Monthly Archives: March 2009

Season One, Episode Seven – ‘The Monogamists’

I am of the opinion that there is often nothing worse than the sound of someone you don’t like laughing. Closely following this, is someone you don’t like falling in love, and subsequently being so lovey dovey that all they can talk about is the person they’re with – regardless of the glazed look in the eyes of the person they’re boring. Sure, that feeling when you meet someone and it all clicks into place is incredible, and you feel like the best person in the world – but does the whole world really need to know? In the same way I don’t care that you ate some toast last night, I’m also fairly indifferent about how much you like whomever. It was Marmite and butter by the way, and it was fucking lovely.

It’s unfortunate that one of the first words from the mole is “I don’t think I’ve ever been hit this hard..,” although sadly for me she was banging on about the mythical ‘Mr Big’ as opposed to being lamped in the face by anyone. The crux of the episode is that Carrie thinks she’s in a relationship with Big, but sees him out and about with another girl and so becomes jealous. Here’s a tip for her, and women the world over – if you’re unsure about something, JUST FUCKING ASK!

Perhaps more interestingly, it was revealed that Charlotte isn’t a fan of noshing lads off. Not even Ronnie O’ Sullivan would convince her I imagine, and fair play to her – but is a cafe really the best place to talk about things like that? Although it gets annoying on public transport (Specifically London Underground) that when people aren’t desperately trying to avoid eye contact with each other, they’re talking about the most mundane items of conversation ever, I’d much rather that the four middle aged women sitting next to me on the Northern Line to Elephant And Castle are chatting about which prescription drugs are the best to make you forget about life the best, as opposed to discussing various techniques on sucking people off. Time and a place ladies.

Where am I going with this? Bald lad made an appearance today wearing a spectacular pink sweater. Can’t remember what his name is, my head says Stamford, but my heart says Nancy. Miranda ruined ‘Skipper’ (a geeky lad who idolises her for some idiotic reason) from successfully canoodling with another woman, by calling him up as he was ploughing his way through the meadow. Although I find Miranda’s character odious at the best of times, this was a particular low point. The back story to this, is that Skipper loves her, but Miranda is always pushing him away like a racist in a curry house. However, after she sees him wandering around with a lovely lady who works at Vogue, all of a sudden she wants him back in her life. What a load of bollocks – sure you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, but let people live, no matter how much your heart might be hurting – don’t destroy a relationship to save your own. Unless of course the relationship involves domestic abuse, or lesbians.

Alas, you can’t always get what you want. Charlotte finds a nice guy, but her aforementioned blowjob problems mean that it falls apart at the seams. And fair enough – though it seems odd for such a bitter prick like me to say this, surely life is too short to do things you don’t want to? As the man involved with Charlotte repeatedly forced her head down towards his humble cock, it reminded me of a period of my life that sends shivers down my spine as the pain and shame of the memory surrounded me. GCSE Maths. Eventually there comes a time – usually when you fail it for the third fucking time, that you realise it’s time to put your abacus and chalk away, and realise that perhaps the Pythagoras theory really isn’t for you. And now look at me – reviewing every episode of Sex And The City. Oh fucking dear.

Episode ends, as it always seems to do with Carrie and Big. Are they together, will they, won’t they – it’s a storyline vaguely reminiscent to the Jade Goody soap opera, and hopefully this will have as happy an ending*

*Sorry if I’ve offended anyone**

**Actually get fucked – as if she’s the Princess of Essex – there is only one member of royalty in my beloved homeland, and that’s Queen Jodie Marsh.


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Season One, Episode Six – ‘Secret Sex’

If I knew Carrie Bradshaw in real life, I’d get one of the many gobshite Essex princesses I know, to issue her a beating, Southend style. This episode centres around her being photographed for her column, as she’s going to be daubed on the side of a bus. It’s quite accurate that she’d be involved with a bus, as from the episodes I’ve watched it seems dear old Carrie let’s a lot of people walk all over her, whilst putting sticky coins in her clammy hands.

Early on, the gang discuss ‘rules’ – i.e, fuck on the first date or not. Samantha, who so far is a one dimensional character of course advocates fucking whomever you want. Charlotte and Miranda vouch for the ‘at least four dates’ rule, which would make sense, unless you actually look at Miranda and wonder where she gets off with that sort of arrogance. Anyway, lot of sex in this episode – Miranda with some nonce who is into spanking, and Carrie with the infamous ‘Mr Big’ – who is apparently called that because he’s quite tall.

After the sex, Big takes Carrie to a Chinese restaurant, which leads to her thinking aloud “Had Mr Big discovered my weakness for great sex and greasy Chinese?” All I can say, especially since moving to London and listening to the noises in the flat next to mine, that the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Though of course the Chinese aren’t greasy, they’re just really bad at animal rights.

