The Office romances. (May contain spoilers for those watching on Comedy Central in the UK)

One of the things I love about The Office is that the characters in it who go out with each other actually like one another and have things in common. Just like real life! In most other sitcoms I have seen, not only are the friends constantly trying to fuck each other over in a way that makes you wonder how they ever became friends at all, but the couples have NOTHING in common. In fact in most cases it is from this lack of common ground that most of the "situations" that give rise to the "comedy" emerge.

The differences between Ross and Rachel, to take a popular example, are staggering. They're always trying to hide things from each other, get out of going to one another's work events, or avoid having to take part in each other's hobbies or pastimes.

Jim and Pam, on the other hand, support each other, laugh at the same jokes, and want the same things out of life. So do Michael and Holly, and Phyllis and Bob Vance. Even Dwight and Angela, when they were together (and they will be again) shared a love of Birkenstocks and being horrible to other people. Furthermore, the few times they have put incompatible couples together on The Office, it has worked out horribly, rather than with hilarious results. Mrmonkey still can't watch Melora Hardin in anything, because Jan Levinson gives him the fear so much.

Chuck me, NBC

Chuck has, over the course of its second series, transformed from being a mildly enjoyable show that contained a few pleasant geeky elements to being one of our very favourite shows here at the Monkey House. Everything about it is fun, light-hearted, just smart enough to be unpredictable, and incredibly geeky.

It's also built up quite a following on the blogs and so on.

Nevertheless, NBC have chosen to leave us Chuck fans guessing about the fate of our beloved Buy More employees and kick-ass NSA/CIA operatives. Oh sure, they've renewed Heroes, despite it being unwatchably bad, and Parks and Recreation, despite it being nothing but a pale imitation of The Office, but no word on Chuck.

A cancellation for Chuck would round out an already sucky week for us and our love of decent U.S. television, what with those losers at FX deciding to drop Colbert (one FX employee on Twitter said that it was because the show was expensive and didn't get many viewers. I say if you want viewers, don't bump your show from 11:30pm to 00:05am, IDIOTS).

I hope Chuck doesn't get cancelled. I do love it so.

Less is almost always more in television

The BBC has made Strictly Come Dancing ever so slightly worse AGAIN this year. Last year they brought in the extra Sunday night results show, which the fans (me) didn't ask for and don't really want, for several reasons.

1) It involves the bottom two couples from the leader board performing again. I don't understand this aspect of television vote-out shows; it means, in theory, that you have to watch the worst two performances from the previous night again. In Strictly, however, it means you have to watch two of the people who were least popular with the public (usually some no-mark from the middle of the board) perform again, and the judges get to bitch about not wanting to throw out either of them, before they throw out the one I liked better.

2) It is filmed on a Saturday night. Last year they tried to keep this a secret and pretend it was live again on Sunday night, but really, who are they kidding? Also the fact that it's filmed on a Saturday means you can just go and read the leaked results on Digital Spy and not bother watching the show on Sunday if you want. License-payers' money down the drain, if you ask me (hauls up bosom in a haughty manner).

3) You don't get the exciting live Strictly experience of having it all on Saturday night. The fun of the show is dissipated. It's no good.

This year, they've gone one worse. They've added extra couples (fine) and extra group dances (also fine), but instead of having boys week one and girls week two and everyone in together week three, it's boys week one, girls week two, boys week three and girls week four. Last night it was the girls dancing the quick step or the rhumba, and either Jessie Wallace or Jodie Kidd is going home.

This is completely unfair, and not just because I like Jessie Wallace and have a colossal girl-crush on Jodie Kidd, but because both of them are WAAAAYYY better than the four worst boys (John Sergeant, Mark Foster, Andrew Castle, and Don Warrington). Don't get me wrong, neither of them is brilliant, but they are both passable, and they could both easily get a lot better as the weeks go on. Only Don Warrington, of these four, has any hope; John Sergeant is currently at the very top of his game, and Andrew Castle and Mark Foster are both lumbering, gigantic eejits who don't even seem to understand what dancing is, never mind how to do it properly, and yet one of these nice women will be going home tonight.

