my cultural principles are stupid.

Tags

cool, hotness, men, sherlock, tv, wonky logic

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.

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i no longer fancy televisual schoolboys. and that fact scares me.

Tags

gilmore girls, hotness, scary adult, tv

I have, of late, been watching a lot of Gilmore Girls. And when I say a lot, I really do mean a lot; it’s become my new ER. I’m yet to start having dreams where I’m wandering around Stars Hollow conversing with all the characters in the same way I did during the ER frenzy, but that doesn’t mean that the Gilmores haven’t found a way to mess with my brain. Because, in some weird way, reverting to student mode and watching a coming-of-age telly show has made me realise, once again, that I really am a stupid bloody adult.

It’s not because I’ve already made all the important life decisions that Rory struggles with; I decided on my uni nearly a decade ago, and I’ve got my first job, and then my second, and then a few more after that. I’ve graduated, I’ve moved in with a boyfriend, I’ve set myself up in the world. And I haven’t even stolen a yacht along the way. But that’s not what upsets me. What gets me is in fact far, far simpler. It’s that I fancy the grown up adult men in the show, and not the teenage boys.

On the surface, this makes perfect sense; I’m 26 years old, so fancying teenage boys would be a bit creepy and wrong. But everyone knows that the teenage boys in American TV shows are never actually teenagers, so there’s none of the creepiness that comes with fancying Harry from One Direction. Those 16 year olds are actually 25! That’s fine! And yet still, I find myself ignoring Rory’s love interests – even the wonderful Logan, who I have adored since the dawn of time – and noticing for the first time just how lovely some of Lorelai’s men are. In particular Christopher. I bloody love Christopher.

And he is RORY’S DAD. I have now reached the point where I fancy the parents in TV shows. I am THAT MUCH OF AN ADULT. It’s not even in that semi-ironic way that everyone fancied Sandy Cohen a few years back; yeah, he was a wonderful specimen of man, but really, if you were made to have sex with him or Seth, you’d definitely pick Seth. Whereas if I were to pick one of the Gilmore men, I would without doubt – and without hesitation – go for Christopher.

My only comfort in this realisation is this; Christopher himself is not a proper adult. When he first appears he is not that many years older than I am now, because he was all irresponsible and knocked Lorelai up when they were teenagers. He is flighty, and a bit rubbish, and he can’t buy that dictionary, and even though he’s pathetically in love with Lorelai he still goes and knocks up that stupid Sherry bint. So this leads us to two conclusions; one, he is utterly hopeless at all things, including contraception. And two, he has some super-duper sperm.

So it’s not like fancying a real adult; he’s an adolescent in a man’s body. And that’s fine. And not all grown up at all. So just as long as I keep fancying Christopher, it should be OK. Now I just need to watch out for the next generational leap, in case I find myself blogging about how attractive Richard Gilmore is. Because that would be bad all round.

fancy dress is amazing

Tags

beauty, fancy dress, fashion, fear, hotness, insecurity

Over the past week, I’ve got more use out of my National Trust membership than ever before. I have had an old travelling friend visiting from America, and I have gone stately home and castle crazy. The overenthusiastic faux-tourism has got completely out of control. And it’s had a new level added to it. Fancy dress.

It turns out, you see, that many historic properties have a fancy dress box hiding somewhere. Yes, it’s supposed to be for kids, and yes, it can sometimes be a challenge to fit into the things, but I refuse to be denied this fun just because I’m supposedly an adult. So I’ve dressed in a tabard at Lewes Castle, and sported a top hat at Polesden Lacey (I also wore a cowboy hat in the local Mexican restaurant, but that’s another story). I got disapproving looks from middle-aged couples, but I didn’t care. Because fancy dress is amazing.

I didn’t always feel this way. As a teenager, fancy dress was my greatest and most horrible enemy. I went to a ‘traffic light’ party when I was 15, and my only nod towards the dress code was some orange sunglasses. That wasn’t even a proper fancy dress party, but I was still too terrified to do anything else. I found the whole thing mortifying, and full of chances to completely mess it up; to go too over the top, or too lazy, or too old school, or just generally too rubbish. If I was invited to a fancy dress party, I would just not go. It was better than subjecting myself to the potential horrors.

And then, aged 22, I got invited to a ‘dress as a song title party’. And my company for the evening was going to be a girl who was the most enthusiastic and successful fancy dresser I’d ever encountered. So I resisted the urge to just go in normal clothes and claim I’d turned up as Jackie Big Tits, and instead dolled myself up as Killer Queen, complete with crown and axe and fake blood and completely wild backcombed hair. And I had a unexpected fancy dress epiphany.

Because it turns out that fancy dress is an opportunity to just totally opt out of even attempting to look attractive. And that’s amazing. It’s the one time when you don’t have to worry about whether you look fat, or tired, or if your eyeliner’s gone funny, or your hair has dried a weird way. You can actually look disgusting on purpose, and rather than recoiling in horror, people will complement you on it. There’s not even any need to find clothes that are even vaguely fashionable. So you can look disgusting AND devoid of all style, and it’s absolutely fine.

