Game Of Thrones (Season One)

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS

Right then, EVERYBODY, here come some big ones.  I haven’t put myself under this much pressure since I took on Love Island.  But don’t worry.  I’ve every confidence this will be another amazing post.  When I first started Just One More Episode, Game Of Thrones was at the heart of my plans for the kinds of boxsets I wanted to be talking about (but have ended up with posts on Naked Attraction and Keeping Up With The Kardashians instead…)  But why has it taken 131 posts to reach this momentous occasion?  Well, I had planned to cover this show in the run up to its eighth and final season, but a cruel twist of fate saw me in a household without access to Sky Atlantic, dashing my carefully lain plans to review all prior series in preparation for this final swansong (as I had done for the two previous instalments – this is already too much fanboying).  But the panic is over.  I am now the proprietor of my very own Sky contract.  I’ve alluded already (Chernobyl) to the fact that this pivotal saga didn’t figure among the available boxsets when I first sat down with my new Sky Q remote and box, but suddenly it’s back on there!  And how did I find this out?  An advert in a podcast (Teenage Mixtape) voiced by none other than Sean Bean himself (that has since been served to me 500 more times and that I now can’t skip fast enough).  So, no more putting up with ersatz-Thrones (I’m looking at you, The Witcher), I’ve been back to Westeros (again) and I’m bloody loving it.

Before we begin, though, let me explain two key rule breaks with my approach.  Firstly, we’re going to split things up by series.  Normally, once I’ve “done” a programme, I move on.  It’s over.  No returnsies.  The only way I’ll ever go back to it is if it adds a colon and some more words (like Narcos: Mexico) by which action it definitively becomes a new show.  But this programme is more than that.  For a while, it was a global cultural phenomenon, with episodes commanding feature film budgets.  It’s the ur-boxset, the originator from which our new norms of staying in and watching episodes eclipsed any desire to brave it out into the rain and sit among a variety of coughs and illuminated smartphone screens in the cinema or, heaven forbid, actually talk to people.  Secondly, I’m alerting you to spoilers.  Typically, I take pains not to reveal any twists or unexpected plot progressions that can’t be gleaned from a marketing trailer.  But, with this show, if you haven’t seen it yet then you simply need to get off my blog right now.  This post ruining a Game Of Thrones twist is the least of your worries.

So how did you discover Game Of Thrones?  This is the question nobody is asking me, but I’ll have you all know I was early to this party.  I remember some tube posters across the tracks of the Northern Line featuring an array of moodily-lit and characterful faces.  It didn’t say much about the show or emphasise its fantasy roots too heavily, but something piqued my interest and I remember adding the first series to my Lovefilm account, with the DVDs arriving soon after (I told you this was a long time ago – that sentence is definitively historical memoir).  Sure, the rest of the world caught up and jumped on the bandwagon, but my first moments in Westeros still feel as if they were only yesterday.  Like the books, which I later devoured, each series’ opening scene features only peripheral (short-lived) characters, setting up some dramatic tension before those famous credits roll.  Series one’s prelude foreshadows the coming threat of the White Walkers, but keeps the northern bogeyman obscured in enough mystery that their plausibility is easily bought.  And that’s the beauty of this first foray into Thrones, the fantastical elements are only gradually revealed to us in such a way that we accept them as reality.

The key example of this are the dragons that finally emerge from the Essos ashes around poor old Daenerys’s (almost constantly) naked body.  At first, they are just some calcified eggs, and characters only speak of them as legends that died out hundreds of years beforehand.  Seems legit, right?  Only carefully is their being escalated into the fire-breathing beasts of the later series, with no serious viewer dismissing them as excessive as the show has thoughtfully prepped us for their coming glory.  But no, it’s not just the dungeons and dragons that draw us in.  Game Of Thrones has one of the richest settings ever attempted in TV.  Again, the books provide plenty here as a source material, but I commend the first episode and its offspring in introducing us to a world that’s totally made up yet easily believable.  The Seven Kingdoms are rich in history and folklore, dogged by opposing religious rites and ineffective government, riddled by rivalries and grudges among the nobility and regions.  It’s the inspiration for Brexit Britain.  The only question mark I have is related to the fact that there doesn’t seem to have been a single technological or societal advance in thousands of years – it’s made clear that people have lived this way for a long time.  But I can forgive this as the complexity is still delicious enough to fuel eight series of epic drama.

