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Season Six, Episode Sixteen – ‘Out Of The Frying Pan’

Breakfast. Despite being a huge fan of the breakfast of champions and all the pleasure and moisture that comes with it, I’m not a big breakfast man. They say it’s the most important meal of the day, but I’m unsure of that. Sure, I love a full English – sausage, bacon, fried egg, baked beans, hash browns, round of toast and a heart attack, yet I can’t fall in love with it like I can a cheese and onion sandwich, or a classic roast.

Still on Portuguese subtitles, here’s hoping this time they won’t drive me to distraction.

We started with Alexander taking Carrie all around cultural New York, finishing with a little Korean. Alas it wasn’t the red light district, or a pet shop so the true identity of Korea remained to be seen, but at least he tried. After that, he cooked her a lovely meal in her own apartment. What a kind man, and he became even kinder when he killed a rat in her apartment. Maybe that’s the taste of Korea after all.

The girls licked lollipops in Samantha’s chemo ward. Something slightly sexy about female tongues sensually sucking a sticky shaft, but not when they’re all botoxed fuckholes. Afterwards Alexander told Carrie that a friend of his had suffered breast cancer and had died. While it doesn’t sound laugh out loud funny, it was the way he said it that tickled me. The wide eyes, the dead pan expression, it was like seeing a funny Jack Dee. Honestly, his lack of tact was incredible, although Carrie’s protestations of “please don’t talk about your friend who died” screamed of nastiness.

Charlotte and Harry began to come to terms with the idea that they wouldn’t be able to conceive naturally. The acting is so fucking terrible though, the guy who plays Harry trying to look sad and contemplative reminded me more of my little nephew being caught with his fingers in the biscuit jar, or Peggy Mitchell’s frown in Eastenders. Charlotte was cheered up slightly when she fell in love with a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel dog, who was clad in a Burberry coat. I’m not a dog man, but he was incredibly cute and beautiful. For the last time though, I’m not gay.

Steve and Miranda were plotting to move house. Steve wanted to move to a lovely place in Brooklyn, whereas Miranda wanted to remain in Manhattan. Because I don’t know anything about either of those places, and because I love Steve, I’m going to pretend that Brooklyn is like Essex – regal, glacial and perfect, and like Manhattan is like everywhere else in the world – utter shit. They eventually bought the place, though after some classic Miranda moaning.

In a moment of crisis, Carrie asked if being in denial was a good thing or not. Like everything I suppose, there is a time and a place for such action. At points it almost becomes cathartic to pretend that everything is okay, that she’s not cheating, that he’s not ill, that things will work out for the best. But there does come a point when you’ve got to open yourself up and admit that sitting in a haze of delusion and denial won’t help in the grand scheme of things. Whether it’s admitting who you love, or who you hate, or what you’re scared of and what you want to accomplish. Yeah it’s easy for someone to say it and not do it yourself, but you sometimes need other people to accomplish the stuff you’re capable of before you do it yourself. Like walking through a burning building, or listening to drone music.

Samantha’s cancer storyline continued onwards here. Her hair had started coming out, becoming most apparent when she was giving oral pleasure to her life partner Smith, or as they say in Oxford and Cambridge, ‘sucking him off good and proper’. Smith’s cock drooped and wilted, which led to Samantha believing he wasn’t interested in her anymore. He was. When he returned to their place to find her in the process of shaving her hair off, he proved his desire for her, and his will to help her through her battle, by shaving his own golden locks off, and then moving onto hers.

It was a rare tender moment in this show which often has outrageously low morals and angry moments. In this murky world of decadence and greed, and everyone wanting something for themselves, it was a brave move by the writers to make Smith as loving as possible. Because he has come across as the nicest person in this show, bar none. A man who has everything, and could have the biggest ego in the world, but he doesn’t, instead choosing to be nice, warm and gracious when faced with difficulties. This show really has no role models or heroes, but he is the closest possible person for people to look up to, and try and be like.

Redemption then as the episode came to an end. Samantha discovered who she was again thanks to Smith, a razor and a rather fetching pink wig. Charlotte admitted defeat in her battle to have a child, but gained acceptance and a new dog. Miranda thought of people other than herself for a change, and moved to the utopia that is Brooklyn with the boys, and Carrie got a rat caught in her hair. All in all, an above average episode.

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Season Four, Episode Seven – ‘Time And Punishment’

Being away from Sex And The City land has been both a blessing and a curse. Sure, a life away from horror, despair and Jimmy fucking Choo is one that lets me sleep a little happier at night as the rain and wind blow around the old smoke, but as the days progressed a nagging feeling started gnawing away around my solar plexus getting tighter, and tighter. After going to the doctors and being diagnosed with severe stomach cancer, I then began to think – as you do in times of crisis, of ‘martinthecity’, and my unfinished quest to review every episode of my least favourite television show of all time. A ‘destiny’ if you’re one of the romantics, a complete waste of time and effort if you’re everybody else.

