My 2011 - part the second

TOP TEN TV SHOWS THAT WERE NEW TO ME THIS YEAR
(aka. Hannah finally watches the shows everyone's been harping on about for months)

1. Parks and Recreation

Leslie Knope (Amy Poehler): human sunshine.

Much as it would be rather concieted as marketing campaigns go, this show could have the tagline 'Parks and Recreation: pretty much the perfect TV show' and not be lying one jot. I watched the entire thing, three and a half series, in about a month this, and I don't think a TV show has ever given me so many feelings. And I get a LOT of feelings from a LOT of tv shows.

This show is pure joy. Pure joy, condensed into 20-minute pockets of beauty and sparkles and unicorns and sugar and spice and all things nice. There's love, faith, compassion, honour, passion, community, and some of the best potrayals of friendships I've seen in any show. The cast is fantastic, the plots are sweet and uncontrived, and the whole thing just charms its way into your heart, clutching on tight and not letting go. Perfect, perfect show.

Also, the cast totally look like animals.

2. Horrible Histories

Such a sexy Dick. (TURPIN. Get your minds out of the gutter.)

What is it with me and shows designed for children? Whatever, whatever, I do what I want, and Horrible Histories is deserving of love from all ages. Shameless, unwavering love. Because of how it is brilliant.

A bunch of nerds writing daft sketches and silly songs which celebrate ridiculous historical oddities while remaining completely factually accurate - what could be better? The sketches are fun, everybody is really excellent face-wise (Baynton! Willbond! Rickard! Howick!), and they write lyrics like 'can you imagine it? // I'm the last plantagenet'. Oh, you glorious little weirdos.

3. The Good Wife

Will Gardner (Josh Charles) and Alicia Florrick (Julianna Margulies) practise law; remain beautiful while doing so.

Questions I ask myself: why did I wait so long to watch The Good Wife? This magnificent show - one of the best I've ever watched, writing-wise in particular - was absent from my life for far, far too long. Fortunately, with a little help from Isobel, this was rectified with a day-long binge watch of series one, wherein I fell disgustingly in love with everybody.

Julianna Margulies is incredible, Josh Charles can get it any day of the week, and Archie Panjabi as the ambiguous and enigmatic Kalinda is glorious. Don't even get me started on Alan Cumming and his season-stealing turn as magnificent shitbag Eli Gold. I'm yet to embark upon series two (Univeristy happened, and ate up most of my time/brainspace), but everybody should get on this show. Like, yesterday.

4. Modern Family

Oh, these crazy kids.

Had Parks and Rec not come along, this would have stolen the spot for favourite American Comedy Show Wherein the Characters Address the Camera, but it will have to be satisfied with a very close second. I'm sure it'll be gutted, but it'll get over it.

While some find it saccharine (and it does occasionally tread into the preachy realm of cheesy that P&R manages to evade), it is hilarious in the extreme, and utterly charming. We witness an extended family stumble their way through holidays, domestics and public events with minimal success and maximal haphazardness (haphazadity? hapharzititude?). The show is bright, sweet and smart, an utter delight. Also, it introduced me to Ty Burrell's Phil Dunphy, aka. my dream husband.

5. Rev

Tom Hollander as Adam Smallbone - hold me closer, tiny vicar.

One of those gorgeous, subtle shows that creeps up on you and, before you know it, has firmly planted itself in your heart. Beautifully observed, it is one of the rare portrayals of religion on TV that manages to remains liberal, respectful and unpatronising.

I may well write a bigger post on this at some point, because feelings: I have them, but here I shall summarise. Frank and smart, it manages to tackle religion, friendship, poverty and marriage in a way that is both funny and achingly real. In particular, look out for Steve Evets' beautiful portrayal of Colin - just gorgeous.

6. The Yard

Actually, 'these crazy kids' is probably a better caption for this picture.

The excellent Jakk recommended this six-part Canadian darling dear of a show, wherein we explore the ins and outs of playground politics in an elementary school. It's hard to explain; it's kind of a kids' show for grown-ups, expertly (if obviously) parallelling adult situations in jungle-gym backdrops.

The kids are fucking brilliant, and so adorable you'll pull a muscle (is their anything funnier than children swearing? I think not), and it is one of the sweetest shows I've ever had the pleasure of watching. I fear I can't do it justice in summary, but seriously - watch it if you can. You won't regret it.

7. Chuck

Iiiii should have posted a picture of a main charcter, rather than a guest star. But this is Matt Bomer in a baseball shirt, so no.

The darling Emma decided I needed to watch this show, and BOY was she right. I am now realising that two of my twenty favourite shows of 2011 involve the ACCIDENTAL SPY! plotline, so clearly I have a type, and while Spy handles it more subtly, Chuck is balls-out ridiculous. And I love it.

It has a good deal of endearing features: Zachary Levi's lovely face; Yyvonne Strahovski's lovely face; spy-based shenanigans; nerdery; Adam Baldwin being brawny and excellent; Captain Awesome; and all the delicious UST you could ask for. Good lord it takes a while to get stuff done, and while you end up yelling 'JUST MAKE OUT GOD' at the screen, it's in a lovely way!


8. How I Met Your Mother

The main reason I am watching this show: this face right here.

Another show that completely passed me by the first time, and that everybody seemed to rave about. I admit, I saw it as something of a generic sitcom-type thing, which, of course, it is, but it's really quite good, isn't it? I've now reaching series five, and I have to concede that my interest is waning a little, but I loved the first two series. To be fair, I will most likely watch the rest of it, for Jason Segel's face alone.

9. Downton Abbey

Cousins in love with their faces and their feelings and jdhgfj.

Oh, this bastard show. What with Glee and Merlin already contributing to the slow and painful decline of my sanity, I didn't really need another fucking awful show driving me batshit insane on a weekly basis. And yet, alas, I decided that I was going to watch the first series of Downton Abbey earlier this year, so that I could partake in series two in real time.

Every bloody episode makes me shake my fist in the air and cry 'FELLOWES!' at the top of my voice, because WHAT IS PLOT? WHAT IS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT? WHAT IS CONTINUITY? WHY IS IT ALL OF A SUDDEN THREE YEARS IN THE FUTURE? and all the generic complaints people have about Downton. However, as I have heard it succintly described on Tumblr, 'this is a show about Dan Stevens and Michelle Dockery having faces', and oh boy it is.

