I’m struggling to care about Sex And The City at the moment to be honest, as far too much is going on in my life. By ‘far too much’ I of course mean watching a multitude of sport that’s occurring at this time – the rugby in South Africa, Andy Murray defying the odds at Wimbledon, and the hordes of council house kids who scrap with each other every night outside of my window due to the harsh life that they have been dealt by God.
This episode started with Carrie finding out that her apartment was going ‘co-op’ which apparently means she could only stay there if she bought it outright. Not having the bunse for it, it looked like she was going to be out on her arse, until Aidan suggested that perhaps they buy the place together. Anybody who watched Bruce Springsteen at Glastonbury over the weekend would know that ‘Dancing In The Dark’ was a highlight, but in this instance it’s more dancing with the devil.
Especially when you consider that, after Carrie had found a ring – supposedly for marriage proposal in Aidan’s luxurious gym bag she panicked and threw up all over the place. That sort of reaction isn’t really the catalyst for a successful relationship is it, let alone sharing a house together. Maybe her sick was a reminder for people not to snoop around looking for things that you don’t want to find out are there. I can share a similar story – only two hours ago I was hugely worried, having listened to music far too loud resulting in my gorgeous, yet sensitive ears ringing for a good forty-five minutes. The worst part of it all was, I could never have gone to the hospital and told them of my problem in case they asked me what I was listening to – my reply of ‘C’est La Vie’ by b*witched would have had me laughed out of the place.
Carrie was going through dilemmas to rival ‘Nelly and Kelly’, although really all her own problems were in her own mind. Women are so ungrateful aren’t they? ‘How could I marry someone who chose the wrong ring?’ Carrie moaned after seeing the ring in question. How could you marry someone who would care about such a trivial thing like that? If she can’t have the grace, and the feeling of comfort to politely go ‘yes I’ll marry you but let’s change this bloody ring!’ then she should just fuck off now. “How do you know when it’s right?”, she also asked. Again – bit of a stupid question. If you think that you need to even broach that question, to put it out there, then it’s clearly fucking wrong. You KNOW when it’s right, when you’re listening to shit 80’s tunes at 3 in the morning and loving it, you can’t just say something like that.
Miranda clearly had no problems just saying things though, especially when she told Steve that she had gotten up the duff thanks to his super-semen whilst they were ordering ice creams. I’m surprised the scriptwriters didn’t go the whole hog and have them ordering ‘Nobbly Bobblies’ or whatever the hell those ridiculous things are called. I’m a Maxibon man myself, although sometimes you can’t go wrong with a 99. As Jay-Z once memorably crooned, “I’ve got 99 problems, which is ironic as that’s also the name of my second favourite cream based treat”. I think that was the demo version actually thinking about it.
Can you imagine living with Carrie Bradshaw? Sorry to keep harking back to her, but I do think about it from time to time. ‘Living with Carrie Bradshaw’ it sounds like the sort of shit show Channel Four would make, like ‘The Boy Whose Skin Fell Off’, and ‘Living with 50 pounds – the Karen Carpenter story’. I just don’t think it’d work, they’d be fashion magazines festooned all over the place, dirty knickers piled up in the sink to try and wash the shame, scum and discharge away, with big problems everywhere else. Like when she met Big to tell him about Aidan. “He’s not the guy for you”, he told her. As remarks go, that’s pretty much bang on the money – but then who is right for her? If she can’t deal with the perfection of Aidan, then who else is she gonna turn to? Big? Don’t make me laugh. No really, don’t – I’ve got a terrible hacking cough that makes me feel like a rape victim every time I open my ebony lips.
Charlotte and Trey went to some sort of ‘Scottish fling’ which naturally left me in a state of distress. Fans of me know my feelings on the Scottish, but for those of you who don’t, it’s very similar to Garth Marenghi’s. My opinion of the Scots lowered even more a few weeks back, when on a jaunt to Sainsburys I was stopped by a grotesque Scottish charlatan, who asked me through scowled pursed lips if I could lend them the change for the train journey, because they had a doctors appointment for their hand which had doubled in side. Upon closer inspection, their hand was as swollen as Ian Huntley’s cock in a bathroom store, but alas their story was too unbelievable – what kind of a doctors is open on a Sunday? Realising I had almost been had, I doffed my hat and continued on with my day. A part of me died that afternoon, much like that persons fucking disgusting hand.
In the end, Aidan proposed to her whilst he was walking his dog, which must have left him confused as to who he was supposed to give the ring to. He ended up slipping the ring into the one with the more equine features. It’ll all end in tears won’t it? For Carrie and Aidan, for Charlotte and Trey continually arguing about having a baby, for Samantha fucking her boss in the most boring storyline I’ve ever seen, and even for Miranda and Steve – even after Steve proposed to her and got turned down because he had used a second hand ring. I don’t know what her problem is – curly haired and economical, has she never read the books on Stalin’s reign? If you can overlook a few flaws in someone, be it dodgy jewellery or millions dead in Siberia, you know your love can outlast anything – even the death of Communism.