Oh Schitt

I’ve always been drawn to a certain type of comedy. I like quirky characters, slow burn plot development and wit. One of my favourite sayings ever comes from one of the writers of “Seinfeld”. He said their credo on the show was “no hugging, no learning.” I liked that. Stuff happened (not much of it, admittedly) and no-one ever had a neat, end of show epiphany as a result.

The premise of the dysfunctional family has been at the heart of some of the most successful comedies ever. From Steptoe and Son to Fawlty Towers (I’m counting Polly and Manuel as part of the family), from The Simpsons to Arrested Development, from Spaced to Black Books, the idea of a group of people living together and their subsequent adventures has provided a rich seam of comedy for writers.

Laughter has been in fairly short supply in 2020. Fear, anxiety and apprehension have been bedfellows for most of us in the last few months. I came across this Jewish proverb recently: “As soap is to the body, so laughter is to the soul.” I like that. Watching the news has been a sobering experience, worse than usual if you watched “Newsnight” last night, but I’d have gone crazy if I hadn’t countered it all with a good dose of humour.

Which leads me rather neatly on to one of the best discoveries I’ve made all year. “Schitt’s Creek” is a Canadian sitcom about the Rose family. Paterfamilias Johnny made his fortune with a string of video stores, his wife Moira is a fading soap star and their grown-up children, David and Alexis are a pair of spoilt, entitled snobs. The story starts with a ring at the door of their gilded mansion and the discovery that their business manager has been defrauding them. They’ve got an hour to pack up and get out. Their sole remaining asset is a back of beyond town which they bought for their son as a joke years ago…..

As the Roses arrive in town on the bus, the full horror of their situation bursts upon them. They own the Schitt’s Creek Motel, so they can stay there free, but to a family used to palatial luxury and lots of servants, two shabby adjoining rooms in a provincial motel is a shocking come-down. Naturally, things don’t go too well in the first series, giving the writers the opportunity to introduce a small but impressive cast of characters and set the family up for absolutely no hugging, but a whole lot of learning.

“Schitt’s Creek” makes me laugh my head off while applauding the quality of the writing. As far as I’m concerned, it deserves every award going. By Series 6, Johnny is still the baffled straight man to ludicrous mayor Roland Schitt, but has got to know his family much better and discovered his kind and compassionate side. Moira is still an over-emoting drama queen with a wall of wigs, each with a name, but she shows the odd chink of humanity. David is still a posturing neat freak, but he’s learned that he might just be worthy of love. Alexis is still moderately self-obsessed, but she’s learned that in order to find real love, you need to be selfless.

“Schitt’s Creek” is a family affair. It’s written by father and son team Eugene and Dan Levy, who play Johnny and David. Twyla, the waitress at the café is Sarah Levy, Dan’s sister. Deb Devine, Dan and Sarah’s mother and Eugene’s wife, is the creative consultant on the show. Fans of Christopher Guest’s mockumentaries (Best in Show, A Mighty Wind etc) will recognise Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara as a well-established humorous double act.

When thinking about the show, Dan Levy asked himself the question, “Would the Kardashians still be the Kardashians without their money?” and “Schitt’s Creek” was the result. It’s lifted my spirits no end this year and I am rationing myself through Series 6, although the temptation to binge is huge.

Different things make us all laugh, but what we can probably all agree on at the moment is that humour, warm-heartedness and community spirit are more important than ever. You’ll find all of those things in, “Schitt’s Creek” if you decide to give it a go.

Let me know what you think.

I now declare this book open

If you’d told me at the end of last year that come May 2020, I would regularly hurl myself into the path of traffic while wearing a snazzy face mask, I would have laughed in, or near your face. Had you predicted that my last major social event would be a trip to Southampton to see my sister and her family while struggling with a cold of epic proportions, I would have been surprised.

Since then, everything has changed. Men are sporting magnificent beards while women display a scattering of what my hairdresser used to call, “Nature’s Highlights”. Home barbering is now a thing. Yesterday afternoon, my eleven-year old daughter trimmed my fringe and my world makes sense again.

Since lock down, I’ve become a more involved member of the ACW, a supportive and fabulous writers’ group, as well as taking my first steps in book reviewing. For me, there is nothing to compare to the smell and the feel of a new book, its pages as yet unread, its secrets still to be unlocked.