10. Made in Chelsea

Oh GIRLS, will you ever take your own advice?

Believe me, I am judging myself thrice as hard as you are. I blame Izi, Sophie, Julia and Emma entirely, but one episode of this ridiculous excuse for television had me horribly invested in the fake personal lives of these concieted, stuck-up, preposterous human beings. God I love these idiots.

***

See also:
Top ten new TV shows of 2011
People of the year
Soundtrack to the year

My 2011 - part the first

What up, 2012? So far, you have involved board games, phonology reading and Andrew Scott's face being fleetingly on my television screen, so that's a-okay by me.

However, looking back 48 hours it was still 2011, and we were coming to the end of a rather stellar year. And what better way to round up the year than with LISTS. LOTS OF LISTS. I started writing the categories and entries, and got a bit waffly and rambling (as is my wont), so I've had to divide it up into several posts. You lucky people*!

Firstly: TELEVISION, my very best friend.

TOP TEN NEW TV SHOWS (i.e. shows that premiered this year)

1. The Hour

Bel (Romola Garai) and Freddie (Ben Whishaw) oozing elbowy sexual tension by the truckload.

You know when you don't possibly think a show can live up to the ridiculous expectations you have for it? And then it does, and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts? Basically that. We heard rumblings - written by Abi Morgan! Set in the 50s! Romola Garai and Ben Whishaw starring! WHAT FRESH JOY IS THIS?

And then came The Hour -- sharp, sassy and whip-smart, with tension practically thrumming off the screen, both sexual (Bel/Freddie/Hector OT3 of feelings and tailoring) and plot-based (Spies! Murder! Murdered spies!). While Bel, Freddie and Hector's often ambiguous behaviour meant no couple could be 'preferred' at any one time, Romola and Ben's chemistry was utterly staggering (being called 'exquisite'? Most definitely A Thing since this show aired). Politics and passion intertwined deliciously, with the cutural backdrop echoing through the personal plots at the forefront.

Add to that a stellar supporting cast: Anna Chancellor's spiky and enigmatic Lix; Oona Chaplin's fragile yet stoic Marnie; Anton Lesser's heartbreaking Clarence (scenestealer!); and, from Tiny Hamlet** himself, the extreme adorability of the hapless Isaac. The cherry on top was fleeting glimpses of Jamie Parker, naturally.

The Hour is absolutely incredible. Go and watch it if you haven't already.

2. Spy

Chris (Mat Baynton) flexing his skills. I could have picked a more relevant screencap, but for some reason found myself unable to.

I have already done ridiculously lengthy feelings about this show, but I can't really understate how utterly charming it is. Funny, endearing and brilliantly-acted, with one star turn from Darren Boyd as the tall tall bumbling shorts-wearing inept dad of my heart, and another from Jude Wright as Marcus, the most magnificent pre-pubescent little shit you'll see on TV this year. Possibly ever. Also Mat Baynton is in it, and his looks like this, which is excellent.

3. Silk

Nick (Tom Hughes) doing a good line in HAIR and EYES and BEING A BEAUTIFUL CHEEKBONES ALIEN.

The BBC have had a cracking year for new drama; both The Hour and Silk boasted casts that made me want to weep with joy, and plots and performances that pretty much incited a similar reaction.

Peter Moffatt's Silk is excellent; his experience working for the Bar shone through the plots and dialogue, exploring the life of a lawyer with detail and emotion that might be lacking from another writer. Not only was our lead a lady – madness! – she was an absolute killer. Martha Costello: Lady Lawyer Light of my Life. Clever, strong, and fiercely, perhaps dangerously dedicated to justice, Maxine Peake (and her lipstick) were absolutely the star of this show. The star of the year, perhaps.

Aside from Maxine's flawlessness, we had beautiful cheekbones alien Tom Hughes running about in beanie hats and lawyers' robes, having sexy tension with everything that moved (pleasant) and making faces like this (pupil/pupilmistress foreverrrr), rendering me void of all coherency. HOW IS YOUR FACE, etc. Throw in Natalie Dormer's impossible beauty and lol Penry, and you've go yourself a corker.

4. Up All Night

Reagan (Christina Applegate) and Chris (Will Arnett) with their bundle of joy, Amy.

Possibly the greatest show you are not watching -- I appreciate that's rather a douchebag tone there ('there's this show...you've probably never heard of it, etc.), but Up All Night is so preposterously underrated. It is a CRIME.

Reagan and Chris (the fantastic Christina Applegate and Will Arnett) are new parents, and the series documents Chris venturing into house-husbandry (lots of shots of Will Arnett in white t-shirts holding a baby: YUM) while Reagan returns to her job as a senior executive on an Oprah-like show starring her best friend Ava, the GODDESS Maya Rudolph.

Every episode had me absolutely howling with laughter - all three leads have the most incredible comic chops, particularly Maya Rudolph and her face. Parenthood isn't patronised, and the ramifications of a new baby on both parents and friends are perfectly executed, with moments of sumblime tenderness amongst the slapstick. Also, Jason Lee rocks up, having ditched his My Name Is Earl moustache in favour of a salt & pepper look he's totally rocking. Yeah, he may be a scientologist, but break me off a piece of that freaky shit.

5. Holy Flying Circus

Gilliam (Phil Nicol), Chapman (Tom Fisher), Palin (Charles Edwards), Cleese (Darren Boyd), Jones (Rufus Jones) and Idle (Steve Punt).

HOLY FLYING AWESOME, MORE LIKE - AM I RIGHT? Sorry, but caps are necessary when talking about this delightful dramatisation of the Pythons' struggles with censorship and pissy Bishops during the release of Life of Brian.

I appreciate it split the fanbase, and can see why, but I was utterly charmed by the in-jokey, fond parody of the actors and their circumstances, using Python-esque surreality to great effect. Yet again, Darren Boyd floored me with a pitch-perfect John Cleese, while Charles Edwards' Palin was subtle and gorgeous. The taxi scene - you'll know it if you've seen it - was probably the most beautiful piece of television I saw all year.