So cast your minds back to how that first episode drew you into a world where there were so many truths to establish before we could even progress to storyline.  Quickly, the viewer progresses from “Who are these serious-looking people shrouded in fur?” to “Ah yes, it seems an uneasy truce has descended on the lands and brought peace yet is about to bust apart at the seams.”  It’s artfully done.  For me, I lost all doubt as the Stark children stumbled across their direwolf pups.  I was in.  Sure, some initial lines from certain cast members carry a slight hesitance due to their pomposity, but that all passes quickly, and things get going without delay.

On that note, I should probably allude to the main thrust of season one: what actually happens.  Well, I’ve been thinking that it could otherwise be known as Ned Stark Investigates: The King’s Landing Mysteries.  But it’s more than murder mystery.  Thrones’ beauty is in its layers.  We have the present actions where Ned is strong-armed into leaving most of his family to take up a position of Hand Of The King to King Robert.  However, before that, and before even episode one, we go back a layer in time to the circumstances of Jon Arryn’s murder as a result of uncovering the truth about the supposed Baratheon line of succession.  Beyond that, yet another layer exists that binds the myriad characters (numerous as they are): the teaming up of the Westerosi houses against the Mad King, resulting in the overthrowing and end of the Targaryen dynasty.  The interplay between these layers of time propel every scene from “Oh look there might be a dragon” to politicking, intrigue and an impending sense of doom.  And this is all without mentioning the critical layer of peril present at all times: the coming White Walker trouble beyond the wall.  Filter this all through several theatres of action, factor in the geographically distant yet essential narrative of Daenerys and Viserys in Essos, multiply by a thousand, and you can only conclude that Game Of Thrones owes its success to crediting the viewer with the ability to cope with a lot of information.

Language, too, plays a part.  Each character has a nickname which, rather than complicating things, somehow makes them easier to remember, from Jaime Lannister’s Kingslayer to Petyr Baelish’s Littlefinger.  Each house also has its own mantra that easily slips into common parlance.  As a result, we all know winter is coming.  But a further stickiness comes from two other areas: gratuitous sex and relentless gore.  All the highbrow political debate is one thing, but at any moment a tavern whore might flash her downstairs, or the pointy end of a sword might suddenly protrude from someone’s eyeball.  It’s another layer of jeopardy among an embarrassing excess.  But it leads to one of Thrones’ most credible points: nobody is safe.  Big name actors like Jason Momoa and Sean Bean fail to survive to the end of the series, setting into motion a trend that heightens further the already great stakes at play.  Thus, we start to see how this became the biggest show in the world, but let’s conclude on some gentle trolling below.

Best newcomer

Slightly redundant here as everyone is new, but let’s take a moment to acknowledge the rise and fall of Khal Drogo here.  Never one to miss chest day at the gym (or wear a top), Drogo has mastered the smoky eye off a YouTube tutorial but continues to struggle with basic Common Tongue (English).  He prefers to mount his women from behind, but it’s actually strangely touching when Daenerys finally tames him sexually.  Sadly, his immune system fails to protect him from a rusty axe blade, but not before he spectacularly kills Viserys by pouring molten gold on him just when he’s at his most annoying.  We’ve all dreamt of doing this to a colleague, which is why smelting is not allowed in offices.

Most valuable character

Playing beyond her status here, I’m going to go for Mirri Maz Duur.  Not one to let a bad hair day stop her in any endeavour, Mirri is a crucial catalyst who sets Daenerys off on her path to emergence as a great leader.  From her wonderful accent, to her cheery screams as she is burned alive, Mirri can take a bow for life-coaching the Mother Of Dragons to be the best that she can be.

Best death/jaw-dropper moment

Back in Westeros, it has to be Ned Stark’s head rolling around on the floor that counts as one of the most shocking moments in episode nine, nay, the whole series.  Every pointer leads us to believe he has done enough to save himself, despite our regret that he seems prepared to compromise his morals to survive, but Joffrey’s bloodlust wins out and the seeds are sown for shit to kick off for seven further seasons.