An interesting character in this episode was that of Carrie’s friend, who was not interesting enough for me to remember his name unfortunately. He was dating some hearty lass who worked in a cheese shop, and whilst he was having “the best sex of his life” with her, and even though she was one of the few people he’d ever felt comfortable with, he was uncomfortable with fully committing to her, because wait for it – “she wasn’t beautiful.” I appreciate that Americans are usually idiots, but that has to be the most bizarre statement I’ve heard in this series so far. Here was a guy having GREAT sex with this woman (who wasn’t that ugly to be fair) yet he was too worried about what other folk would think about her. Luckily she got rid of him at the end of the episode. What a woman.

As the episode began to close, Carrie and the girlies eagerly awaited the bus with her image on it to drive past, which it duly did…. with a carefully drawn penis etched onto the side of her face. Her eyes widened, as her mole tightened as she realised what had occurred. I don’t know why she was that bothered – most woman who boast of ‘knowing good sex’ usually aren’t far from a cock in their mouth. After this, a drunk and emotional Carrie asked ‘Big’ if their relationship was actually a relationship – his passionate embrace suggested that it indeed was.. “Maybe this is for real?” she exclaimed – I for one sincerely hope not, otherwise suicide really might be the only answer.

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Season One, Episode Five – ‘The Power Of Female Sex’

As Voltaire once memorably quipped somewhere in France, “A Witty saying proves nothing.” With that in mind, the return of this blog would probably have him spinning in his grave, had his bones not eroded years ago.

This episode is one of the worst pieces of television I’ve ever seen, and I have watched every single episode of ‘All About Me,’ which managed to sink sitcoms to lows not seen since the likes of ‘Barbara,’ and ‘Allo Allo.’ Indeed, whilst I have given Sex And The City every chance (and by that I mean ignoring it for four months) I could probably not have chosen a worst episode to come back to.

Basic plot: Who has power, men or women? Oh, just like every single episode of this show you scream, and it’s all that and more. Dear old Carrie can’t get reservations at an exclusive new restaurant, and so she goes and buys a pair of expensive shoes to cheer herself up. But no, her card is declined, and it’s only thanks to a chance meeting in the old D&G shop (Drum and Gash? Davies and Gardner, a reference to Bolton’s two best players?) with an old Italian pal that she can get the shoes. I’ll admit, my mind wandered at this juncture, trying to think of my top five Italians ever. After struggling to make three – Alessandro Del Piero, Primo Levi, and all of the Di Marco’s from Eastenders, I focused my attention back to the episode, just as Carrie was waking up after spending the night with a swarthy French lad with nothing but a goodbye, and a thousand dollars in an envelope.

Now, I’ve got nothing against the French – indeed I could be a really cool Frenchman, due to my discovery that garlic does in fact aide most dishes. Lazy stereotypes aside though, I have found that the majority of French people that I have met did not own a beret. Anyway, Carrie wonders if this thousand pound gift has turned her into some sort of whore – “What about me screams whore?” she memorably states towards the end of the episode, or if somehow she has conjured up power over men. Now, why is she bothering? What is this thing with women that they have to psycho-analyse every nice thing that happens to them? Sure thousand dollar gifts are rare, and I can understand that requiring some thinking, but honestly girls – why can’t you just accept compliments, and accept that someone actually likes you for who you are? This is just like a bad Basic Instinct, and that was fucking gash!

Talking of gashes, Charlotte somehow manages to wrangle her way into the inner sanctum of one of her hero artists, who turns out to be especially interested in painting womens ‘parts.’ “The truth can only be found in the cunt,” said the artist, and I like to think he was referring to me – afterall, I am small warm and hairy. In fact, it’s only Charlotte who seems to have gotten herself sorted by the end of the episode. After being open minded and letting the artist paint her part so to speak, the episode ends in a gallery where she giggles to herself as she whispers to the rest of her gang which specific painting was hers. A heartwarming story for all.

Unfortunately for me, all I’ve learnt from this episode is that the horrible feeling of stepping into a puddle whilst wearing your beautiful pristine new shoes, is a lot like having the love of your life throw you in the ground, like you’re nothing but yesterdays strappy heels, and there ends this episode review.

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Season One, Episode Four – ‘Valley of the Twenty-Something Guys’

Gonna be perfectly honest, I’ve lost disc one of this which is a shame, but hopefully it means I’ll only miss this episode, although reading the blurb on IMDB I can see see that apparently I’m missing out on discussions of anal sex, bitchiness and hair dilemmas. This would be a problem, but I do go to an art university, so I’m not missing out on much at all as this is unfortunately a regular occurrence.

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