6. Black Mirror

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Charlie Brooker, you magnificent bastard. Black Mirror was a tripartite examination of 'the dark side of our obsession with technology'; at once satirical and sickening, each stand-alone episode was brilliantly acted and tackled an aspect of technology culture in a way that managed to be both preposterous and plausible.

Episode one saw a haggard Prime Minister (Rory Kinnear) face a Twittersphere braying for him to commit an act of disgusting public sacrifice; episode two was a subtler, aching story of love and coercion, with a knockout central performance from Daniel Kaluuya; and episode three explored what might happen should our entire lives be recorded and playbackable - the most problematic of the three (if I see the 'guy's dickhead behaviour vindicated because his girlfriend cheated' trope one more time I shall scream), but Toby Kebbel and Jodie Whittaker were both fantastic.

7. Episodes

Sean (Stephen Mangan) making doe-eyes and his wife (Bev) - a Mangan specialty.

Upon hearing that Tamsin Greig and Stephen Mangan were to be reunited in a new show, playing marrieds no less, my precise reaction was something along the lines of sdhfgsjahdfgjahsgdj. My glorious Green Wingers played successful britcom writers whose show is picked up for an American remake, and who naively think their pride and joy won't be bastardised by the production companies abroad.

They find themselves lumbered with a thoroughly unsuitable leading man - none other than Matt Le Blanc, starring as himself - inflated ego and sleazy charm intact. The show may have been shaky at times (treat Bev right! etc.), but Le Blanc was a brilliant parody of an actor, and nobody - NOBODY - can do a beautiful, injured look like Stephen Mangan. I think it's the curls.


8. Around the World in 60 Minutes

Okay, I'm cheating - this is not from the show, but it's apt and pretty!

I only caught this after a tip off from my partner in feelingsy crime, Emma, whose exact words were something along the lines of 'HANNAH HANNAH THERE'S A SHOW ON BBC4 WHICH IS BASICALLY AN HOUR OF PICTURES OF THE EARTH FROM SPACE'. Naturally, I was on it like a tramp on chips (as I believe the vernacular phrase goes), and basically spent the full hour happycrying.

As I have said before, nothing sets me weeping like pictures of the Earth from space; I'm immediately awed, captivated and rendered dumstruck by the vast magnificence of it all. Therefore, this show was basically like an hour of pornography. And all narrated with David Morrissey's dulcet, Northern tones! Televisual bliss.

9. The Great British Bake Off (shh, it totally counts)

Oh, Rob Billington: reducing most of Twitter to incoherent mush on a weekly basis.

Cheater cheater pumpkin eater, I hear you cry - this is not technically a new show, but oof I love The Great British Bake Off. Obsessively so - the way 80% of the population loves The X Factor, I get giddily overinvested in choux buns and and Paul Hollywood's Travolta-esque allure.

This series brought with it one particular, utterly transparent audience-pleaser -- one Rob Billington, he of the swoopy hair, excellent forearms and sexy chipped tooth. By all rights he should have been eliminated in week one, being a bloody disaster area, but the producers kept his lovely face around for many more catastrope-filled weeks, much to our delight. We were, unfortunately, #teamholly (she woz robbed, etc.), but the entire series was an icing-sugar-dusted delight.


10. Great Expectations

Pip (Douglas Booth) and his blowjob mouth. He has other features, of course, but it's the mouth that stands out.

I needed a tenth entry for this list, and - lo and behold! - one dropped into my lap during the Christmas period! As I type this, I have only watched two thirds of the adaptation, but unless the final episode involves ritual animal slaughter and/or a scene in which the entire cast watch paint dry, it is very deserving of the final spot.

Douglas Booth's face may well be the eighth wonder of the world, and with Harry Lloyd and Tom Burke also in appearance, it made for a VERY ENJOYABLE televisiual experience. I may have spent most of the time shipping Herbert/Pip/Drummle like it was my job - great literature is wasted on me.

***

See also:
Top ten TV shows that were new to me in 2011
People of the year
Soundtrack to the year

*if you also said that in a Tyres from Spaced voice, marry me. 
**Joshua Maguire's FAMILY MEMBERS now refer to him as Tiny Hamlet, I shit you not.

Hannah's Ciderama - Winter 2011

I'm not a huge fan of most alcohol. My preferred tipple is 'alcohol that doesn't really taste like alcohol' - cocktails usually do the job, but are expensive, and thus rarely imbibed, and while Emma is doing a valiant job to make me like wine, it occasionally still makes me do this face.

However, cider is my very best friend. Bloody love the stuff, and will embrace any opportunity to try the ever-growing number of weird and wonderful varieties that seem to be quite popular du jour. This winter in particular seems to be The Winter of Cider Makers Putting Crazy Shit in Their Produce (or something much catchier), and there have been SO MANY delicious varieties to pour into my face. And that I did!

Why is this not a year-round beverage? It should be.

I first thought of doing a wee written review of each cider, but thought that would be far too dull. My decision: to review them all in HAIKU. God I bet you're glad you read this ridiculous blog, right?

Kopparberg cranberry and cinnamon
Cranberry tartness:
A perfect compliment to
The cinnamon warmth.

Rekorderlig vanilla and cinnamon
Served warm - delicious,
If a little sweet for some
(It smelt awesome, too).

Magners spiced apple and rhubarb
This is not toward.
I asked for rhubarb, and was
Thwarted. Not impressed.

German apple wine (Manchester Christmas markets)
Apple wine? Get out.
You are not cider, so stop
Pretending to be.

Mulled cider (The Old White Swan, York)
Sticky and scrummy.
Like hot apple treacle. Scrum-
-diddly-umptious*.

Hannah's shit version of mulled cider
Warm pan, add cider,
Cinnamon and brown sugar
(Not recommended).

Family-made mulled cider
While not the nicest,
Made at home with loved ones, it
Was untoppable.

*The syllable structure of 'scrumdiddlyumptious' is contestable, I concede, but I make the rules, so nyah.

Spy! (That show for CHILDREN.)

Spy: one of the most charming, captivating and chucklesome TV shows I've seen in a long time. (Yes, chucklesome isn't actually a word. Yes, I invented it because I wanted three alliterative adjectives.)