The Witcher

It’s not easy keeping up with Netflix.  In fact, I can’t do it.  Here I am, finally posting about The Witcher, weeks after pictures of Henry Cavill in his Lucius Malfoy hairpiece appeared all over the Netflix user menu.  Oh well, at least the passing of time has allowed an array of discussion of this show to take place in my real life, both in the office and on the ski slopes/lifts of France, as it appears I wasn’t the only one unable to resist Cavill’s face.  When I grow up, I’m definitely going to have a jawline like that.  So let’s proceed to work out what this programme was all about, safe in the knowledge I wont be completing any new boxsets for the next few weeks while my evenings are occupied with more Love Island and another series of the wonderful Sex Education.

The first question you’ll ask yourself is this: what is a Witcher?  I can safely say, even after all the episodes I’ve watched, that I don’t really know.  I’ve been a Witcher watcher, sure, but I’m assuming it’s just a sultry man with bright white hair, unusual coloured eyes and a penchant of slaying monsters and such.  Turns out, though, that The Witcher is actually based on a series of video games.  Now, this never really bodes that well for a piece of content in the TV or film world, but it’s a fact I’m just going to ignore completely.  It’s my blog and I can do whatever I want.  Besides, I’ve never really played video games, unless you count a Gameboy I got free with my Halifax Young Person’s Account many many years ago or a misspent summer spent addicted to PC classic Rollercoaster Tycoon.

It’s the world of the Witcher that’s more interesting than its joystick-inspired origins.  Our action plays out in a mythical land called the Continent.  There are various kingdoms, a bit like Westeros, and a league of wise mages appointed to each, a bit like Westeros, as well as an array of fantastic creatures that don’t hold back in lettting you know where to find them, a bit like Westeros.  It follows, then, that The Witcher is good watching for anyone needing a Game Of Thrones fix.  (I will eventually cover this show, as soon as series one reappears on Sky).  And like that show, there is a fair amount of bonkbusting, though the nudity is mostly reserved to the female cast members.  Some might say the display of boobs is gratuitous, particularly the episode where Yennefer seems to be without a top for the majority of the time, but if you’re looking to titillate (quite literally) video games fans, then lady nipple counting is sadly par for the course.  Fans of man-mountain Cavill won’t be disappointed either, though, as he does have a few baths you can watch him doing.

It’s all good, sexy fun.  But, primary among the conversations I’ve found myself in is the slight gripe that the narrative unfolds across the eight episodes with little regard to chronology.  It’s not a spoiler to say this, but it is fun to compare among other viewers at what stage the realisation dawned that we weren’t watching our Witcher in sequence.  As such, the best viewing technique is a meditative state.  Don’t worry about what’s happening when, and just focus on it happening.  Afterwards, your brain will rearrange everything.  Similarly, the confusion can be compounded by the enormous cast of creatively named characters, not to mention the various allusions to kingdoms, geographical features, monsters, other races, spells and histories, all of which enrich the programme if you manage to resist worrying that you can’t remember what any of it is about.

The truth is, it is about stuff, and it comes closer and closer together before leaving the ending open for more Witcher watching.  Alongside our narrative around Cavill’s character (Geralt of Rivia) which gradually unpacks the questions of: who is he, why is he so grumpy, and how come he’s growling all of his lines (nobody knows), we also have Yennefer (she of sometimes no top) who suffers in all sorts of unnecessary ways while performing a crucial role in the destiny of the Continent.  And then third in are trinity of leads is Ciri, a young princess who basically runs about causing trouble (while seeming inconsistently affected by cold temperatures) and is, therefore, kind of annoying.  All are linked (surprise!) but they’re about to find out it’s not so easy doing the right thing in the Continent (this is an obscure South Park reference by the way).

Despite this rinsing, it’s a double-thumbs-up, watch-this-right-now recommendation for The Witcher.  You’ve got great production values, an imagination-rich world and mythology, a novel approach to storytelling and a decent narrative that you want to find out more about.  The world has shown a huge appetite for this kind of fantasy fare, so this is a welcome contribution to the canon.  Just like Cavill’s Witcher won’t ever be able to slay all the monsters, you won’t ever be able to watch all of Netflix.  But get this boxset completed and you’ll be in good stead for the standard office question: “Watching anything good at the moment?”

