Oh my gawwwd, look at the state of this place...soooo many skeletons...so many lives wasted...*shrugs* oh well...
Hello dear readers, that is, if there is any of you left (AND if there was any of you to begin with!)
My, it’s been a while...all this used to be fields the last time I was here...oh wait, no, that’s something else entirely...where I live actually (No, I don’t live in a field, contrary to popular belief, not anymore anyway, that is my past and it shall stay there, alright?)
Anyway, I digress (as always), yes, it’s been a while. I have not updated this ere’ bloggery since the dear f**king Rik Mayall died last year. Maybe it’s kind of poignant that I took a break after such a loss to the comedy world, (I can already hear him in my head calling me a lazy bastard for using him as the excuse!)
However, I feel that now is a good a time as any to update, because, something really wonderful has happened lately (no, no, not that...sadly) – my love for comedy has kind of been reinforced if you will, these past few years have been quite dramatic and far from funny (well, unless you’ve been a distant observer with a grudge...or life itself, that always likes a good giggle at me) and a lot of my well ‘ground in’ (is that a technical term?) beliefs in things and various ‘stuff’ has been tested to its limit, some have fell by the wayside in a suitably, cheesy 70’s drama, dramatic death form and some have hid in the bushes and waited...like the very suspect bloke from down the street, who you try to avoid...
And comedy, my dear friends, has been the bloke in the bushes….. he hid away in the background until I was ready to dance with him in the moonlight again (getting my metaphors a bit mixed up here).
You see, without going too morbid on your arses (as much as I like being on all your arses...or ‘asses’ if you’re American), since I last updated, my mum passed away and it was quite sudden and very much unexpected... *awkward silence* It was a huge shock to me and my family, long story short, she had been ill for a while but she was obviously much worse than we all thought, we never dreamed of losing her, put it that way, as you never do, losing your Mum, who was also your best friend and fellow comedy aficionado at 27 years of age never even crossed my mind, until a chest infection suddenly turned into Pneumonia and took her within two weeks. I also have to add that I lost my cat, Basil, (also very suddenly, from a heart attack) in February this year...so yeah, my life hasn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs since the last time we communicated. I haven’t exactly been in the ‘funny’ kind of mood....well, I’ve been in some ‘funny’ moods...but not funny ‘ha-ha’, more ‘funny neurotic who wants to chuck herself off a high precipice’) But I did say I wasn’t going to go morbid on you...and I lied...obviously...I do apologise...but you know… my mother…my cat child...just saying...
But recently, without getting ahead of myself (because we can’t be too positive, that would be nuts), I feel like I’ve been in a healing process.
Well, the start line of one anyway...there are certain comedies that my Mum introduced me to and that we always watched together, without fail...Father Ted, Morecambe and Wise, Count Arthur Strong, just to name a very small few.
But there is a certain one that we both loved very dearly...it was ‘our’ comedy, if you will. This would be the wonderfully written, brilliantly funny and wickedly dark ‘One Foot In The Grave.’
Now, I haven’t been able to watch this until recently, for obvious reasons, but a week or two ago, I was brave, got out my box set and started from the beginning and I swear to god, it’s been like god damn fecking counselling! With Victor Meldrew as my therapist (imagine that, if you will.)
So many reasons as to why, not just because it was mine and my Mum’s ‘thing’ and it brings back some great (although sometimes, gut grabbingly painful, with nails dug in for good measure) memories. But because of the wonderful writing and acting in general. It’s full of amazing, clever and Philosophical monologues on life, that are delivered beautifully by the actors (particularly the lovely Annette Crosbie) that just make you go from laughing your hair off one minute, to pain-stakingly thinking about the meaning of it all the next...and more importantly, agreeing with it all! It kind of makes you realise that we are all in the same boat, no matter how bad or good things seem to be, we’re all on the same road and we’re just trying to make it through this weird scum bucket of life...or sun bucket if you’re one of the lucky few.
I found myself agreeing with Victor so much more than I did when I was younger and watching it for the first time, I remember always feeling sorry for Margaret, having to put up with Victor’s ramblings all the time, but now, I fully and wholeheartedly agree with the sad, moaning old sod...!!! And if that means that I am now a sad moaning old sod myself...then so be it (secretly cries into my Holicks...not really, I hate the stuff...but any ‘old sod drink’ that you can think of).
He has it all ‘right’...he’s a happy person, or wants to be...and he’s a good man, but the people around him are incompetent idiots...and he’s obviously too intelligent to be able to just lie down and take it (oooeerr)! So he fights back and gets frustrated...like any normal, human, intelligent being would do, the way I see it, you’re either an idiot or you’re the moaning old sod...take your pick, but I know what side I’m on (don’t say I’m an idiot, because I’m not, honest.)