Then there’s the hair, which can be curly or straight or specially styled or just backcombed beyond the usual levels of comprehension. Which, needless to say, is my favourite look. Fancy dress gives me a chance to indulge my backcombing junkie, and attack my hair in a way that is not normally socially acceptable. I can actually, finally, make my hair as giant as I have always dreamt.

And so, much to my surprise, I’ve developed a belated and overwhelming love of fancy dress. And as a result, I might start campaigning for National Trust properties to have dress-up clothes in adult sizes. And to let you actually swan around the house in them. Because that would be the actual best thing ever.

outdoors is actually fun. and also very, very attractive.

Tags

dating, hotness, travel

i should probably say sorry to my Farthing Wood Friend for this one. so sorry.

I am not the most outdoorsy of people. A combination of being ginger, and only ever having lived in cities, and being a bit lazy and scared of things has added up to a lifetime of being mostly indoors. My idea of outdoors activity is having a barbecue in the garden, or – and this is at a push – a game of frisbee in the park. I’ve never had a problem with this. I look at outdoorsy people and think they’re all slightly mad. Or at least, I did. Then I spent a week in South Africa and began to wonder whether I’ve got it all wrong.

It was all a bit of a surprise. I tried being outdoorsy when I went to Bolivia, and only got through it by telling myself that I was just like Bruce Parry, so I was not expecting to change my mind. But being indoorsy in South Africa mostly just involved sitting and drinking, and whilst I’m normally a huge fan of both these things, it seemed a bit daft when there’re elephants on your doorstep. If I wanted to do anything other than sitting and drinking, I needed to be outside to do it. It was weird.

And once I got out into the sunshine, it got even weirder. There was a wealth of different activities I could try! Tightrope walking? Give it a shot. Wandering around looking for lion tracks? Yeah, why not? Standing in the back of a ute whilst being driven at speed through the park? Wonderful plan. None of it was really anything like Bruce Parry, and none of it had anything to do with sitting, and yet it was FUN.

And then I discovered the other great advantage of being outdoorsy. The men. I’ve often wondered over the years just where all the attractive men were, and could only conclude that they must be at some elusive Fit People’s Convention. And it turns out I was right. It’d just never occurred to me that said convention might be outdoors, rather than in one spectacularly attractive pub. Outdoorsy men are tanned, and they are toned, and they are adventurous, and they are happy. And I had never, ever realised this before because I’d been too busy chasing down pale, bearded geeks in my local pub.  Of course, I’d never leave my Farthing Wood Friend for one of said outdoorsy men (partly because I love him, partly because they make me feel pale and fat and inferior), but it’s nice to know they’re there for gawping at, if you can just be bothered to go outside and look.

Drazic will always be the best of all the schoolboys

Tags

hotness, nostalgia, tv

to be honest, i’ve got no idea where this one comes from. I just love Drazic and wanted to tell everyone

I’ve always had a secret love of televisual schoolboys. It started when I was a teenager myself; I was bitter that my school didn’t have any of the attractive schoolboys that featured on all my favourite TV shows (which in retrospect made perfect sense, since I went to an all-girls school). I expected I’d grow out of it, but when I got to uni I discovered that televisual schoolboys were a common language for all girls. There was always one schoolboy who inevitably reduced us all to useless wrecks though; Drazic.

Drazic is more than just a TV schoolboy. He’s a cultural watershed. The quickest and easiest way to work out which sub-generation girls belong to is to mention his name. Those of us who experienced the joy that was Drazic are always horrified to encounter people with no clue who he is. There’re generally two reasons for this; either, these people were born after 1986, or they just weren’t paying enough attention to BBC Two in the late nineties. Whichever one it is, they’re missing out, for Drazic is quite simply the best schoolboy of all time.

Drazic was the best thing about Heartbreak High – and the best thing to have come out of Australia in the late 90s. He was rebellious, and angsty, and just sexual enough to excite fourteen year old girls without scaring them away. He made Billy Kennedy and his Neighbours counterparts seem like Walter the Softy. He skated around Manly beach with his shirt off and his eyebrow piercing on display, and a generation of girls fell madly in love with him. More than a decade later, I still find myself having excited conversations about the time he got all angry and trashed that classroom. He unleashed the teenage fury that we all felt, but daren’t speak. And he looked fantastic doing it.

And Drazic had another advantage – he seemed real. Whilst other TV schoolboys were completely avoiding the topic of sex, and invariably getting married at a ridiculously young age, Drazic was just going for it. His relationship with Anita was the heart of the show (and also the source of much heartbreak when we realised they were a real-life couple), but rather than living happily ever after, he accidentally shagged his housemate. And then went to play some pool. It wasn’t all shiny-happy in Drazic’s world. It was tricky, and it was complicated. And to a teenage girl, that made him perfect.

The other week I went on Amazon to do a desperate search for Heartbreak High on DVD, but had no luck. Deep down, I think this might be a good thing. Now I’m older and supposedly wiser, I worry that Drazic won’t have the same effect on me and I’ll just ruin my own memories of him. So for now I’m content with those memories. And Google image search.