I’ve been thinking a lot about the death of Oasis recently. Sure, they’re my favourite band of all time, and they perfectly encapsulate the fierce working class spirit I try to represent but the end has been so pantomime, so sleazy that I honestly have wondered if this has all been engineered by one of the goons who write Sex And The City. Noel Gallagher quitting, then talking about how great it feels is classic Carrie, fucking things up for everyone else when your ego finally takes over. Liam, increasingly shambolic, but always entertaining is Samantha, only his ‘cancer’ is having to put up with Noel all his life.
This episode features trains a lot, which reminded me of one of my favourite films of all time ‘Brief Encounter’, a classic British black and white romp about two people who meet at a railway station. Alas, this is Sex And The City, and so whilst ‘Brief Encounter’ was full of subtlety and romance, Sex And The City is chocker block full of obvious innuendo, saggy tits, and a lack of love.
Carrie was off to San Francisco on a book tour, a tour which co-incidentally happened to stop by where Big lived. The big news was that Carrie was desperate for sex, so much so that I imagine her leg was cocking like the dirty dog she is. “Sex is not an animal urge” argued Charlotte when Carrie was moaning about the damp seeping through her underwear. To be fair to Carrie, at her age she should be concerned at anything involving liquid ‘down there’, it could be nappy time at any moment.
Charlotte was experiencing her own animal urges, mostly involving Bald Harry. I like Bald Harry – yeah he’s bald, but he’s charismatic, a straight shooter… and he also sweats profusely, like a black man in rural England. Bald Harry was trying to snare Charlotte into bed, and by god did he achieve it. He told her that he fantasised about her lips, and being female her knees buckled, and she embraced him passionately.
The trouble was, Charlotte was convinced that she didn’t like him ‘in that way’, and was confused as to why the sex was so good. “I don’t want to date him, he’s not very attractive” she told Gay Anthony, who just sat there encouraging her to just keep it about sex. That was quite a difficult scene to watch really, for a show that almost begs its audience to keep an open mind and to look for the good in everyone (yeah, bullshit I know) you then have the most straight-laced and actually nicest character slagging someone down just cos he’s bald and hairy. Disgraceful behaviour.
Talking of bald and hairy, 50 year old Samantha was attempting to flirt with some middle aged balding guys on the train she was taking with Carrie to the book signing. They were just honest, beer drinking sports loving guys who loved their wives, and so they couldn’t give a shit about what the old wreck was trying to offer. It makes me sad really watching her cavort and twirl in an attempt to make a limp dick stand to attention. I just hope when I’m her age I’m not upset because some piece of crumpet wouldn’t let me attach my clarinet to their tender lips. I don’t really have to hope that actually, because thinking about it, were I to be any woodwind instrument, I’d be dead.
Some form of romance occurred when Mr Big turned up to Carrie’s amateur and rubbish book signing to surprise her. Was she finally going to get the sex she wanted? Actually, not immediately, as he had actually read her shit excuse for a book and was feeling genuinely hurt and sorry for how he’d acted. You know how much backbone and inner strength someone has when they stick to their guns, but Carrie legit told him that none of it really mattered, purely because she wanted to mount him like, er… a Mountie. Is that all it takes to make up for years of disappointment and anguish? Really? A hearty cock inside you and all is forgiven? A huge, throbbing cock ebbing deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper? AND deeper?
I dunno, it just all seems a little bit too easy. If I’d been raped by someone, and then one day I was feeling really peckish for a moorish chocolate biscuit, and then the rapist offered me a veritable smorgasbord of McVities favourites, then would it be a hard decision for me to forgive the rapist and munch my biccies? Cos after all, sex and biscuits are very similar – they only really work at the right temperature, it can crumble into nothingness at the slightest hint of moisture, and anything involving the word ‘ginger’ just doesn’t work, especially when teamed with ‘nuts’.
Either way, truly terrible episode and only Mr Big being a nice guy made it worthwhile in any way whatsoever. Trying to create a list of things that are less worthwhile that Sex And The City, but I can only come up with racism, bigots, and the Muslim faith.