Having developed a serious Mat Baynton situation through extensive binge-watching of Horrible Histories, and being a long-time appreciator of Darren Boyd and his tall tallness, the darling Emma and I decided to watch Spy together*. Spy being Sky's newest family comedy/drama offering, in which a single dad (Tim - Darren Boyd, father to Marcus - Jude Wright) going through a custody battle accidentally gets a job as a with MI5.

Darren Boyd (L) and Jude Wright (R). Obviously. They're hardly going to be the other way round, are they?

I know what you're thinking. Holy terrible, overused trope, Batman! I, however, love a good cheesy plot device**, and am - of course - swayed by pretty faces, so we gave it a go. CORRECT DECISION.

Spy is WONDERFUL. I was, am, and continue to be quite preposterously hyperbolic in my turn of phrase; however, I don't think I can overstate how completely and utterly charming this show is. Ridiculous as the premise may be, it hardly matters a jot (and, to be honest, it's more plausible than some plot devices used in TV shows this year. I AM LOOKING AT YOU, JULIAN FELLOWES); the writing is tight, the cast is wonderful, and the whole things treads perfectly that line between 'this show is made for families and is thus lovely and scrumptious' and 'this show is ripe for objectification and will appeal to pervs the world over'. Basically: MY KINDA SHOW.

I'll start with the cast, and Darren Boyd first of all. I'm a huge Green Wing fan, and was thus super excited to see good old Jake Leaf in a leading role. I leave Spy with a stonking great crush on Darren Boyd and his bloody face, and a whole new appreciation for just how damn good he is. Tim is fucking adorable - his parental ineptitude, his romantic ineptitude, his general life ineptitude; he's bumbling and endearing and clumsy and likes PUZZLES and loves his son and tries. He tries so damn hard, and it rarely works out for him, and good god I love him. Darren's fond looks towards Marcus will break your heart, as will his wounded puppy face when he gets hurt or stomped on (which is a LOT). He's utterly lovely.

And SO TALL. There's something very attractive about a tall boy (what up, Rupert Young), and Darren is just so LONG and TALL and one time he got his forearms out and everything was excellent.

FOREARMS.

Moreover, he's a BRILLIANT physical comedian. I don't agree with those who look down on slapstick (when done well, it's tip-top -- see also: Miranda), and Darren is a master. He's so limby and haphazard, which makes Tim all the more endearing. You just want to sit him down before he does any more harm to himself or others.

And then there's Marcus.

The face that launched a thousand Tiny Crime Squads.

I just, I can't even talk about how brilliant Jude Wright is. As episode one states in-dialogue, Marcus is a dick. BUT A GLORIOUS ONE. He's smarmy, patronising and absolutely cutting when he wants to be. He's cruel to Tim, constantly outwitting him and is horribly condescending about 90% of the time. And yet we love him. Jude is a fucking wonder - he's absolutely spot on, delivering extremely complicated dialogue for one so young with flourish. Aside from his beautiful snark, Marcus also has some really touching, broken moments throughout, and Jude nails every single one. He and Darren play off each other BEAUTIFULLY - they're perfectly, perfectly cast.

As for the rest of the cast, I can't think of a weak link. I absolutely love Rebekah Staton, who completely holds her own as Caitlin, Tim's gun-toting love interest; their scenes together, with banter that manages to be both quick and tender, consistently left me mewling 'NOW KISS!' at my screen. Robert Lindsay, looking alarmingly like Alan Sugar, is a delightful douchebag boss, while Rosie Cavaliero puts in a hilarious turn as Paula, the nutjob family planning counsellor with an obsessive crush on Tim.

There are two stand-outs among the supporting cast, however. The first is Tom Goodman-Husbandry, whose homoerotic, red-trouser-clad Philip stole almost every scene. In fact, I'd say the entire series is worth watching for his salsa dancing alone.

Secondly, BAYNTON.

Oh, I am disgustingly attracted to your stupid face.

Yeah, he exists. And, not only does he exist, with his weird chin, child's body and glorious hair, all of these things combine to play the part of a Chris, a cynical, bitter tech geek hipster and I'm sorry I just need a moment to deal with how magnificent that is. There were times when his character was featured in a scene despite being utterly superfluous to the plot, but oh, everything was so much better for his presence. His ridiculous expressions, his flailing limbs (HAVE YOU SEEN HIM RUN, kill me), that bloody hair - everything about Chris is exaggerated and hilarious and beautiful. And he gets all up in Tim's personal space a LOT. Which is excellent.

I could continue to rant about the cast for HOURS (believe me, I could), but a good cast does not a good show make. It needs more. Like WRITING. Which this show has! That's awfy convenient, isn't it?

But really, the writing is whip-smart and properly, face-hurtingly hilarious. And, aside from that, there's some beautiful dramatic threads running through it; when you really think about the custody battle, God, it's heartbreaking. And it's balanced so well, to the extent where I sometimes didn't even know what to DO with all my feelings (in a good way).

Seriously, I fucking loved this show. Six 25-minute pockets of loveliness that I would encourage anybody who likes joy to get on immediately. And - huzzah - it's been renewed for 10 further episodes and a Christmas special! MORE SPY. MORE TALL BUMBLING INEPT DADS. MORE TINY SNARK. MORE FLAILING HIPSTERS. MORE OF EVERYTHING GOOD IN THE WORLD.

*and by 'watch together', I of course mean, watch at separate ends of the country and liveblog via the medium of gchat. These are the things one has to do when one's best friend lives 250 miles away!. 
**My favourite being: a group of scientists have to shrink themselves down and explore the inside of someone's body! Done expertly in Futurama and Sabrina the Teenage Witch, to name but two.

THINGS

You know what is delightful? THINGS. THINGS are delightful. Here, have some THINGS that are delightful.

A PICTURE. Specifically, a picture of Noam Chomsky and Morris Halle, holding a picture of themselves taken in 1988, wherein they are holding a picture of themselves taken in 1951. LINGUISTCEPTION. (source)



A VIDEO. Specifically, a video of Michael Buble being sassy and ridiculous, and then adorable and hilarious as he sings with a 15-year-old kid from his audience. 'Holy shitballs, mom!' - BUBLE YOU CHARMING FUCKER.

Interviewer: If three spirits appeared before you on Christmas eve, what would they have to show you to change your beliefs?