South Park

Notably absent from the blog have been the big adult animations.  Both The Simpsons and Family Guy have been among my most cherished viewing over the years, yet there’s no sign of them here.  While I’ll slag off telly I don’t like despite having seen not much of it (Gogglebox, The Apprentice), to do justice to the shows I love, I need to have seen everything, and that simply isn’t the case with those two American families.  But, fear not, today I finished off the twenty-third series of South Park and am now completely up to date with this most subversive of all the adult animations, making my way through two decades’ worth of toilet humour, biting satire, charming characterisation and laugh-out-loud comedy.  Finished off might not be truly accurate though, as certain episodes don’t seem to be available on any platform (season 5 episode 3, season 10 episodes 3 and 4, season 14 episodes 5 and 6).  But don’t worry, the other 305 instalments have all been devoured and now we can begin our journey through my relationship with South Park.

It’s 1997 and I am 12.  I’m still living at the parents’ because I am legally a child, but I do have my own room.  I don’t quite have my own telly though, but there’s an old black-and-white set that hangs around the upstairs.  Traditionally it gets wheeled out only if my sister or I are off school poorly and need something to entertain ourselves with.  This is a rare occasion as we were raised to be sent into class no matter what.  I could have a leg off and my mum would still tip me out the car in the school car park at 8am and then speed off to work.  But yes, being properly ill means two things.  One is crumbs in bed, as it’s the only time we’re allowed to eat in our rooms, and honey and toast is typically on the menu so the sugar can give us our strength back following whatever affliction has attacked us, though I suspect this scratchiest of all the foods is simply used to punish us for needing bedrest in the first place, making the very sanctuary of our convalescence an unpleasant collection of the sharpest morsels.  And the second is having the old TV set on a chair by the bed.

Somehow, its position in my room became permanent.  I hadn’t become sickly, but maybe my sister had got her own or some other treat, and therefore my claim to the spare set was recognised.  This meant I graduated from discovering shows alone in our breakfast room (see post on Friends) to being able to tune into all sorts of late-night fare in the privacy of my own room.  In fact, tuning in is fairly literal here, as the set was so old it had a dial-knob for channel selection.  You would twist this to work through the four available terrestrial channels, enjoying an exhilarating burst of snow and crackle between each.  How primal.  This might all seem like self-indulgent preamble, and it is, but it’s also relevant as this is how I discovered South Park.  Channel 4 had acquired the rights to this cult show from the US, and late on Fridays it was going out in the UK too.  Often criticised for its crude animation in those early days, I was able to tolerate not only this but also the lack of colour on my antique telly because South Park was brilliant from the start.

The furtive late-night viewings made it feel inappropriate and offensive, but that’s because it was.  It was some of the rudest stuff you could watch (pre-internet), besides maybe Eurotrash.  But it was also, and still is, very clever.  We’ll come on to the reasons for this, but back to me.  Suddenly, South Park merchandise was everywhere.  You couldn’t move in Clinton Cards for plush toys of Kenny, or sets of highball glasses featuring Cartman and Mr Hankey The Christmas Poo.  I still don’t know what a highball glass is, but I probably had one anyway.  Even my dad revealed he enjoyed the show, catching the odd episode and immediately finding his undying passion for fart jokes catered to by South Park’s storylines.  By 1999 we had a feature-length film complete with musical numbers that I still dream of seeing performed in the West End.  In fact, the lending out of my DVD of this film while at college in 2005 was the first act of cultural exchange in a friendship that is still going strong to this day (love you, T).

But university saw me lose track of South Park.  New seasons emerged as an annual tradition, but I was having the time of my life transferring my student loan to night club owners in Oxford.  Once I started work and moved to London, though, someone showed me a site called allofsouthpark.com.  It’s not there anymore, but it offered great solace during my poverty/grad wage years, with me saving money by staying in and watching up to season 10 before the streaming finally gave out around the 9.0 IMDB-rated Imaginationland episodes.  Even then, it was a lot of content, and the quality was in no way compromised by the quantity.

Spotting this old favourite, then, on Amazon Prime, I found myself revisiting those old series from my childhood, making my way through episode after episode as background entertainment while I built IKEA furniture in my new flat.  I passed Imaginationland and a whole new world of South Park madness was revealed to me, the humour catching up with more recent events.  I had to download series 23 from Sky and fast forward the same handful of inane adverts that are stitched into every segment over and over again, but it was totally worth it.  I can now go around saying I have seen (almost) all of South Park.