Or went home last night, rather.

I do love how my other blog pals are writing long, impassioned posts about the credit crunch and international politics, while I rant about the unfairness of the rule changes on Strictly Come Dancing and post videos of my cats.

I know it seems as though my brain has fallen out of my ear, but it hasn't, honest. Think of my blog as like Ronan Collins's radio programme: a brief oasis of sanity in a troubled, economics-obsessed world.

Ace of Spies update

Do you have UKTV Drama on your telly? Then you can join the Reilly Ace of Spies fun this weekend. They're repeating the series again from Saturday, 7pm.

Now we can catch the first three episodes, which we missed last time.

Hooray!

Hello Reilly, Ace of Spies

Mrmonkey and I were flicking around the telly stations one afternoon a few weeks ago when we came across an episode of Reilly Ace of Spies on UKTV Drama. I remembered watching this programme when it first came out (although, in that great way of people, I thought it had first been aired a lot longer ago than was actually the case), and mentioned that both I and my mother had been very, very fond of Sam Neill in this show.

Mrmonkey turned out never to have seen it, so we decided to watch it, more for fun than anything else, and because there was nothing else on. Since then, I have to tell you, it's become something of an obsession with us. If you've never seen it, or you don't remember it, I can tell you that it's based on the real life of adventures of Sidney Reilly, a Russian-born secret agent who worked for the British, the Germans, and the Russians during his long career. Although he didn't really do anything you might have heard about, unless you care a lot about British attempts to steal German military secrets before World War I, attempts to secure oil rights, and the abortive attempts to overthrow the Bolsheviks after World War I, his methods are legendary. He was ruthless, cunning, smart, and incredibly attractive and irresistible to women. Moreover, his methods are credited with changing the game of spying from a gentleman's arrangement to an actual scary-ass profession.

The TV show conveys all of this extremely well. Sam Neill is totally convincing as Reilly, and is surrounded by the best and the brightest of British talent at all times during the 11 episodes. The stories are exciting and compelling, and you actually have to pay attention to what's going on. They don't tell you everything ten times to make sure you get it, although there is a handy voice over (kind of important, given that they cover 24 years in 11 hours of telly).

It's interesting, though, that for a hugely successful show, it doesn't seem to get trotted out as an example of the greatness of telly as often as it should. Shame, that.

Now though, as happens when the best telly ends, we're a little bereft. Fortunately Season 5 of the Wire has just started on FX. Hooray!

Excellent appearance from ComedyB

In case you missed him on Graham Norton's show, saving Preznit Bartlett from certain PAINT, someone has handily put the whole thing up on YouTube.

(You know you can embed these nowadays)
(Yes I know, but I don't like doing that)

Hey, Sky HD, I have a question for you.

It is this:

Why exactly am I paying for a Sky HD subscription in order to watch LOST, when RTE is showing it almost a full week before you are?

Why is that, you cocks? Hmm?

Look, it are a ickle dog what is singin'

We all love the VW Polo ad with the Jack Russell who is very shy and nervy in social situations but comes into his own when he is happy with his lady owner in her VW Polo. Of course we do.

I would, however, really like to know how they made him shiver so much in his nervy scenes. I really hope they didn't traumatise him too much or blast him with loud noises or something else. I'm hoping it was just some trick they taught him to do.

It isn't a trick, is it? They've done something awful to that poor little dog, haven't they?

Oh no. Now I have to hate the ad. I can has conflict.

Oh no, wait. Having looked at the comments on YouTube (always a great way to make yourself feel better about your opinions and those of your friends), if I am worried about how they made the ad, I am a crackpot protestor. Because, you know, humans aren't really sad when they cry in ads and shows and films and things. They are, apparently, acting. Which means obviously this dog is as well.

Shout out

I'd just like to say to StevieB, RayC, Dr. Groove, and LukeM, that I hope you're all happy. I have, today, missed an entire whole day of work because I was watching The Wire.

A whole day.

You sure are some burdensome friends.