Brian Cox: It's my view that the existence of ghosts would contravene the second law of thermodynamics. The principle of the conservation of energy, and the fact that entropy always increases; you'd be hard put to throw that away. You'd have to rip the book up; that's what it would imply if you saw a ghost. I would say, "I could not be any more surprised than I am by the fact that thermodynamics appears to be shit."

A QUOTE. Specifically, a quote from the magnificent Brian Cox, sciencey sex god and specimen of Northern excellence.

You know what else is delightful? An afternoon spent with tip-top humans making mince pies and extolling the virtues of hyperbole, and an evening spent exchanging crude and inappropriate Secret Santa gifts. I love ALL THESE THINGS.

Sorry, I'm jovial. Humour me.

CONFESSION

My name is Hannah, and I have a McFly situation.

AND I AM UNASHAMED.

Because, really, they are the most charming bunch of boys, and are obscenely talented, and write fucking good pop songs, and are the greatest bros who ever did bro, and shut up I just love them okay?




And I swear, this is one of the most beautiful, romantic songs ever written. It's so simple, and that's why I love it - it just perfectly summarises that moment when you look at someone and think 'Right now, I don't need anything else in the world besides you.' Dancing on the kitchen tile // yes, you make my life worthwhile - come ON, that is bloody gorgeous.

I'm sorry, it's 3.30a.m, and I just have a lot of feelings. But I just needed to state, categorically, that I am a McFly fan. And PROUD.

JUDGE AWAY, WORLD. I'LL BE WATCHING THAT VIDEO ON LOOP'

It's Christmas, it's Christmas, it's Christmas!

Is it possible to be drunk on Christmas cheer? Because I think I am.

I've just got back from the Christmas Carol Concert at York Minster, and I'm pretty sure even the most secular of souls would have had their cockles warmed by the soaring voices and charming tales. Being a slightly-less-secular sort (I have my Feelings on spirituality and organised religion, and they are personal and desperately dull, and don't affect the way I behave in everyday life, so I won't go into them here. One day, maybe, though being able to articulate this stuff is often beyond me. I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS), I was thoroughly swept up in the magnificence of it all. I cried. #inevitable

BUT IT WAS JUST SO GORGEOUS. The choir were stunning, and there's something about a roomful of voices chorusing together (whether or not they be in tune or time - I certainly wasn't) that fills me with such elation. And, let's be honest, it wasn't just a 'room', it was York fucking Minster, in all it's mind-blowing architectural glory.

When I think that people actually built this with their hands, I have to go and have a little lie down.

The readings, too, were wonderful. Charming Christmas poetry, wistful tales from aged pastors, and a brilliant section that detailed some thoughts on the holiday season expressed by children. Highlights: 'Christmas is when you have to kiss relatives you don't like' and 'I think you're meant to think that giving presents is better than receiving them. But it's not.' Oh, kids, you're always bang on the money.

Aside from inciting giggle fits from my housemates by insisting on rhyming 'mind' and 'wind' during God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, which may have ruined the mood slightly, I spent the entire concert beaming with glee, tear-stained and giddy. During O Little Town of Bethlehem and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing in particular, I closed my eyes and - you know on a really hot day when you let the sun beat down on your face and it's the most blissfully warm feeling? Well it was almost exactly light that - a warm glow in the sharp iciness of the winter air. Gorgeous.

I also managed to get 90% of my Christmas shopping done in TWO HOURS this afternoon. Like a boss. York is SUCH a beautiful city in which to shop (I was strolling around wearing a dumbface grin all afternoon), but holy moly does it bring into sharp relief how utterly poor I am. There were so many presents I saw that were ideal, but just too expensive. Remember when I had a job? Remember when I had disposable income? Remind me again why I gave that up?

I jest, I am blissfully happy on this Master's course and it was absolutely the right decision to come here. But still, POVERTY.

Being a poor student does foster some level of creativity, however. Some of the girls and I have arranged a Secret Santa with a) a £5 budget, and b) a theme: survival. Considering the spiralling pit of doom this Christmas 'break' will inevitably become - having to write TWELVE THOUSAND WORDS over the festive period is tantamount to torture, I swear - the presents should be tailored to ensure we don't all lose our minds. Excellent idea, and excellent fun to purchase. I only hope mine match up to everyone else's!

Also, I managed to co-ordinate my umbrella to my skirt yesterday. I must have looked like SUCH a douchebag walking around like that.

This was a thing that I did.

And now, I shall spend the rest of this evening watching The Sound of Music and quaffing home-made mulled cider. And by 'home-made mulled cider', I mean 'cider which I warmed in a pan and stirred with cinnamon and brown sugar'. That's basically how it works, right?

Whatever, I don't care. DRUNK ON CHRISTMAS CHEER. (And now cider.)

Mirror mirror on the wall, show me where them bombs will fall*

Last night, I barely slept. This was almost entirely the fault of Charlie Brooker's Black Mirror: The National Anthem, the first of a tripartite drama series exploring the 'dark side of our love affair with technology'. As the credits rolled, I was left reeling – I was nauseous, shaking and crying, and yet fully aware that what I'd just witnessed was nothing short of magnificent. Now, those who know me will be well aware that I have a tendency to lean towards the hyperbolic, but – for me, at least – The National Anthem was one of the most staggering, well-executed pieces of television I've had the pleasure (or, more accurately, the displeasure) of watching in a long while.

In fact, the mere watching of Black Mirror marked something of a big step for me, as someone who – I can't quite believe I'm admitting this so freely, but heigh ho, what are blogs for? – suffers with horrendous nightmares brought on by exposure to intense and/or frightening media (films, books, television, anything really). I might have previously avoided the show, based on the premise – not because I thought it sounded poor, but because it sounded like something which might trigger another spate of nightmares. It's a self-preservation thing, and something I've had to do for the majority of my life. You might think me weak for doing so, for having a fingers-in-ears, lalala I'm not listening kind of attitude to anything a little grim or unsettling. That's a fair point, but if I could save myself nights of terror and sleeplessness, save myself the from the fear of even just closing my eyes, then that's what I would do.

However, last night I chose to watch. While Hannah-at-22 copes much better with things than Hannah-at-16, and has a better tolerance for such matters, I nevertheless found myself watching at least the last half of the show with my hand clapped over my mouth, cushion clutched to my chest, stomach churning (if only the continuity announcer had said something like 'do not watch this show having just consumed a relatively hefty tuna sandwich; this means you Hannah', the nausea might not have been so intense). I could have switched over or off, but I didn't – in the most part because the show was brilliantly compelling and beautifully shot/acted, but partly because I felt it important that I watched on. I knew it would make me ill, but, somehow, that was okay.