And with that, let’s look at what made that a worthwhile experience.  South Park focuses on four young boys in snowy Colorado.  They almost always face forwards, their legs and arms hardly move at first, their winter clothing is mostly the same and they have potty mouths.  We join the boys in third grade, but they journey to the fourth, putting them at eight/nine/ten years old.  Stan feels like the hero – he’s learning what his morals are while his family exasperate him.  His best friend is Kyle who is slightly more impatient, mostly because overweight frenemy Cartman is constantly abusing his Jewish heritage.  Then there’s Kenny, whose dialogue is muffled by his parka hood, and who dies in all the early episodes (creating a great set up for Coon & Friends in later series), while also being absent in some seasons, with the other three auditioning other friends, from Butters (my favourite) to Tweek (too caffeinated too young).  The boys rag on each other like any bunch of friends would, but it’s the innocent response to the stupidity of their parents and the other adults of South Park that leads not just to toilet-themed humour but also to scathing commentary on our modern society and all of its nonsense.  Over time, Cartman comes to signify the right-wing end of things (excluding his behaviour in season 20), while the others are more liberal.  But, eventually, conservative or woke, South Park will come for anyone that takes themselves too seriously (or cereally).

This has proved controversial throughout South Park’s lifespan.  An example is its approach to US school shootings from series 22 onwards.  A background soundtrack of gunfire complements every school scene from the first episode, setting up a wealth of humour where the South Park citizens focus on every other problem besides gun control.  South Park isn’t making light of school shootings or laughing at its victims, it’s viciously parodying the lack of solution in real life to something that requires an immediate response.  It’s true, though, that human life has little value in South Park.  My mind was first blown by this in episode 6 of the first series, Death, when the adults of South Park catapult their bodies into the network building to protest the foul language of Terrance And Philip.  It was funny, but it haunted me – surely each adult experienced a moment of regret at their choice before hurtling through thin air to their death.

As such, let’s run through, in chronological order, a handful of my top most mind-blowing moments from 23 series of South Park:

Chickenpox, season 2, episode 10

The boys hire a hooker to give all their parents herpes as revenge for a chickenpox party, and the scenes where she goes about using all their toothbrushes remain deeply harrowing for me.  It not only foreshadowed the inordinate generational conflict that drives many of South Park’s storylines (and, increasingly, our actual lives), but gave me a permanent reservation about where my own toothbrush might have been when I wasn’t looking at it.

Cat Orgy, season 3, episode 7

Shelley Marsh remains a joy of a character, perfectly personifying older sister-awkwardness and employing increasingly creative ways to use her favourite word (turd), so it’s inevitable that she should try her hand at babysitting.  Her fatal error comes when she babysits Cartman, with events climaxing in all the stray cats getting invited round for a cat orgy.  Now, whenever someone leaves me home alone, I threaten them with holding a cat orgy in their absence.

Towelie, season 5, episode 8

New character alert: we meet Towelie, who is a towel.  Yes.  He also smokes too much weed and is consequently always too high to be effective.  I can’t get enough of him, even though weed is one of the worst smells available to humanity.

Krazy Kripples, season 7, episode 2

I don’t know what to say about Timmy and Jimmy.  Are they driving greater visibility of disabled people on the TV screen, or are we laughing at children for their handicaps?  The fact that they’re treated as fully formed characters who happen to be disabled edges me to the former of the two perspectives – and this means they simply get rinsed as much as everyone else in South Park.  In this episode, a series of misunderstandings lead to them getting involved in the Bloods versus Crips gang warfare while blind to any of the sensitivities around this.  Oblivious Jimmy encouraging everyone to get along is priceless, and this all unfolds during an aggressive storyline about stem cell research.

All About Mormons, season 7, episode 12

Potentially a precursor to The Book Of Mormon (which I have seen twice on my own money and would happily pay full whack to see again), all the exposition of this curious faith in this episode is soundtrack with a choral accompaniment of “dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb.”

Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset, season 8, episode 12

Taking aim at bad role models for young girls, Mr Slave’s performance in the episode finale is not something anyone was expecting.  Jesus Christ.

