I introduced my housemate to Black Books and Seven Periods with Mr Gormsby this weekend. The former was a cult classic dark comedy tv series from Irish comedian, Dylan Moran. The latter was a Kiwi comedy tv series with a deeply bigoted central character, Mr Gormsby, relief teacher at a fictional low decile boys’ high school. Both series centred around the anti social/antiquated white male protagonists and their interactions with people they encounter in their respective workplaces: book shop and high school.
I was amazed that my housemate had not encountered Black Books, former resident of old Blighty that she is, hadn’t seen it as it was originally aired on Channel 4. She was more of an ITV viewer, whatever that means. I had enjoyed a stint living in London (Camden) and outside of Cardiff (St Athan) for some months in 2002 and during that sabbatical enjoyed many trashy, racy and entertaining British shows.
Upon my return to Australia I realised the lack of quality comedy shows that really pushed social boundaries. Perhaps it was the grim political climate of that time period, but we as a comedy producing nation weren’t doing any heavy lifting in the tv series department (exception being the wonderful and very un P.C. Life Support with Abbie Cornish and Brendan Cowell). Things did improve in the mid- late noughties, but I digress…
This is the second time in six years when I have shared a residence with this housemate. Many things have changed in this time frame, however, our shared sense of black humour is as caustic and virulent as ever. It has been a pleasure for me to renew my fervour for Bernard Black and to snicker at the very politically incorrect behaviour of the students and staff at Tepapawai Boys’ High School.
We may have evolved as people, becoming mothers/homeowners (her), and traveled academics (me) but as friends enjoying comedy shows we can still be young, dumb, carefree and wholly un P.C. tv viewers. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?
‘Shut up, slapper.’ There are some things you can get away with saying when you are three sheets… The obvious response to this colourful rejoinder is, of course ‘You’re a soft cock! Ooh, it’s Nicki Minaj!!!’ Saturday night in the suburbs can be tempered by hip hop, booze, drunken make up lessons and some other female bonding rituals that can not be mentioned on a blog for fear of being ostracised… If I wasn’t writing via phone I would pursue this topic with deep and unadulterated zeal. Promise 😉