Having just typed the above, I find myself unable to expand on that particular facet of my reaction to the show with any more coherency, aside from the admission that, coming away, I feel somehow braver, in my own silly way. It's a strange thing to try and talk about, the nightmares and the aversion to the grotesque, and for years I was completely unable to do so, thinking myself a freak of nature for being so wimpy and pathetic (fainting while being shown a video of the plague in a Year 9 history class doesn't invite the kindest of responses). Hopefully, clicking the 'publish' button for this post marks the start of me being less ashamed of what I now realise is just another 'thing' about me, alongside my predilection for dancing in public and my bizarre attraction to forearms. We'll see.

Aside from the particular, very personal effect that The National Anthem had on me (reading it back, the above seems sickeningly overdramatic and wanky, so my apologies for that), it also gave me other, more sensible feelings. Let's do those now!

Shallow, 'I like your face' thoughts
WELL, talk about a cast that is relevant to all of my interests. It's like there's a Venn Diagram of my loins, with circles that represent things like 'childhood crushes', 'gingers', 'period drama dishes' and 'beloved theatre bods', and The National Anthem occupies the intersection, giving me everything I never knew I wanted from a TV show. Rory Kinnear, everyone's favourite balding academic sexpot, managing to deliver more with just his eyes than I thought possible! Tom Goodman-Husbandry* as a Malcolm Tucker type to Lindsay Duncan's steely spin doctor! Alastair McKenzie, existing in real life on my TV screen, giving me all the flashbacks to my early teen years, watching Monarch of the Glen and having some formative feelings about Archie in cable-knit jumpers! Allen Leech and Andrew Knott, in scrubs! Every scene seemed to throw up someone else I loved, and everyone was brilliant. Not a weak link in the cast, really.

Slightly more dignified thinky-thoughts
Being a long-time fan of Brooker's journalistic writing, and his various -wipes, I knew we'd be in for a treat with the Black Mirror series. Looking back on the first episode, 'treat' is absolutely the wrong word -- The National Anthem was bleak, horrifying and nauseating to watch. But fuck me was it clever. So much reference to social media in popular culture is done by people with little or no experience of it, but Brooker knows it inside out, knows exactly how the Twittersphere would react to such an series of events. It was stunningly executed and, at times, hilarious; mentions of 'it's trending on Twitter', and 'of course the Guardian are doing a fucking liveblog' were particularly inspired, and exceptionally true-to-life.

And it was this 'true-to-life' nature of it that made it all the more difficult to watch. The premise, spoken aloud, seems to veer into the ridiculous, but it was almost sinisterly plausible, unfolding akin to the recent hacking scandal or the riots, through social media, as a public waits for a government response, speculating and slandering, mocking and mollifying as the hours tick by. It was this plausibility that made the climax of the show so gut-wrenching – at once impossible and yet so, so real. Too real. Sickeningly so.

And, to add yet another layer of metatextuality, watching the show with a buzzing Twitter feed next to you results in catching things like this:

I can't put it better than Emma - we really are a perfect parody of ourselves. Brooker's right: the screens of our televisions, computers and smartphones do act as a black mirror, while a show like The National Anthem forces us to look at ourselves in that black mirror, and – as we witness a countryful of fictional people congregating in pubs and communal areas to watch the hideous spectacle unfold – ask ourselves the most bizarre of questions: would we have watched?

*Lyrics from Arcade Fire's 'Black Mirror', a song I have been unable to get out of my head since the show aired.

**How I wish I could call Tom Goodman Husbandry by his proper name (Goodman Hill) more often. Alas, Free Agents has warped any sensible frame of reference I have for the poor guy. PUT DOWN THE BOX WINE, MALCOLM.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Having handed in the last of my mid-term assignments on Friday (following the aforeblogged nervous breakdown one of them induced), I thought I might get a few days of respite before the workload kicked in and I was once more flitting in and out of my house so often my housemates started to wonder whether I was merely an apparition.

I suppose, technically, I did have a break - my parents came to visit over the weekend, celebrating their anniversary up Yorkshire like and stopping in to see me on the way. Aside from being crushed in the Christmas Markets on Saturday (York town centre + weekend x Christmas = NO), we had a thoroughly enjoyable weekend watching the football, catching up on family gossip and imbibing every kind of mulled cider my delightful town centre had to offer*.

I'd kind of forgotten how good it is to spend time with them. I think being at home last year ruined me a little - I was frustrated and caged and a little bit angsty, and they felt rejected and unable to help, which made for an occasionally prickly year for all. (Don't get me wrong, I wasn't Houseguest From Hell, but they were often aggravated by my choice to spend most evenings holed up in my room, laptop on knee, trying to pour myself into the screen in order to forget that I was living in Stoke for a few hours.)

Living away from home makes things approximately a billion times easier for us all – we had a proper, family weekend, and it reminded me what tip-top people they really are.

However, as soon as the week proper kicked in, I realised that – in reality – I had more to do than ever. Presentations to plan, birthdays to celebrate, directed readings to, um, read. Sometimes it feels a little like being tied to a skateboard, if you'll forgive the ghastly analogy; it's preposterously exciting to be zooming from place to place without stopping, always on the move, but occasionally – just occasionally – I get a little scared, and want to stop, just for a moment.

The people that seem to be suffering the most are my longer-term friends, which crushes me. I spent my last, rather lonely year forging the most incredible relationships with some of the best girls I've ever known, and not being able to speak to them on as regular a basis makes me want to gnaw at the furniture – I get withdrawls! I'm hoping that my discovery of Google Calendar and its ensuing organisational effect on my life will enable to me to schedule people in a little better. Not that I want to have to 'schedule' my friends into my ~social/academic butterfly~ existence**, but I do want to make sure I get enough of these excellent humans in my life. You know who you are.