Woodland Critter Christmas, season 8, episode 14

What begins as a cute festive tail takes a turn for the murderous when the charming fluffy animals’ eyes start to glow red and they indulge in a Satanic blood orgy, all with a really positive attitude.

Make Love, Not Warcraft, season 10, episode 8

I’ve never even played World Of Warcraft, but I learnt everything I need to know about it from this episode.  The boys’ transformation into online gamers is enough to put anyone off.

Imaginationland, season 11, episodes 10, 11 and 12

Every imaginary creature ever inhabits a separate dimension (including the satanic woodland critters from before): this concept allows for a deep pastiche of our hysteria about terrorists when these mostly imagined baddies storm the realm of leprechauns and fairies.  Meanwhile, all Cartman cares about is getting Kyle to suck his balls.

Major Boobage, season 12, episode 3

This episode is art perfectly capturing the hetero male response to big boobs.

Crème Fraîche, season 14, episode 14

One of many episodes where Randy Marsh comes into his own as one of the best and most interesting characters, South Park here takes on the growing passion for food porn in a way that means you’ll never be able to pronounce this ingredient in the same way again.

Sponsored Content, season 19, episode 8

Working in advertising, this episode takes on an issue close to my heart – the power of marketing to disrupt the truth of news.  Jimmy’s school newspaper becomes the last remaining bastion of trust, while Butters’ dad succumbs to clickbait in an amazing montage (that we use in meetings sometimes).

All of season 20

Whereas episodes in early seasons were standalone, by this series we have full narrative arcs taking us through from instalment to instalment like some sort of high-tension drama.  Taking on the challenge of explaining why something like Trump could ever happen (the answer: nostalgia for an easier past that can never be brought back – bit like Brexit), season 20 introduces us to the member berries.  These are small grape-like creatures that provide reassurance by constantly posing questions about retro things you might remember, reaffirming each other by indeed recalling and praising that bygone thing that was once great (such as Star Wars).  I can’t get enough of their scenes, nor can I commend this series enough.

Later season arcs take on increasingly ambitious societal trends, including social media, trolling, the rise of Amazon (which was awkward given my viewing method).  I’ve barely scratched the surface here of the wonderful contributions that South Park has made to popular culture and the world of entertainment, as well as genuinely getting me to reconsider my opinions about important topics that constantly affect us.  Even if I were to list out favourite characters (Lemmiwinks, PC Principal, all of Korn) we’d be here for thousands and thousands of words.  In fact, I’ve already gone on too much, which shows I haven’t the skill of South Park’s creators, crafting everything into the brevity of 22-minute-long episodes.  Matt Stone and Trey Parker: thank you for the offensive comedy.

Hollyoaks

How the mighty have fallen.  This blog was going to be all about the high-brow boxsets I had uncovered.  Well, let’s be honest, that and a whole load of trash TV that I only watch ironically and as part of my job in media and just out of cultural curiosity and not because numbing my mind with garbage is the only way to cope with the traumatising experience of living in a country that’s repeatedly voting itself into oblivion.  Throughout, I’ve been scathing about the world of the soap opera.  Even though soaps give us a lot as a nation.  They provide the contestants for Strictly Come Dancing.  I think that’s it, actually.  I suppose they also reflect us as a nation and our slowly liberalising attitudes.  My nineties childhood teatimes featured witnessing a lesbian kiss in Brookside, swiftly followed by the discovery of a body under the patio (in Brookside, not at home in Surrey).  The British press railed at this travesty in a way not out of place in The Handmaid’s Tale, but, as we enter a new decade, nobody would bat an eyelid at this now.  People on TV (and in real life) are free to snog whomever they choose and, in this new apparently Tory4life Britain, we can hide whatever bodies we like under the patio.  So, with that in mind, let’s tear Hollyoaks apart.

While I don’t currently watch this soap, there was a period when I did.  Specifically, this was the early summer of 2007.  I was a finalist at Oxford, an institution that still asks me for money (I don’t have that much and they certainly aren’t top of the list for getting it), and every waking minute was spent preparing for our final exams, safe in the knowledge that roughly 100% of my final grade would be generated by the eight three-hour papers I would be sitting (in academic clothing known as subfusc).  Ever since I began the degree back in 2003, I’d noticed a guilt around our approach to studying: if you weren’t working, then you were aching with the bad conscience that you should be.  Pals at other academic institutions talk fondly now about memories of watching Neighbours twice a day and whiling away hours between a weekly lecture.  My average week involved 3,000 words of essay-writing (for which 40 hours of reading were expected – lol!) and translations in four different directions.  Therefore, as things inevitably ramped up under increasing pressure while finals approached, more and more time was spent studying and fewer and fewer moments remained for leisure.  However, this was and still is a recipe for burnout.