What gets me the most about this though, is the fact that the people who matter to him most, for example, Margaret...or even the fabulous Mrs Warboys (I still can’t hear ‘Wild Boys’ by Duran Duran, without thinking of her, ever since my Dad announced one time, that it sounded like they were chanting ‘Warboys’ instead of Wild Boys.) they love Victor and put up with him for exactly who he is, because although they probably get frustrated with him, deep down, they know he’s right, and more importantly, they love and care for him, so therefore, they accept him and his ways… and that’s how you know who really cares for you. I believe that you can be the most annoying, soul crushing, ‘want to smash your repeatedly head through a television screen’ kind of person...in fact, you can be anything (even the bloke in the bushes) and the people who matter the most to you, or care for you the most, will always love you...for you...and that’s how you sort the men from the boys (and the blokes from the bushes.)
Without sounding pretentious, I’ve been on a journey through watching through this wonderful series again, a journey that has been strangely cathartic and healing, I’ve been laughing one minute, deep thinking life itself the next minute and then in bits on the floor, bawling my eyes into my carpet the next...(I’m actually being serious there, for once.) It has been immensely healing, so healing...more healing than a healer on a healing carpet, on top of a healing mountain... (or precipice, if you want to see a posh word again.) It’s astounded me, to be honest....what I’ve gained from it...as stupid as I may sound..more stupid than usual. (Did I mention it was healing?)
My point being is (yes, finally), I have gained more healing surrounding my grief, family and general mortality issues from re-watching one series of a very beautifully written and acted comedy, than I have from any counsellor, therapist, doctor, pill or alcohol based beverage...
That is what has cemented comedy well and truly back into my cold, black, frosty, clown like heart.
And that my loves, Is what I think is so f**king wonderful about it...
(pardon my French...why do we say that, by the way? why is it French? Do all French people swear all the time? Is that what their language really is, secret swearing?)
Hello dear readers, that is, if there is any of you left (AND if there was any of you to begin with!)
My, it’s been a while...all this used to be fields the last time I was here...oh wait, no, that’s something else entirely...where I live actually (No, I don’t live in a field, contrary to popular belief, not anymore anyway, that is my past and it shall stay there, alright?)
Anyway, I digress (as always), yes, it’s been a while. I have not updated this ere’ bloggery since the dear f**king Rik Mayall died last year. Maybe it’s kind of poignant that I took a break after such a loss to the comedy world, (I can already hear him in my head calling me a lazy bastard for using him as the excuse!)
However, I feel that now is a good a time as any to update, because, something really wonderful has happened lately (no, no, not that...sadly) – my love for comedy has kind of been reinforced if you will, these past few years have been quite dramatic and far from funny (well, unless you’ve been a distant observer with a grudge...or life itself, that always likes a good giggle at me) and a lot of my well ‘ground in’ (is that a technical term?) beliefs in things and various ‘stuff’ has been tested to its limit, some have fell by the wayside in a suitably, cheesy 70’s drama, dramatic death form and some have hid in the bushes and waited...like the very suspect bloke from down the street, who you try to avoid...
And comedy, my dear friends, has been the bloke in the bushes….. he hid away in the background until I was ready to dance with him in the moonlight again (getting my metaphors a bit mixed up here).
You see, without going too morbid on your arses (as much as I like being on all your arses...or ‘asses’ if you’re American), since I last updated, my mum passed away and it was quite sudden and very much unexpected... *awkward silence* It was a huge shock to me and my family, long story short, she had been ill for a while but she was obviously much worse than we all thought, we never dreamed of losing her, put it that way, as you never do, losing your Mum, who was also your best friend and fellow comedy aficionado at 27 years of age never even crossed my mind, until a chest infection suddenly turned into Pneumonia and took her within two weeks. I also have to add that I lost my cat, Basil, (also very suddenly, from a heart attack) in February this year...so yeah, my life hasn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs since the last time we communicated. I haven’t exactly been in the ‘funny’ kind of mood....well, I’ve been in some ‘funny’ moods...but not funny ‘ha-ha’, more ‘funny neurotic who wants to chuck herself off a high precipice’) But I did say I wasn’t going to go morbid on you...and I lied...obviously...I do apologise...but you know… my mother…my cat child...just saying...
But recently, without getting ahead of myself (because we can’t be too positive, that would be nuts), I feel like I’ve been in a healing process.
Well, the start line of one anyway...there are certain comedies that my Mum introduced me to and that we always watched together, without fail...Father Ted, Morecambe and Wise, Count Arthur Strong, just to name a very small few.
But there is a certain one that we both loved very dearly...it was ‘our’ comedy, if you will. This would be the wonderfully written, brilliantly funny and wickedly dark ‘One Foot In The Grave.’
Now, I haven’t been able to watch this until recently, for obvious reasons, but a week or two ago, I was brave, got out my box set and started from the beginning and I swear to god, it’s been like god damn fecking counselling! With Victor Meldrew as my therapist (imagine that, if you will.)
