Tag Archives: how i met your mother

Like something you wouldn’t expect me to? CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

I’ve only gone and pre-prepared an entry while I had some spare time. MENTAL.

I have a thing about comedy that makes me… selective, shall we say, about what I watch/who I give a shit about. With sitcoms it tends to be: I barely watch any of them. I give them a chance, I get annoyed with how thoroughly basic and obvious the jokes are, how bland the characters are and how much I simply don’t want to be watching it anymore.

But there are some that slip through the net – never mind the obvious ones, I’m talking about genuinely popular shows that you might think I, on top of my ivory tower of I Have Opinions About Comedy, would scoff at. Friends, for example, I love – always have. One show in particular though is one I avoided for years – I knew of its existence, I knew a couple of people I liked were in it* and I knew what its basic premise was. But I feared it would be shit and a waste of time to watch.

I apologise, How I Met Your Mother.

I’d caught it randomly a couple of times over the years, probably late at night and probably mostly drunk, and picked up on the theme – a dad in the future telling his kids how… THE TITLE OF THE SHOW EXPLAINS IT. I noticed Neil Patrick Harris and Alyson Hannigan were in it, both of whom I am fond of – NPH because of Doogie Howser when I was a child and Harold & Kumar (one of the most overlooked – and brilliant – comedy films ever made), and Willow because she was Willow and that’s all definitely not because I had a massive crush on her oh no siree not me.

But that didn’t convince me to watch. I happened to catch an episode when I was killing time in Stockholm a few months ago (I’m so cool) and the realisation hit me: I did not dislike this show. It did not make me feel slightly sick, like something like The Big Bang Theory has done, nor did it massively rub me up the wrong way like Seinfeld. It didn’t make me chuckle much, but the seed was sown.

I soon “LEGALLY PROCURED” a couple of series to give it a test run. This is a boring story and you know where it’s going. Basically, it’s very funny and a spiritual successor to Friends in my mind. The central plotline is getting a bit thin six series in, I have to admit, but it still raises a fair few genuine laughs when it wants to. Mainly through Marshall aggressively offering out Gouda.

It’s infiltrated my mind to the point that I’m using catchphrases from it in everyday speak (“lawyered” and “challenge accepted!” for example). This probably needs to stop, but sod it – it’s something I like for once. I’m not complaining. You should be happy. You should also give it a go too, if you haven’t already – it’ll make you like Doogie Howser even more than you did before.

*And the third one, Jason Segel, is one I like but one who wasn’t originally in the “I like lots” list until earlier this year. So I forgot I liked him. Or something. Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Undeclared, this and probably some other things I forget – he’s ace.

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I am incapable of working on trains

I have just spent another productive double-figured set of hours on trains up and down the country, getting on with work, writing entries for this blog and generally using this time that would be otherwise wasted doing all the things a responsible adult should be doiOHNOWAIT.

No, I spent five hours on Friday afternoon watching How I Met Your Mother (more on that another time) and Edge Of Darkness (shit, bollocks Ray Winston and cockarse ending: 7/10). I spent around six-and-a-bit hours (thanks for re-routing through Guildford, trains!) watching more How I Met Your Mother. Much as it helped to pass the time and much as I enjoy watching things and being made to laugh (seriously – more on how HIMYM actually makes me laugh another time), I do think it’s a bit of waste to veg in such a way on these long journeys.

But then, it’s exactly what I would do if I were at home for those hours. Friday afternoon when I’m not playing football, I have no money and Anna’s not coming down/I’m not going up to Manchester? I will sit and do nothing, watching some crap I’ve downloaded “legally”. Why should it be any different on the train?

It also doesn’t help that you get the legions of foul-smelling mouth-breathers who all seem curiously attracted to sitting next to me and not understanding that I’m fucking big, hence they have to make a small sacrifice of a bit of their god damned space to let me be that little bit less uncomfortable than normal. Those gawking plebs staring at my screen as I try to concentrate and be – shudder as much as I do when I say this – creative do not contribute to a healthy or productive working environment.

I’ve managed to write a couple of blogs on the train, but both times I resorted to making the font size so small nobody could read it. My typing is good enough that I don’t need to see what I’m doing to know I’m generally getting it right, naturally. But it doesn’t help. Turns out trains just aren’t the perfect working environment for me I always hoped they would be.

I never hoped they would be, that was a lie brought on by the dementia that explodes from within your skull after having been cooped up in a meat wagon for a third of a day. And knowing that when you get back you have about five hours of sleep before you’re up and back on one to that awful London place.

Still, at least I’m not dead.

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