However, I am exceptionally lucky to have met some utterly marvellous people up here in York, people with whom I have bonded at a speed and intensity I've never before experienced! I've never known such a sweet, smart and thoroughly lovely bunch of people, and the fact that we're all postgrads gives us all a much-needed support network, wherein we can cry on each other's shoulders over our workload (as I did last week), and celebrate each other's successes (such as the lovely Becky kicking intellectual arse and winning a place - as captain, no less - on the University Challenge team!). At risk of it going all wanky and tragic, having so many wonderful people around is a rather new feeling for me, and I'm absolutely cherishing it.

Another lovely evening was had last night, in which my poor put-upon housemates finally found a few hours where I wasn't holed up in the Berrick Saul building and could spend the night Christmasifying our humble abode. Too Much Fun was had by all, and while mine and Steph's haphazardness might have infuriated the perfectionists Cath and Emma, the result was a living room of festive wonders.

Yup, that's The Muppet Christmas Carol on in the background.

And to celebrate? A Christmas dance party, of course.

GOD we're cool.

*SO MUCH MULLED CIDER. Finally, the non-wine drinkers among us are vindicated with this warm, treacle-y deliciousness! Personal snaps for the Rekorderlig mulled cider with vanilla and cinnamon – I could quite happily drink myself into oblivion on that shit.
**ahahahahaha, whatever.

Little Miss Academic Insecurity

Today marked the ceremonial First Day I Have Cried Over An Assignment. I knew it was coming, as did everyone who knows me (and knows that crying is my unfortunate default reaction to any emotional stimuli: joy, fear, grief, excitement, awe, love - TEARS). Emotional breakdown over, I was yet again consumed with embarrassment at just how much of a ridiculous human I am. My academic insecurity bit is completely tired*, yet I can't seem to shake it. I find myself clinging to my transcripts until my knuckles go white because, when they're torn away from me, I literally am empty-handed.

It's always been the grades thing for me. I'm one of those 'Jack of all trades, master of none' types - though whether I'm even a 'Jack' of some trades is doubtful. I can doodle, but I'm no artist. I can hold a note, but I'm no singer. I can dance, but I was never the best at that. I don't speak another language, play an instrument, and - while I can string a sentence together - I'm no writer. But academia is my thing.

It by no means comes naturally; I have to work (and work, and work and work and work) to get decent grades, but the pay-off comes from the satisfaction of knowing that I did it - that someone else gave something I did the gold star of approval. Maybe that's a damning indictment of my terrible habit of getting validation from others rather than myself, but we'll leave that for the psychoanalysts (though they'd probably link it to the whole cliché of parental pressure and judgements, and they probably wouldn't be far off the money). But whatever it says about me, I'm not sure I'll ever really be able to shake that desperate need to get an A, lest my life and endeavours be rendered null and void.

I frustrate myself - I know how daft it is to have one's self-worth tied up in a bunch of essays, for crying out loud, and yet I panic and I worry and I work myself to sickness to make sure I do well. Academic insecurity is not the worst thing in the world to be ~afflicted with, and my tendency towards the hyperbolic probably makes my talking about it melodramatic and tiresome, but I honestly do worry what I would be without it. What am I, if not Hannah Who Is Good At Essays?

Oh self, you are a silly thing. The daftest thing of all is that this assessment isn't even graded. Yet, I know if I'm presented with a paper which contains a big red zero, I'll be crushed. I'm hoping that, as I have matured a little since undergrad, I'll now be able to actually listen when people say that, hey, making mistakes actually helps you to learn, and, hey, it's not the end of the entire universe if this essay isn't tip-top. And yet, when I think about not being able to pursue my academic dreams, I feel quite nauseous. I guess this isn't a thing that fixes itself overnight.

However, while I may find myself having fever dreams about a syntax tree reaching out from the paper and strangling me with its complementizer clause (get it? Clause/claws? Oh, I amuse myself), for tonight, I'm going to stop. I've had a delightful evening, and will now retire to look at the photographs of my new baby cousin (eee!), and celebrate the Doctor Who's 48th birthday with my favourite episodes. More tears may come tomorrow, but this is - at the very least - a start.

*If you get that reference, marry me.

They don't know we know they know we know

I've just got back from a wonderful, wonderful lecture given by Oliver Ford Davies*, entitled 'Did Gertrude Know? Some problems with performing Shakespeare'. I was utterly entranced by the whole thing, for three main reasons:

Firstly, Oliver himself. What a charming man! Stumbling across the lecture while browsing the vast selection on offer (methinks I shall be making good use of them in the coming weeks), I recognised Davies' name and face from his role as the Polonius to David Tennant's Hamlet, a production I was lucky enough (or unlucky enough, depending on your Tennant-feelings!) to see a few years ago. I've not been fortunate enough to see him in any other theatre roles, but I am definitely going to try in future - he seems a warm, intelligent and kind soul, with the kind of deep knowledge of his subject matter that only a pure passion could have motivated. His voice is measured yet commanding, and he wisecracked and witted his way through an hour which seemed to fly by.

Secondly - daft as it sounds - I understood! I've never been a slavish scholar of Shakespeare; while I studied and loved many of his plays throughout school, I don't share the same encyclopedic knowledge of his work as so many wonderful academics and theatregoers do. However, I do think him - in short - a genius. I'm a novice fan - one who watches and reads as much as she can, and is left in constant awe by his mastery of language** and character, his wit and his tenderness, and his love of people and their eccentricities.This past year has seen me pretty much overdose on any Shakespeare production I can get my eyes on (to turn an odd phrase), and while the nuances discovered by line-to-line study may be lost on me, I've loved broadening my Shakey horizons - and, thus, I adored this lecture. When Davies spoke of Gertrude and Petruchio and Edgar, I knew them - I knew the characters, as played by various actors, and I knew their stories. I 'got' the jokes, the asides, and wasn't left baffled by some of the matters discussed - which I might have been several years ago. As I said, I by no means claim to be an expert (far, FAR from it), but goodness it felt marvellous to be engaged by a Shakespeare discussion, one which I found compelling and exciting. I bloody love Shakespeare, and this reminded me exactly why.