So many reasons as to why, not just because it was mine and my Mum’s ‘thing’ and it brings back some great (although sometimes, gut grabbingly painful, with nails dug in for good measure) memories. But because of the wonderful writing and acting in general. It’s full of amazing, clever and Philosophical monologues on life, that are delivered beautifully by the actors (particularly the lovely Annette Crosbie) that just make you go from laughing your hair off one minute, to pain-stakingly thinking about the meaning of it all the next...and more importantly, agreeing with it all! It kind of makes you realise that we are all in the same boat, no matter how bad or good things seem to be, we’re all on the same road and we’re just trying to make it through this weird scum bucket of life...or sun bucket if you’re one of the lucky few.
I found myself agreeing with Victor so much more than I did when I was younger and watching it for the first time, I remember always feeling sorry for Margaret, having to put up with Victor’s ramblings all the time, but now, I fully and wholeheartedly agree with the sad, moaning old sod...!!! And if that means that I am now a sad moaning old sod myself...then so be it (secretly cries into my Holicks...not really, I hate the stuff...but any ‘old sod drink’ that you can think of).
He has it all ‘right’...he’s a happy person, or wants to be...and he’s a good man, but the people around him are incompetent idiots...and he’s obviously too intelligent to be able to just lie down and take it (oooeerr)! So he fights back and gets frustrated...like any normal, human, intelligent being would do, the way I see it, you’re either an idiot or you’re the moaning old sod...take your pick, but I know what side I’m on (don’t say I’m an idiot, because I’m not, honest.)
What gets me the most about this though, is the fact that the people who matter to him most, for example, Margaret...or even the fabulous Mrs Warboys (I still can’t hear ‘Wild Boys’ by Duran Duran, without thinking of her, ever since my Dad announced one time, that it sounded like they were chanting ‘Warboys’ instead of Wild Boys.) they love Victor and put up with him for exactly who he is, because although they probably get frustrated with him, deep down, they know he’s right, and more importantly, they love and care for him, so therefore, they accept him and his ways… and that’s how you know who really cares for you. I believe that you can be the most annoying, soul crushing, ‘want to smash your repeatedly head through a television screen’ kind of person...in fact, you can be anything (even the bloke in the bushes) and the people who matter the most to you, or care for you the most, will always love you...for you...and that’s how you sort the men from the boys (and the blokes from the bushes.)
Without sounding pretentious, I’ve been on a journey through watching through this wonderful series again, a journey that has been strangely cathartic and healing, I’ve been laughing one minute, deep thinking life itself the next minute and then in bits on the floor, bawling my eyes into my carpet the next...(I’m actually being serious there, for once.) It has been immensely healing, so healing...more healing than a healer on a healing carpet, on top of a healing mountain... (or precipice, if you want to see a posh word again.) It’s astounded me, to be honest....what I’ve gained from it...as stupid as I may sound..more stupid than usual. (Did I mention it was healing?)
My point being is (yes, finally), I have gained more healing surrounding my grief, family and general mortality issues from re-watching one series of a very beautifully written and acted comedy, than I have from any counsellor, therapist, doctor, pill or alcohol based beverage...
That is what has cemented comedy well and truly back into my cold, black, frosty, clown like heart.
And that my loves, Is what I think is so f**king wonderful about it...
(pardon my French...why do we say that, by the way? why is it French? Do all French people swear all the time? Is that what their language really is, secret swearing?)
I always will and always have thought that, hence my un-natural interest and love of it all.
That is what is so wonderful about comedy to me and the healing power of laughing in general...or making someone else laugh, it’s all an act of healing, no matter what you believe (it would explain why a lot of comedians used to be doctors...Graham Chapman, Harry Hill, think about it?)
I really should have remembered that from the time in 2009, when Laurel and Hardy single handlely...or double handedly I should say, got me through a horrible time of bad health problems and anxiety...watching them, I mean...they weren’t nursing me or anything...although that would be been ace...apart from the whole thing of them being dead and all’.
Anyway, babbling aside and point being made...(I said, finally) I sincerely hope that I keep that in mind this time, the healing power of comedy and laughter can be extremely powerful, no matter what life throws at me, I think I have endured some of the worst now anyway (*waits for world to collapse around me*)...and I hope it never has to go hiding away in the bushes ever again. :)
That is what is so wonderful about comedy to me and the healing power of laughing in general...or making someone else laugh, it’s all an act of healing, no matter what you believe (it would explain why a lot of comedians used to be doctors...Graham Chapman, Harry Hill, think about it?)
I really should have remembered that from the time in 2009, when Laurel and Hardy single handlely...or double handedly I should say, got me through a horrible time of bad health problems and anxiety...watching them, I mean...they weren’t nursing me or anything...although that would be been ace...apart from the whole thing of them being dead and all’.
Anyway, babbling aside and point being made...(I said, finally) I sincerely hope that I keep that in mind this time, the healing power of comedy and laughter can be extremely powerful, no matter what life throws at me, I think I have endured some of the worst now anyway (*waits for world to collapse around me*)...and I hope it never has to go hiding away in the bushes ever again. :)
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