The Inbetweeners

Growing up a Brit can sometimes be a bit shit, but it’s also hilarious as a result.  Until The Inbetweeners came along in 2008, no show had captured this accurately.  We British teens were forced to try and translate our lives into American high schools, as that’s all there was available at the time.  The people on screen were too attractive.  They didn’t wear uniforms.  The climate looked reliably sunny.  They were played by people in their thirties.  They didn’t talk like us and so on and so forth.  I should point out this didn’t stop me watching this stuff, but then The Inbetweeners showed up and highlighted the stark contrast between US TV and UK real life: with all its ugly people, school uniforms, drizzle, awkward young people and British banter.  Sure, we only managed three series of six 30-minute episodes (plus two successful films) but that’s really what passes for a season in the UK (rather than 22 hours of mind-boggling plots that cost you the will to live).

This programme still has a special place in all of our hearts.  Not a week goes by in my adult life when someone is described as a wanker for liking something.  They might say they like hummus and get called a hummus wanker, or tell everyone what a great weekend they had in Ibiza and get called an Ibiza wanker.  Nor is an opportunity ever missed to tell someone they are being feisty in the famous structure of “Feisty one, you are.”  It applies to all adjectives – try it next time you cuss someone important at work: “Boring one, you are.”  Or “Tedious one, you are.”  The Inbetweeners’ cultural impact was huge because it represented a culture that nobody had managed to bring to screen before: the age of being in between.

At seventeen, you can just about drive.  You’re ready for adult life, but you’re probably at the same school you’ve been at since the age of eleven, when puberty might just have been a rumour that went around the changing rooms after football.  Now, adolescence is a driving force making you want to do all of the adult things (apart from work nine to five, pay taxes, talk about mortgages and get excited about mattress discussions with colleagues).  But one enormous pillar of adult life is denied to you: the legal right to buy alcohol.  Thus, you are trapped in between adulthood and childhood (and not in that Noel Clarke film, Kidulthood).  And you’re not only trapped there, you’re trapped in Britain.

The Inbetweeners revelled in such ridiculous Britishness that it almost dared itself not to get syndicated abroad (despite over 20 other countries broadcasting this glorious nonsense).  It was based in a sixth form college, after all.  Its humour came from the differences between private schools and state schools.  There was work experience.  There were Home Counties boys venturing into London.  There was detailed knowledge of British law around the sale of alcohol (including mead) to minors.  There was the college fashion show.  There was the trip to a potential university campus.  There was even the motherchuffing Duke of Edinburgh Award.  I hope that Americans went “wait, what?” just as much as we do when we hear words like valedictorian and sophomore.

Britishest of all was the humour of teenage boys.  Nobody seemed to have realised that the way we/they talk to each other is disgusting.  I’ve left the pronoun undetermined as I still do this with most of my male friends.  And most of the female ones.  And colleagues.  Especially colleagues, actually.  Anything could be laughed about.  Any insult could be brushed off.  It was only once things had really gone too far that you could finally see you had crossed the line, though you couldn’t in fact see the line as it was about hundred miles behind you.  Let’s look at some of the most disgusting things that were said and revel in the fact that, no matter what we claim, we’re still amused by potty mouths and toilet humour.  My dad, for example, still believes there is nothing funnier than a fart.  Any passing wind in any form of media (and, sadly, real life) will guarantee a LOL from my father.  Why resist it?  Life’s too hard not to laugh at nonsense:

Jay’s dead hand

Jay hears that if you cut off the blood to your own hand by sitting on it, you can trick yourself into thinking a third party’s hand is tugging you off when you are, in fact, masturbating.  However, it’s not ideal if you need to slam your laptop shut when your family barge in and porn moans are being broadcast at full volume into your room…

Any time Jay talks about female physiology

Up to your nuts in guts just conjures such powerful imagery.

Simon talking dirty

Everything he did was beyond cringe, mostly as it was visually punctuated by the most dated gelled quiff ever seen on TV, but no dirty talk for me has ever surpassed “I’m going to fuck your fucking fanny off, you twat.”

Simon’s London shoes

We’ve all been turned away from a terrible nightclub for wearing trainers, but how many of us have paid a tramp to swap shoes with us?  Simon lost £20 but gained a pair of urine-drenched shoes that got him in, but ensured no girl would come near him.  It reminded me of a time a friend was sick in my trainer overnight on a camping trip and I had to travel back to London from rural Wales the next day with only a plastic bag between my sock and chunks of his half-digested burger and chips.  Yes, I really was an inbetweener.  Incidentally, it was a toss-up between this and Simon’s testicle hanging out at the fashion show.

Will’s first exam

He poos his pants.  Tee hee.

It’s this comedy gold that saw the viewership of The Inbetweeners grow from around 400,000 in the first series to a peak of 3.72m for the third – not bad for e4’s first UK commission.  Clearly, word of mouth spread amongst “fwends” that this wasn’t to be missed.  But the gross-outs were complemented by more subtle observations, such as Simon’s hatred for his parents, even though they were totally chilled about everything he wanted to do, or Jay’s genuinely hurt feelings each time his dad bullied him.  Even now, I cannot resist a re-run if I’m ever left with ten spare minutes before bed time.  I always forget how much I can’t abide the headmaster, Mr Gilbert, but then I’m always happy to be reminded of the music of Kate Nash, whose song Foundations seems to score almost every scene transition in series one.

Ah, sixth form.  Don’t take me back.