Thirdly, the theme of the lecture itself was one which really seemed to resonate with me and my sensibilities. Davies spoke on the ambiguity in Shakespeare's work, and how a lack of explanation can result in endless frustration for an actor. Did Gertrude know she was married to a murderer? She can be played either way, and the effects of the choice can echo through the entire show. So, so many character choices and motivations are obscured in Shakespeare's work, and others' too, in what Davies termed 'stragetic opacity'. But the thing that got me most was his attitude to this - speaking as an actor, one might see him sympathise with the plight of the unknown character (which, to an extent, he of course did). But he also rejoiced. His closing remarks, while I can't recall the exact words, expressed the sentiment 'Shakespeare left it open to you - enjoy!', which absolutely warmed my heart.

So many times - whether it be deciding on a linguistic theory with which to side, or a religious doctrine, if any, to which to adhere - I have thought myself stupid, frustrating or inferior for just not knowing. To be undecided - politically, spiritually, or any other -ally - is bad, wrong, silly, naïve, lazy, foolish, and many more pejoratives. Yet, sometimes, I find myself wanting to scream 'isn't it okay to just not know?' - why does everything have to be defined, solid and immovable? I appreciate the merits of surety, of course - it would be nonsensical not to - but sometimes I just like to bask in not quite knowing for sure, and I wish it were more acceptable to do so. Not-knowing brings discussion, debate and learning, while stagnated, unchangeable opinions can occasionally be a breeding ground for dogma and intimidation. Maybe that's why I enjoy learning so much - I don't know, and therefore I want someone with more information to tell me things so I can start to know a little better.

I appreciate that I have extrapolated the themes of Oliver's lecture to a preposterous level of abstraction, and will therefore stop typing, but - as with many things - it just made me feel all the feelings, so I thought I'd put them somewhere. Oliver Ford-Davies has written a couple of books about his acting life and the craft itself, and, while I haven't read them myself, if they're half as engaging and entertaining as his lecture, then I'd thoroughly recommend them.

"Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity." ~Gilda Radner

*Witnessed a fellow saying 'man, this guy looks just like the guy who played the Archbishop of Canterbury in Johnny English'. Yeah, that was him, idiot. (You might think 'idiot' a strong choice of word, but the guy then went on to tell his friend that they had special, reserved seating, and thus would be away from the 'plebs', so I am more than content to go with such a derogatory term. What a dick.)

**Me being me, I am particularly enamoured with Shakespeare's language, its intricacies, and its phenomenal effect on the way we speak and write today. I'm currently reading David Crystal's Think On My Words, a fascinating analysis of Shakespearean wordsmithery, and I would thouroughly recommend it to all and sundry.

Introduct-a-Han

I used to blog A LOT. Back in the good old days of Livejournal, I had a friends-only blog wherein I angsted about my 17-year-old non-problems and got REALLY, REALLY EXCITED about Doctor Who.

Several years later, I have slightly less teenage woe and - if it's possible - slightly more feelings about Doctor Who. I also have a degree, newly dyed ginger hair, and much wider field of interest. I've been itching to get back to blogging for a while - having caught the bug with my language blog (which is still very much in its infancy) - and reading my delightful friends' ventures in theatre review, film and television blogging, and generally just talking about their lives has convinced me to just bloody well give it a go.




So here I am. Wittering away into the void like some kind of unstoppable moron, and hoping to keep doing so on a semi-regular basis. But first things first - a two-pronged introduction!

THINGS I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT (AND WILL THEREFORE BE LIKELY TO BLOG ABOUT)

- Linguistics, aka. light of my life, my very best friend, etc. I'm a pretty keen bean for most linguistic fields, and am generally fascinated by quirky word facts in general (for instance, did you know that the Anglo Saxon word for 'squirrel' - acweorna - literally translates to 'oak botherer'? Now you do!), but specifically I love studying phonological theory, acoustic and articulatory phonetics, sociophonetics, wider sociolinguistics issues (the use of language to construct social identity, gender, ethnicity and sexuality in particular), and language change through history, with a particular fascination with the way language is used on the Internet. I have a detailed post about my language feelings here, and will most likely save in-depth waffle for the language blog, but linguistics being the fire in my belly, it's likely to crop up a lot.

- Television. Oh, I watch far more TV than is healthy, getting thoroughly, embarrassingly, soul-destroyingly invested in fantastic shows (The Thick Of It, Blackadder, Sherlock, etc.), terrible shows (GLEE, for my sins) and those which hover in between (Doctor Who, Merlin, Downton Abbey, and far more than I care to mention). I enjoy - among other things - snarky protagonsists, excellent friendships, background acting, wistful looks, bromances and ADVENTURES.

- Theatre. Most of my time and any dispoable income I can muster (and, to be honest, my not-so-disposable income too) goes on theatre tickets. I fell in love with theatregoing about a year ago; the vividness of it, the electricity, the power of it being right there, in front of your eyes - sometimes ugly or sharp or stunning or wild, but always, always exciting. Shakespeare's Globe in particular is my spiritual home, and I'll see my favourite shows over and over again before they close (transcience: the curse of the theatre!).

- Things That Are Important. I don't claim to have any kind of authority when it comes to matters of the world, but I like reading about things that interest me, and things I feel are important to learn and know about. Feminism, racism, sexism, gender and sexuality issues, religion, the media, politics and world issues - I read what I can, and I may try and post semi-cogent feelings about this kind of stuff when the need arises

- Nature and Science. I'm a bit of a giddy child when it comes to the world, and just generally get fascinated and awed by nature being crazy and ridiculous and beautiful and mind-bogglingly spectacular. So I might occasionally get a bit capslocky and feelings about waterfalls and the Aurora Borealis. Yeah, watch out for that.

TEN TINY FACTOIDS THAT MAY GIVE YOU A MORE ROUNDED (IF NOT WHOLLY ENDEARING) IDEA OF WHO I BE

- I own an unhealthy number of pairs of coloured tights.
- About 30% of my vocabulary comes from quoting TV shows and/or Memes.
- I curse like a sailor, and will frequently have the sense of humour of a seven-year-old boy.
- Pictures of the Earth from space are almost guaranteed to make me cry.
- One time, I made myself a TARDIS bag.
- My favourite food is custard. Peas, however, are of the devil.
- I can't sing. However, I sing all the time.
- Hercules is the greatest Disney film. Yeah, you heard.
- I can name all the kings and queens of England from William the Conqueror to Elizabeth II.
- I learnt the previous information from here, which makes it decidedly less impressive.

So, yeah, that's me! I apologise in advance.