Lousy start to the week

Last night, astute readers may remember, I was due to go to salsa class with Mam. Unfortunately this didn't happen, because I had a panic attack in the car on the motorway on the way there and had to turn around and come back. This was incredibly frightening, because my foot just lodged itself onto the accelerator and I couldn't slow down, and the car managed to get itself up to 130 kph, and I was hyperventilating and felt like I was on the verge of fainting (I've never fainted, so I don't really know if this was likely to happen or not) and couldn't figure out what to do, when the exit for Balbriggan loomed up in front of me and I was able to turn the wheel and get off, and the act of turning the wheel kind of freed up my foot to move to the brake, and I calmed down a bit.

Except of course then I went into shock, and had the slightly comic experience of sitting in crappy rush hour traffic in Balbriggan with tears streaming down my face, listening to some bloke on Matt Cooper's show talking about Cork GAA players and watching the traffic jam and thinking Jesus, imagine living as far out as Balbriggan and still having to cope with rush hour traffic.

Anyway, I got home okay and Mam came and sat with me and Mister M came home and it was all fine and we decided that I'm not going mental at all, sure, everyone has panic attacks now and then.

And now I have a monstrous toothache.

It is a bit of a shit start to the week. So, let's play Things to Look Forward to:
1) I have almost acquired Season One of The Wire, so we can finally see if it's as good as everyone says it is (I really hope it is).
2) Lost on Sunday. But not just Lost, oh no. HIGH DEFINITION Lost. You can come and watch it if you want, but you have to be very quiet and watch out for panicking motorists on the motorway.
3) Being a bit pissed off is always a good excuse to post a picture of Naveen. So here he is.

The Office

Forgive me for being late to the party, but I've just started watching NBC's The Office on Paramount. Because they're showing two episodes a night and the first season is only six episodes long, I have missed the entire first season and came in at the fourth episode of season two. I liked it just fine; the characters are pleasant and the whole show is less cringey and comedy-of-embarrassment than the original version, so the fact that I wasn't laughing at it didn't bother me.

Last night, though, they showed "Take Your Daughter to Work Day", and either the characters have finally clicked with me, or it was genuinely a much funnier episode, because I laughed until I was almost sick. It feels a little like when The Simpsons finally realised that Homer rather than Bart was the star of the show; The Office seems to have figured out that, unlike the British version of the show, the will-they-won't-they relationship and the overpowering manager figure are not the centre of the show. The centre of the show is Dwight. I hope it keeps up like this.

Also, the great thing about watching it on Paramount is that I'll be able to catch all the episodes I missed when they run them again in a couple of weeks time. The only thing is that you can never, ever sit through the ad breaks on Paramount unless you want to see the same ad for Everybody Loves Raymond, That 70s Show, or some random bloody Lee Evans or Al Murray thing over and over again, every break, every show, forever.

During the ad break for Corrie, I noticed...

... that Peelers seems a strange product name for an Irish cheese company to use. Nevertheless, Calvita Peelers are now available.

Also, I know my house is never exactly clean, but the women in the Cillit BANG!!!! adverts are right mingers. Some of those stoves are positively unhygienic.

Alexander

Mother of god, what a mess of a film. I'm not even sure I can wtch it all the way through. The acting is awful, the story is all over the place, and Colin Farrell both looks and sounds ridiculous. He looks like Club Tropicana era George Michael, and sounds awkward, as if he's putting on a fake Irish accent. Don't talk to me about Val Kilmer. Woejious. I still like his horse, though.

Saturday picks up after a rubbish beginning

My friend called me this morning to ask if I would go to the theatre with her this evening, because she couldn't get a babysitter and anyway there were sporting events her Mister wanted to watch. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what's known as foreshadowing. Sporting events, see?

At first I thought, well, it's a long way into town, but then I thought, fuck it, what else am I going to do with my Saturday evening? And it's always good to see her. So I said yes, I'd love to.

Cut to me sitting in traffic at the Port Tunnel (because I decided to really treat myself and drive into town, you see) for half an hour because yes, as you all remembered but I forgot, Ireland are playing (I want to say Germany?) in Croke Park this evening. So I had to phone friend, make a highly illegal Uey on the M1, and head home again.

