anyway.
So, Glow Up. We are obviously late to this particular party, and we’re definitely not wearing enough slap, but it’s the same basic format as the Great British Sewing Bee/Bake Off/Pottery Throwdown/etc where there’s a set of challenges and someone goes home in tears at the end and talks about how much they’ve learned and how they’ll nevereverever forget their new best friends. This one has the rather irritating Stacey Dooley in presenter mode – as far as I can tell, she’s basically Ross Kemp with more hair and less war zones. If Ross Kemp did hospitals and homeless people instead of wannabe warriors, that is. She does seem to have found a niche, and good on her for that, but her constant use of the phrase ‘please may you’ gets right on my nerves. She also says ‘haitch’ instead of ‘aitch’. It’s a no from me.
We are enjoying it, and it’s nice to have something that 2/3 of the Things will watch happily together which isn’t a badly-dubbed Netflix thriller or a terrible teen romance angst movie. There’s always one contestant that you really want to go home in the first week and every time they survive a ‘face off’ you get to shout at the telly, and when your favourite survives you get to cheer. Thing 1, as I said the other week, is off to do Theatrical and Media Make-up at college in September, so she’s finding this interesting; I, on the other hand, am just stunned at the sheer amount of make-up these people feel they need to wear, filled with wonder at what people do to their eyebrows, and boggling at the lip fillers. The young make-up artists are proper drama queens, and at least one rushes off in tears in every challenge which doesn’t impress the judges. It’s unprofessional, apparently.
Bake Off is Thing 2’s favourite and she can get very critical about people’s Swiss Roll swirls at times. She loves to bake and experiment, and is a dab hand with meringues as she proved with a pavlova for my birthday barbecue last weekend. It vanished in minutes: perfectly crispy on the outside and melty in the middle, it was a hit with everyone. Bake Off always has a bit more of a competitive edge to it, and the congratulations are sometimes delivered through gritted teeth.
Not so the Great British Sewing Bee, which I am hopelessly addicted to. The latest series finished this week, and for once I was absolutely in agreement with Patrick and Esme about the winner. I have had my doubts in the past and on at least one occasion they have been plain wrong and I wanted a recount. Once Annie had found her feet she was brilliant, and some of her garments were gorgeous. Man Yee was also fabulous, and I’m so pleased she made the final along with Debra – Brogan shouldn’t have been put through, as her Origami outfit in the semi-final didn’t meet the brief. At least it wasn’t gingham or floral though. I loved Debra and her model in the final, slipping in and out of Welsh as they chatted. The contestants on GBSB are always ready to help each other with techniques and figuring out strange instructions, and I love the way they all hold hands as they find out the results each week.
The Great Pottery Showdown is another favourite: I adore Keith Brymer-Jones and the way he cries when he really loves something. The dynamic between Rich Miller and Keith is great, and the critiques of the challenges are so thoughtful and constructive. Siobhan McSweeney should present everything, preferably in role as Sister Michael from Derry Girls with full sarcasm. The last series, where at one point pretty much everyone was in tears, was great. Again the contestants are kind to each other, and that’s such a lovely thing to see. If you haven’t seen Derry Girls, it’s wonderful: funny, sweet and candid. Binge it now.
I was sorely disappointed by The Great British Dig, however. With that title, I had visions of a set of amateur archaeologists and some very neat trenches, and the best find of the week (Roman villa, King Arthur, Viking burial, Saxon hoard etc) would get to stay and the one who only dug up two plastic soldiers and a ring from one of those eggs you used to get for 10p from the machine outside the paper shop would get sent home. Anyone whose trench had a soggy bottom would get be haunted by the ghost of Mick Aston or something. This was not the case: what we got was a bunch of people putting holes in suburban flower beds and Hugh Dennis being smug about stuff. I think my version was better.*
You can keep your Love Islands and I’m a Z-lister, too. Maybe just put them all on an island and just tell them the cameras are on. Pop back in a year and see if it went all Lord of the Flies when they ran out of bronzer.
(I’m really not a big TV watcher, despite the above: unless I’m ironing or GBSB is on, if I’m on my own I won’t turn the TV on – give me music or a podcast any time if I’m working on something, or I’ll be reading if not. On the tube I’m listening to The Socially Distant Sports Bar, which is wildly inappropriate for children and does tend to cause me to laugh out loud. Mike Bubbins and Elis James can reduce poor Stef Garrero to helpless giggles. Don’t be taken in by the name, this podcast is like two hours in the pub with your funniest mates and while sport does occasionally get mentioned there’s a lot more to it. Go on, you won’t regret it. It’s very sweary though. Very sweary. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)
Speaking of competitions, another highlight of the week was the Conference News Agency Awards 2022 event this week. My friend, swimming buddy and all round fab person Isla kindly invited me along to join her company table – I’ve been freelancing for her for five years or so, helping out at awards and conferences, and I remember her making the leap and starting up her own events business. She survived the pandemic by shifting online, diversifying into online events and experiences, focusing on sustainability. The company, We Are FTW Ltd, was nominated in the Small Agency of the Year category and Isla was so convinced she hadn’t got a chance (there were 10 nominees in this category) that she didn’t bother listening to the announcement. Her face when the presenter said ‘And the winner is…. We are FTW Ltd!’ was the perfect picture of disbelief.
Isla (centre) still smilingDessertCat shoes and fishnets. The hussy!Dressing up as Johnny Depp. Weird. Why not Gene Wilder?
The event was themed around Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, and the welcome reception featured strawberry daiquiri bubbles, edible balloons and cocktail mists which were great fun, but making the young women staffing the stations wear aprons printed with ‘I’m delicious, lick me!’ was a little weird…. Miriam, who also works for Isla when she’s not being a performance life coach, wore her amazing steampunk hat and looked fabulous, and there were a lot of bow ties in the room. No one dressed up as an Oompah-Loompah, sadly. I wore some completely impractical shoes, we ate very small but delicious portions of heritage beets, beef short rib and a fluffy raspberry mousse, and the afterparty was great fun.
Other things making me happy this week:
the final episodes of Stranger Things
an afternoon at the school fete, sharing my stall with Thing 2 and M’s no. 1 daughter
Launching the new Adventurers Assemble! assembly at one of our favourite Tower Hamlets primary schools: time travel, space hoppers, missing objects and a mission! Giggling kids and teachers, you know it’s a winner.
my new shed is finished and my old shed is accessible again!
Shed 2. Full of possibility?Shed 2. Actually full of boxesShed 1, not full of boxes!Willow, from Really Big Pants Theatre, in full wobbly HistoGoggs modeMeeples!Never lose your stitch markers again
*I also have a much better version of the second two Lord of the Rings films which would save us all a few hours.
Tomorrow I have to take Thing 1 to Westfield to do some shopping for her National Citizen Service thing – a week away sounds lovely, but they said I’m too old. Ah well. See you on the flipside.
Kirsty x
What I’ve been reading:
Ingathering – Zenna Henderson
Bill Bailey’s Remarkable Guide to British Birds – Bill Bailey
What Kirsty did next 