I’ve been thinking a lot about privileged white men this week. Much like the virus, they seem to be everywhere, but no amount of hand-washing or social distancing will get rid of them. Rather than become enraged by their antics, I’ve found it more helpful to pretend they don’t exist, in much the same way that rules don’t exist for Dominic Cummings, or nappies don’t exist for Jacob Rees-Mogg. Read More…

I have a confession. I didn’t LOOOOOOVE Fleabag. I liked it, a lot. But I didn’t quite get the gushing and eulogising. They overdid the breaking the fourth wall thing, the hot priest was a selfish bastard, and there were a couple of continuity errors that bugged me. I know, I’m a prick. But it’s OK, because I still have a tremendous passion for Phoebe Waller-Bridge, it’s just that it’s channelled towards Killing Eve instead. Read More…

Since we seem to be living in a dystopian fiction at the moment, I’ve been increasingly drawn to sci-fi as a cheering form of entertainment - you know, to reassure myself that at least we’re not overrun by flesh-eating zombies, in the middle of an intergalactic war, or using time travel to alter the past, with disastrous results. It could be worse. Read More…

Nothing quite hits the spot like a good murder. I’m a big fan of crime dramas, the type of show where a hard-boiled DCI slaps suspect photos up on a board and draws arrows connecting them, while an up-and-coming office-based DS finds a pivotal number plate on CCTV. Read More…

Like everyone else this week, I’ve been bingeing on Normal People. I’d say it made a nice change from bingeing on Kettle crisps and gin, but I managed that too, in a neat bit of multi-tasking. You have to gorge on Normal People, because each episode (there are twelve) is only half an hour long, and at the end of each episode, you just need to find out if they’re going to have sex again (spoiler alert - they are). Read More…