Ah well. After that rubbish start, Saturday evening is actually picking up. There are certain advantages to Mister M not being here. Guilt free popcorn, for a start. With butter and maple syrup on. Then there's the fact that the other half bottle of red wine, the half I didn't put in the chilli, is still there for me to drink. And there is Strictly Come Dancing on the telly and two good films on the expensive bit of telly. And one of them, even though I've seen it before, has Paul Bettany in. Well, you can't ask for much more on a Saturday night in, can you? It's almost as if somebody 6,000 miles away was watching out for me.

Winter is coming in

It's dark and cold. The sun isn't coming up till 7.30am and it's fecking off again around 7pm. Obviously, then, the time has come to fill our boxes with straw, write our names on our shells, and go asleep till next spring.

To that end, Mister M and I have made some Important Purchases, namely:

1) a 40" flat-screen high-definition television that looks something like the monolith from 2001 turned on its side
2) a high-definition satellite subscription, including movies
3) a new, luxurious sofa bed that will provide our sitting room with a more comfy main couch and provide our house with an extra bed should you wish to come and watch things that are highly defined

This is especially good news for me because Mister M is going away to the Mother Ship for two weeks soon and I will be on my own, so it's only proper that I should be able to have people out and offer them a place to sleep or, at the very least, watch television on my own in comfort and have somewhere in the sitting room to fall asleep should I decide (which I will, at least once) that going to bed is too much trouble.

Ways in which TV is not like real life, part 437

I was singing the theme from The Beverly Hillbillies to myself this morning and it occurred to me that if a poor family found black gold, or Texas tea, if you will, in their back garden, their kinfolk would not advise them to move away from there. There's not a chance on earth you would suggest that your newly-wealthy family should pick up, leave the state and drive all the way to California. Why? What purpose would it serve?

It makes no sense.

I'm just saying hello!

In a feat of fun of the type usually reserved for Christmas specials, Doctor Who on Saturday featured not one, but two treats. Clearly RTD is doing his darnedest to make up for the recent Dalek story, which had me, for one, longing for the good old days when Daleks did more shooting and less hovering.

Anyway, yes. Two treats. First, Captain Jack is back, and well-explained. I love Captain Jack. He's saucy and heroic and fun and he will shag you, regardless of your age, gender, or species. Second, well, I can hardly bring myself to say it, but when we realised what was happening, we got very excited and shouted "oh my god!" at the television a lot. Yes. It's true. Sam Tyler has had an accident and woken up in the year five trillion.

Now, my ideal scenario for the next two episodes would be for the Doctor and Sam Tyler to stand around in a library lit by flickering candlelight and sneer at each other wittily for an hour and a half before challenging each other to a sabre duel, but that is, sadly, unlikely to happen. I just hope that the writers don't mess it all up.

Jesus, what is RTE's problem?

I have just had to run to turn off the radio with my hands over my ears. Not a gainly sight, I think you'll agree. But what am I supposed to do when Morning Ireland decides to have a piece about the very last episode of The Sopranos and play clips from it? And then get someone from the San Francisco Chronicle on to talk about it?

Assholes.

Furthermore, I would like to thank RTE Two very much for their inability to actually start a programme when they say they will. We set the Sky Plus to record the Saturday night repeat of The Modest Adventures of David O'Doherty, and it managed to start about 15 minutes late, which meant we missed the last seven minutes of it and don't know whether he actually did get into the Irish chart or not.

HI DERE, RTE! A television schedule is not like a hairdresser's appointment book! It is not okay to overrun late at night because you were busy earlier in the day. Please to act like professional television network. Thank you.

Do you like a laugh?

This could be just the thing.

It starts on Tuesday night on RTE.

Miserable election day, people

There was only one thing for it. We found ourselves a torrence of the season finale of Lost, because we couldn't wait till Sunday.

I reckon it's just about one of the best hours and a half of television I've ever watched.

I'm including a gratuitous picture of Naveen, just because it's one of the only two bright spots in an otherwise rotten day (the other one being Michael McDowell's concession of defeat, but I'm damned if I'm putting his picture on my blog).