A few weeks ago, I was very excited to be asked to be part of my friend Fran Hill’s virtual launch team. Fran now has two actual books under her belt. She is a Proper Writer, as we unpublished folk say. For this reason alone, I curtseyed low when first we met, full of respect and admiration for anyone who could write lots of words in one go, put them together and turn them into something which an actual publisher would publish so that people could buy it in bookshops.

Pre Covid-19, Fran and her publisher planned a book launch for Thursday 21^st May. That’s today. In an alternative universe, people would have sipped Prosecco, nibbled canapes and stood around saying nice things. Fran would have said a few well-chosen words, everyone present would have clapped and had another flute of fizz before buying her book and heading home.

Nothing daunted by the lack of a government announcement confirming that writers were key workers and could therefore meet together in small, excitable groups, Fran started organising a virtual book launch. And this is where we all come in.

“Miss, What Does Incomprehensible Mean?” is out today. Yes, TODAY! A hilarious, warm and touching memoir of an English teacher’s year at a secondary school, it is the ideal read for lock down. Having taught for 16 years and now an English tutor, Fran really knows her stuff. The narrator of her memoir, “Miss”, has a fondness for Baileys, is breaking out in menopausal spots and has a love-hate relationship with her bathroom mirror and scales who conspire to tell her uncomfortable truths.

Fran is having her virtual book launch on Facebook and you can join her, live, from 8.00 tonight by clicking here: https://www.facebook.com/events/263230455056350/

Bring your own drinks and nibbles. Lie on your bed in pyjamas and slippers if you like, or dress yourself up to the nines. Fran won’t mind what you look like, she’ll just be glad you came.

You can find out more about Fran and her work by clicking here: https://www.facebook.com/Fran-Hill-Writer-430140043700388

You can snag your very own copy of , “Miss, What Does Incomprehensible Mean?” by clicking on any of these links: https://spckpublishing.co.uk/miss-what-does-incomprehensible-mean, https://www.hive.co.uk/, https://blackwells.co.uk/bookshop/search/?keyword=miss,+what+does+incomprehensible+mean or 

 http://www.warwickbooks.net/

Happy reading, everyone.

Jane’s Beauty Tips meet Zanda’s Loo Roll

I was on Radio Suffolk on Monday night with the lovely Jon Wright. Gosh, how I love the radio! In the current climate, I didn’t even have to drive to the turreted palace which is Radio Suffolk HQ, but was able to slump on my creaky chair in the dining room and chat on the phone. Thanks Jon!

I was being positive, talking about the uplifting things we can all focus on. It would be so easy to look at what our world is going through at the moment and fall apart. Uncertainty, lack of control, strict social limitations – it’s not great. But – and it’s a big but, as my friend Clare always says - “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” Anne Frank said that. I hadn’t come across those words before, but as I sit writing on a bright sunny spring morning, they seem bang on.

I’ve decided not to tread water, not to mark time, not to ride it out. Before this happened, I had just about enough money and no time. Now I’ve got hardly any money but loads of time. I’m going to use that gift wisely. Yesterday, I paired a huge mountain of socks. There are five pairs of feet in this household, all with a myriad of different coloured coverings, and with the current warm weather, each sock has been lovingly washed and dried by moi. I discovered that laundry baskets have bottoms. I did not realise this. There is a vast green expanse in my bedroom. The carpet, I think they call it. “Hello!” I greeted it this morning. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

Image by Pixabay

I’ve wasted far too much of my life worrying about what I look like and what people think of me. My friend Jane has had me crying with laughter every morning with her joke beauty channel. She’s a hoot. Her daily explanations of how to get her look parodies those po-faced YouTube videos brilliantly. They’re honest, funny and real. From peeling nail varnish to bobbly pyjama bottoms to rampant root regrowth, they’re hilarious.

My friend Zanda posted this picture on Facebook today. Funny but also touching. Sharing your loo roll really is the gift that keeps on giving. Big love to the Purins family who also made me smile today.

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, join me in looking for the funny, the touching, the beautiful in our uncertain world. And remember those words from Anne Frank. Really. Wait not a single moment before starting to improve the world.