I hate a lot of things on principle. A LOT of things. Some of them are reasonable, sensible things to hate, like racism, and sexism, and people who insist on trying to read as they’re walking along the train station platform and who just get right in your way. Some of them aren’t so reasonable, like trousers that are too short, and mushrooms, and my inexplicable addiction to the Daily Mail website which makes NO SENSE TO ME in any way. And I’m fine with all of that. I quite enjoy hating things. It’s why I write for hecklerspray.
What’s turning out to be more problematic than the hatred though, is my tendency to avoid things on principle. Things that everyone says are absolutely brilliant. My logic runs thus; if most people think it’s great, and most people are idiots, then it’s probably not that great at all. It’s why I refused to watch Star Wars until my uni housemate forced me to. It’s why I took ages to get myself on twitter. And recently, it was why I refused to watch Sherlock.
The Sherlock obstinacy was perhaps the most irrational yet. I like Stephen Moffat. I like Mark Gattiss. I like sitting down, and I like watching TV. And people whose opinions I actually like and respect kept telling me that it was really really good, and all of twitter pretty much exploded when the last episode aired.
And on top of all those excellent reasons, I kept being told that I would really, really fancy Benedict Cumberbatch after watching it. Which really should’ve convinced me instantly. One of my greatest joys in life is sitting on my sofa letching on people on the TV. I love being an armchair pervert. It’s what I do. And here was a show that would provide me with ample opportunity to say sexually inappropriate things on twitter and to be met with agreement, rather than horror.
But I would not watch it. Absolutely, definitely not. There was no way I was going to watch it. Instead, I was going to sit there with my stupid televisual hangover from a time when I was a red-haired teenager who was intent on being “independent” and “different” and I was just going to watch yet more ER.
Then I realised this was really, really stupid.
I am not fifteen any more. I am not a rebel. I am not “subversive” or “different”, and refusing to watch a TV show I was probably going to enjoy was not in any way a Fuck You to the man. It was just the action of a slightly deluded young woman who was trying to pretend that she’s not the traditional, quite boring person that she really is.
So I went and I bought the box set. And I loved it. And the next time I try and be all defiant and interesting, I’ll remind myself of this fact.
Or I’ll just carry around a picture of Benedict Cumberbatch looking dashing in a coat. That should work too.