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Here's a Pop Culture is Dead to Me Extra...

It was early 1995, I'm sat in my office in my Wellingborough house, I'd just had my modem installed and I'd got a CD off the front of a computer magazine with a new-fangled thing for the masses of new computer users. E-mail.

Now, it had existed, but not as a web-based thing and Yahoo were at the forefront. 24 years, I've had my email account, Yahoo's changed hands more times... The thing was, I didn't really have anyone to email. In the days of ignorance and treating the internet like a big place full of friendly nerds, it should come as no surprise that in the pages of this magazine was an interview with fantasy writer Terry Pratchett and at the end it actually invited people to email Terry and gave out his email address. Yes, I know...

I sat there and decided to email Terry Pratchett (I believe one of my friends was there when he replied, but we'll get to that). I introduced myself - News editor of Comics International - and asked if he'd seen the glowing review I'd given to Mort, the comicbook adaptation drawn by Graham Higgins. His reply thanked me for getting in touch and yes, he had seen the review and thank you very much, kind regards. I was chuffed to bits until my mate reminded me that my glowing review of Mort began - "I've never read any Pratchett; he's just never interested me..."

Aghast, I swore I'd never contact Pratchett ever again (like he would have even known?) and returned to my ignorance of Pratchett. Several years later, after connecting with an old friend from comics dealing days, I discovered she was friends with Pratchett's daughter with the name only Fleetwood Mac could spell. It was the kind of fact that fills up 20 seconds at a dinner party.

But that was it. Pratchett was just a little too... I dunno. I simply never got him. I should have. It mostly sounded like the kind of thing that would float my boat, but the few times I tried, we just didn't click. So when Amazon announced Good Omens, I was virtually surrounded by many people making noises you'd possibly associate with orgasms. For me it was simply something else to add to my un-watched watch list; maybe the wife would want to watch it.

We watched it in 3-parts over the last 3-nights. Here is my review, of sorts: Camp. Reeking of nostalgia. Dull. Never gripping. Forced. Not very funny. 3 unnecessary swear words otherwise it would be fine for kids. I fell asleep for ten minutes in episode two. I struggled to stay awake for most of episode four and something was starting to happen by then. A big enough budget but could they make the general special effects look better than Bedknobs and Broomsticks? Could they fuck. Ham, lots of ham. The first four episodes felt like information films and God really wasn't the most... effusive of narrators.

Don't get me wrong, it has some fine moments, but they're so few and far between it doesn't feel worth the wait. The Hellhound - albeit quite brilliant - was sign-posted almost a nanosecond after the Hellhound concept was introduced. Satan was ace, but the payoff was lame. Both lead actors chewed the scenery up and looked like they had fun, but I don't really know why? The script was plodding and so many of the characters essentially spoke in the same voice - I can understand why; angels and demons etc etc - but it was heavy-handed and slightly overblown in a pantomime way and I understand that was probably the point; I just don't get it; they could lose an entire episode by simple expunging Michael McKean from this mess. They could have done it without duly affecting the plot. Perhaps I fell asleep when it was revealed Miranda Richardson was a psychic, so imagine my surprise when her character managed to suddenly be the ideal psychic shoehorn into the story...

I didn't like it. Okay, I'm probably wrong. I've never seen lots of the TV everyone raves about, or if I have I've usually wondered why they were so enthused. The wife really liked it and despite berating her over dinner tonight (well, berating the series in a 'I can't understand why you liked that heap of shit' way) and picking holes in it you could ride a Satan through, she still likes it.

I'm done with Pratchett now though. I know I never really did anything with him, but what I have hasn't really made me understand certain nerds better or enhanced my days or enriched my life in a deeply silly way. It should also be noted that aside from DC's The Sandman and a half decent DC Secret Origins issue (Poison Ivy?) I wouldn't let Gaiman near comics ever again.

I just made a comment to a mate about wondering what's wrong with me. I'm finding all TV is a bit meh - so much promise, so much disappointment. If I could remember them, I could probably count the number of films over the last two years I've thoroughly enjoyed on one hand. I decided I have enough music to last me an extra lifetime, sooo... unless something arrives that really floats my boat, I'm sticking with what I've got. I don't do computer or games consoles and I've restricted my social media usage to less than 1 hour a day (I'm averaging about 27 minutes, although today I checked in on it a lot as I'd asked a question of my friends).

I also am fully aware that when I do Pop Culture is Dead to Me blogs that someone reading it probably won't have seen what I'm talking about, so my own righteous indignation at having things spoiled by inconsiderate people might also play a part in my general feeling about popular culture output devices... It still happens; a couple of people have really tried to ruin Endgame for me. If it gives them a workable erection then someone's happy...

I'm actually nowhere near as stressed and when I get stressed I switch off whatever distraction is on around me, because you know that's going to probably be the cause. I have only seen about 10 minutes of TV news since June 1st.

After Good Omens we cracked open the NOS4A2 box set... I loved the book; probably one of the best books I've read in a long time. The TV series feels so abridged - in all the wrong places - and feels so hammy and seems to be cramming 13 years into 13 days. Serves me right for actually looking forward to something.