Revolutionary Rants

I am still not feeling any better about Robin Hood. I shall be renting Maid Marion and Her Merry Men on DVD as soon as I can in order to redress the awfulness of last Saturday.

I have, however, warmed some what to the new Jane Eyre as last night’s episode was quite a bit better than the first (I missed the second one, by the way). I am still not quite sure of the two leads but the editing of the story seemed much better dealt with than in the first outing.

I also watched the last in the series of Reader, I married Him. This has been quite interesting, in parts, but spoiled by the presenter, who wandered round in a variety of woolen cardigans delivering lines about Scarlett O’Hara in a very stilted way: “The thing… about Scarlett… Is that she’s not a nice girl… She’s a bitch… And was nearly named Pansy!”. The major problem was, also, the fact that the series banded together literary master works - Pride & Prejudice, Jane Eyre and most of all Wurthering Heights (just don’t mention it to my other half) - with not only Mills and Boon type books but, possible even worse, “chick lit” shite like Sophie Kinsella and Jackie Collins. Plus, the series seemed to suggest that women no longer anted to escape being trapped in the “marriage, babies” cycle, but instead wanted their books to tell them they didn’t have to “have it all”, they could be happy with a nice man and a lovely family. What a load of crap. Bridgette Jones is more alien to me than Becky Sharpe. I detest the current vogue of making women that they should not be wanting it all, but should instead be squeezing in to big knickers and popping out sprogs. Stop feeling guilty, girls, and get back to your kitchens!!! F**k off, I don’t want to! The reason, surely, that books like P&P, JE or, say, Middlemarch hold their popularity over the ages is that they are timeless in the fact that they are about human emotions and moral struggles. Not becasue they are about women grubbing round in the dirt searching for Mr Right like pigs after truffles.
Besides, it is precisely as you give up on going out with people and concentrate on your degree that you meet handsome hens in the students union… And there’s a bloody chiche to end on, if I ever heard one. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in procession of a Mac must be in want of a anarchist…

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