"Are you sure it's not allergies?" the testy voice asked at the end of the line. "Look, I know all the media is encouraging everyone to think they have Swine Flu, but we can't give out stacks of Tamiflu to everyone with a sniffle."
Thus discouraged and humiliated by the hopelessly inaccurately named NHS Helpline I boarded a transatlantic flight, and infected everyone from Heathrow to LAX with my horrible, horrible spores of disease. My father, who only sees me every eighty-five years or so, consequently spent most of my visit trying to keep me away from his newborn son and feeding me drugs. Monkey then caught it and, in turns out, infected flights both ways from LAX to Dallas/Fort Worth, and a transatlantic flight the other way. So - thanks, NHS. Nice one.
Thus discouraged and humiliated by the hopelessly inaccurately named NHS Helpline I boarded a transatlantic flight, and infected everyone from Heathrow to LAX with my horrible, horrible spores of disease. My father, who only sees me every eighty-five years or so, consequently spent most of my visit trying to keep me away from his newborn son and feeding me drugs. Monkey then caught it and, in turns out, infected flights both ways from LAX to Dallas/Fort Worth, and a transatlantic flight the other way. So - thanks, NHS. Nice one.
So here's how I entertained myself while grounded with swine flu.
1) Trying to get to know my newest half-sibling while not breathing on him
I am, biologically speaking, an only child, but I also have no fewer than ten half-siblings and I cannot even imagine how many step ones. I have a very complicated family life. I have ex-half-stepbrothers I am closer to (literally and metaphorically) than my half-sisters. The only ones I really consider to my siblings are my older brothers, who are biologically my half-brothers, but legally my real brothers. Or something. It doesn't really matter. The point is, I don't know my father's current wife at all (and I don't really know her predecessor, and the two kids from that marriage), so I wanted to make an effort to go and see this newest sprog. I think my father appreciated the gesture but would have rather I hadn't bothered what with bringing a pandemic into his house and everything, and the wife was certainly not enthused, but I didn't like her at all anyway, either when feverish or not.
2) Allowing love for Colin Firth to conquer all
My latest stepsister has an interesting variety of DVDs, but the most alarming one was "What a Girl Wants", which stars Colin Firth who was, presumably, closing his eyes and thinking of his family throughout the making thereof. I mean, he's obviously giddy-makingly gorgeous and dreamy and just deliriously wonderfully cute and frankly just the sight of him makes me drool and twitch a bit and he wouldn't be safe in the same room as me - but fuck me that's an awful film. Like, I've seen Hope Springs - it's entirely possible I own Hope Springs somewhere at home - anyway, I've seen it, and What A Girl Wants makes it look like a fucking Hollywood glory days classic. I mean, honest to God, dreadful. Almost genuinely shockingly bad. There is nothing redeeming about it. I mean, much as I like to criticise etc, I have to say, what a depressing set that must have been because you would have needed to be either high, stupid or incredibly blinded by money to have thought you were doing anything remotely worthwhile. Amanda Bynes, the notional star, is just terrible in it (although she is by no means a generally terrible actresss - I loved her in Hairspray), the script (such as it is) is woeful, even the basic idea behind the script is shit and in a strange way Colin Firth, Jonathan Pryce and Eileen Atkins sort of make the experience even more painful because they're obviously fantastic, but how they got pressganged into it, I'll never know. In the end my dad and I decided there must have been some sort of incident at the Groucho one night and someone got photographs. This is irrelevant. Insulting as it is to common sense, intelligence, wit and the whole English nation, Colin Firth somehow, somehow made it all tolerable just by being so utterly scrummy. He may not be smoldery as he was as a youngster, but there is something so innately decent about him he's....I'll shut up. But God, where are all the men like THAT?!
My latest stepsister has an interesting variety of DVDs, but the most alarming one was "What a Girl Wants", which stars Colin Firth who was, presumably, closing his eyes and thinking of his family throughout the making thereof. I mean, he's obviously giddy-makingly gorgeous and dreamy and just deliriously wonderfully cute and frankly just the sight of him makes me drool and twitch a bit and he wouldn't be safe in the same room as me - but fuck me that's an awful film. Like, I've seen Hope Springs - it's entirely possible I own Hope Springs somewhere at home - anyway, I've seen it, and What A Girl Wants makes it look like a fucking Hollywood glory days classic. I mean, honest to God, dreadful. Almost genuinely shockingly bad. There is nothing redeeming about it. I mean, much as I like to criticise etc, I have to say, what a depressing set that must have been because you would have needed to be either high, stupid or incredibly blinded by money to have thought you were doing anything remotely worthwhile. Amanda Bynes, the notional star, is just terrible in it (although she is by no means a generally terrible actresss - I loved her in Hairspray), the script (such as it is) is woeful, even the basic idea behind the script is shit and in a strange way Colin Firth, Jonathan Pryce and Eileen Atkins sort of make the experience even more painful because they're obviously fantastic, but how they got pressganged into it, I'll never know. In the end my dad and I decided there must have been some sort of incident at the Groucho one night and someone got photographs. This is irrelevant. Insulting as it is to common sense, intelligence, wit and the whole English nation, Colin Firth somehow, somehow made it all tolerable just by being so utterly scrummy. He may not be smoldery as he was as a youngster, but there is something so innately decent about him he's....I'll shut up. But God, where are all the men like THAT?!
3) Considering the Hershey bar
Hersheys is a mystery to me. I've lived in the US, and it is an utter conundrum as to how the biggest superpower the world has ever known subsists on such terrible chocolate. If that is even chocolate. Is Hersheys chocolate? Nobody knows. I suspect it is a unique chemical compound in its own right. Possibly carcinogenic, almost certainly radioactive. There is a reason there is a http://www.britishcandy.com/ which ships worldwide, and may I take a moment to recommend it?
4) Confirming Rainbow Road on Mario Kart is literally impossible on 150cc
And it's really hard on 50cc and 10cc too. But in my recovery period I really had nothing else to do for hours on end than try and crack that one track on 150cc and it is IMPOSSIBLE. Official.
5) Wondering who the hell thought the Disney Concert Hall was a good idea.
Ugliest building in America, and there is significant competition for that title. It's taken me a long time to figure out why I loathe it as much as I do, but I've finally decided it's the overly reflective nature of it. LA has enough retina-blazing sunlight with any more of it being directed to ground level, thanks all the same.
6)Reliving gloriously mindlessly violent 1970s policing
My father hasn't lived in the UK for twenty-two years, but has become weirdly militantly patriotic in his absence (probably because he isn't around to see the disintegration of society etc, and also because he lives in LA, which could make you nostalgic for just about anywhere). Anyway, I bought over his Christmas presents since I wouldn't be seeing him: The Sweeney and The Professionals boxsets. Both he and I have spent two months greeting all his stylish Californian friends with phrases like: "awright, sunshine?" It was also quite handy having someone who remembered the 70s about to translate lines like: "So why are you standing around like a motorway breakfast?" It is painfully obvious to me where I get my taste in rubbish television from. Rubbish, yes, but fabulously entertaining, and the sheerest escapism. The world in which Bodie, Doyle, Carter and Regan operate is seductively simple. There are heroes, villains, laydeez and hot cars. What's not to love? Although I think my favourite character out of both the series is Bodie, a man who single-handedly creates the anarchy, acts of terror and crimes against the public which he supposed to be preventing.