After a day buried in books, we would meet for dinner in hall, desperate for social contact and the support it brought.  Naturally, this was informal hall, rather than formal hall.  Informal hall involved a more canteen-like service, whereas for formal hall you had to don your gown over your normal clothes and be served a three-course meal that began with grace in Latin (which was sung by the choir on Sundays).  Just imagine Harry Potter and you’re pretty much there.  Both types of hall needed to be booked on a computer in the porters’ lodge (the main entrance to college) before lunchtime.  No, you couldn’t access this through the internet as that would be Oxonian heresy.  And yes, they really did need that many hours’ notice to broil an unidentifiable meat and mash some swede in time for that evening’s meal.  What a tangent!  The point is, after wolfing down this subsidised sustenance, we would still crave a further moment of unwinding.  Being 6.30, we would end up in front of someone’s TV.  And thus, Hollyoaks would end up in front of our eyes.

What began as ironic activity became something more important.  We began to look forward to our scheduled viewing, anticipating the storyline developments and speculating on the fallouts, anything to distract us from the 7pm drudge back to the library or our rooms for more fusty book-learning.  To this day, the first few notes of the Hollyoaks theme tune set my teeth on edge, but for that one summer, they were solace.  Our main problem, though, when it came to identifying with the characters in the production, was that they didn’t seem to be afflicted as we were with a constant need to be doing work.  They would walk about, talk to each other, do things, all without the omnipresent commentary of “Well, I really better be getting back to it.”  The reality didn’t match ours and their lack of work ethic didn’t compute.

But that didn’t stop us.  We were lost in the scripted tension that finally built up to John-Paul kissing his best friend Craig, all while Nancy and the other evergreen characters got smashed on half a sniff of Smirnoff Ice while “going out” at a venue that was, as with all local amenities, on the one street that they ever went along.  That was a terrible sentence, but it really brings to life the production quality of your average episode.  Let’s say my standards must have been lower, as, at no other time, have I been able to stomach multiple weeks of soap watching.  The plot developed at an agonisingly glacial pace, trapped within its own limited reality, chunked into daily cliff-hangers that got stretched so thinly you could see the next few weeks’ episodes through them.  It was still better than revising.

Exams completed, university a distant and overpriced recollection, I never returned to Hollyoaks.  To this day, it remains billed as the teen soap.  Yes, it’s still being made.  Occasionally I’ll catch a marketing trail on Channel 4 and be like: “Oh wow, this looks good,” but then I have to check myself and remember that this is one of those programmes whose marketing is better than the actual product.  Given the huge community of characters that make up the cast, unwieldy storytelling has to be avoided: only a handful of characters feature in any particular week.  It’s acting shift work.  And that’s always the complaint with soaps: the sheer quantity of entertainment they are required to produce harms its very quality.  Brookside may have long-since perished to cul-de-sac heaven, but Emmerdale seems to be on 43 times a week.  Either way, the 6.30pm broadcast was often well before home time once I became an office worker.  In fact, my favourite joke when on calls late in the day was to tell people planning to leave at 5.30 that it was good news they would be home in time for Hollyoaks.

So yeah, I’m not opposed to Hollyoaks being the 129^th programme on Just One More Episode.  As this week’s post demonstrates, this is mostly about me anyway, and Hollyoaks was in my life for a brief period in a former decade, despite there being nearly 4,000 episodes to catch up on, not to mention late night specials with extra sex and a whole array of scantily clad calendars nobody asked for.  Its approach to issues, too, should be commended, serving a national purpose to the country’s youth (who still watch TV and not just inane YouTubers) when it comes to coming to terms with and coming of age in a political entity that hates them.  With cuts to public mental health funding, Hollyoaks will soon be the sole method through which our young people are cared for, so I better get used to the jangly guitar notes of its opening sequence.  It’s only a moment of discomfort when compared to a future lifetime of being locked out of Europe.