I first watched this episode over two weeks ago, but because of computer troubles, mental health issues and an ever increasing addiction to cocaine I’d forgotten all about it, so I decided to give it a re watch to give myself a fighting chance at making sense of the nonsense. The trouble is, I’ve just reinstalled Football Manager on my laptop, and so I’ve spent the last six hours hunched over a computer screen shouting ramblings at a bunch of tiny pixellated football players as my managerial efforts go from bad to ‘Miranda’, and so I’m not in the greatest mood.

‘Time and Punishment’ then, a humorous and warm pun on one of the finest novels ever written – a novel that sits proudly on my shelf between such luminaries as ‘Jade: My Story’, and ‘How To Destroy Northern Britain By Actually Having Emotions’. I don’t go in for all that alphabetical order shite, my shelves are organised purely in terms of how much I enjoy them, and seeing as that Jade Goody book is my favourite piece of literature of all time (the bible doesn’t count as ‘literature’, more as gospel’) then that’s high praise indeed for ‘Crime And Punishment’, and not much at all for the inhabitants of any place above Milton Keynes.

Carrie and Aidan are having relationship troubles yet again. After Big rings during a steamy sex session, Aidan is understandably annoyed. Sometimes I think that people like Big are complete scum, but then I  remember that I am a legit arsehole like him, who thinks that they can ignore someone for absolutely ages, and then win it all back with a cheeky wink and a bottle of Vimto. The problem with Carrie is, is that she is too blasé about the cheating. You can’t destroy someone, and then expect it to all be better because you self-deprecatingly made a joke about it all. It’s bad enough that she destroyed their relationship in the first place with her wanton needs, but she doesn’t need to rub it in his face all the time does she? I’m sure that there is a joke about rubbing something else that could go here, but I’m emotionally and intellectually above all that, so shame on you for thinking about it.

Miranda’s neck hurt in this episode, which serves her right. I get a cricked neck every time that muggy cunt comes storming onto my screen with a face locked into a permanent scowl, flames emanating from her fiery hair, forcing me to frantically turn my golden head away to rid my beautiful eyes of the horrible sight. “It’s equivalent to whiplash” I was told by my cheery doctor around ten years ago when I first started complaining of my condition. Lovely man Dr. Shipman, very caring. Shortly after my visit he rang me up and asked if I had any elderly relatives who needed urgent medical assistance. Lovely man, although I never saw him again after that. Or my nan. Weird that.

Charlotte was quitting her job after Trey gently told her that maybe she should pack in the whole independent woman lark and settle down with children. I’m all for equality by all means – women can be astronauts, politicians, gigolos, I just feel uncomfortable with them flying aeroplanes. No surprise that the plane that went missing by Brazil last week was flown by a woman – I have recently felt the wrath of a woman ‘at that time of the month’, and I don’t think it’d be a stretch to say that it was akin to dying needlessly over the Pacific Ocean, body strewn in the deep blue sea never to be seen again. I would say that though, because I don’t exaggerate, and because I have a million friends.

Samantha met a guy who stole her taxi, in scenes eerily reminiscent of one of the greatest films of all time ‘Planes, Trains and Automobiles’, although Steve Martin and John Candy never started banging each other after they had finished arguing, much to my dismay. Samantha was told that she should wax her ‘gash’ (he didn’t say that particular word, but ‘wax her gash’ rolls off the tongue so nicely, and sounds like a Channel Four game show.) After Samantha had taken this on board and shaved his pubes off whilst he admired her work, I couldn’t help but feel shame and a sense of superiority at the cynics of this show who deride it as nothing more than empty bollocks.

As Anais Nin once memorably remarked, “we don’t see things the way they are we see them as we are.” A thought provoking statement, and one that really holds true when you consider Carrie and Aidan. Especially considering how odious and filthy Carrie is, as shown when she begged and pleaded “You have to forgive me”, about twenty times after she’d interrupted Aidan’s night out. The night out was supposed to be a ‘guy night’, which Carrie interjected only to find that it was just Aidan chatting up a bar woman. Regardless of the fact that he had lied to her, guy night is guy night. He could have been doing something very important – shooting pool, watching soccer, eating nuts – she really should have known better not to interrupt the important stuff.

Alas, Carrie saying that “the bad guy has to take it right” after moaning about Aidan’s behaviour really made me lose any of the remaining patience I had left – especially after I lost 3-2 in extra time to Scunthorpe in the F.A Cup. That’s kind of the point of staying in a relationship that YOU ruined in the first place isn’t it? You can’t expect everything to be fine and dandy, especially when the guy you cheated with rings you up when you’re with the guy you cheated on! But no, this is Sex And The City, and so the daft silly cunt Aidan took her back. What upsets me more do you reckon, the BNP gaining scary success in Yorkshire, losing that F.A Cup match, or Carrie Bradshaw? It’s none of them as it happens -I actually get very down at the thought of Alzheimers disease. At least I think I do – I can’t really remember.

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