Bubblehammerblog

I'm something of a connoisseur of bad sitcoms. The British have a distinguished history of making them, stretching back to the birth of television. As you might expect, nearly all have social class as a central theme, wherein assorted stand-ins for the ranks of the social order jostle and collide, mostly resulting in very disappointing entertainment. I can't imagine that foreigners could understand them. There have been some fine exceptions, a portrait of a brooding Tony Hancock hangs in my hallway, but I would estimate that around a shocking 80% of the sitcoms made here have been very bad.

I particularly relish bad middle class sitcoms. This is because, as my mate Peter Hitchens wrote in the Mail on Sunday, people like me hate the middle classes, the Yeomanry of England. He was talking about the Left in general, but then went on accuse New Labour of a secret agenda to punish and abuse the middle class. A delusional notion that lends me to suspect the man might not be a full shilling.

I do admit to some prejudice towards the middle classes, but hate is far too strong a word. It might be something to do with being able to trace my ancestry though three generations of industrial workers that makes me look upon them from a certain vantage. Sometimes with horrified fascination, sometimes amused contempt, a bit of resentment. This is not hate.

At one time, because of a prolonged insomnia brought about by a drugs shortage, I used to get up at 6am to watch repeats of Surgical Spirit, which might have made a good title for a dour comedy about Glasgow lowlife, but was a ripe and nerve twanging example of its genre, about posh doctors and their curiously distracted and shallow relationships.

If you share my taste for sitcom shite, perhaps with a couple of blue Valium, BBC 3 is presenting at the moment some proper laugh free material with moderate squirming.

According to BBC 3, Grown Ups is an Adult sitcom about the trials and tribulations of being a twentysomething, where adult means material of a sexual nature. Its very thin on any full on sex capers, so they do a lot of going through doors talking about shagging, knob size, dry humping soft furnishings, and premature ejaculation. The crevice at the heart of this show, down which the laughs fall, is the character's unbearable lightness of being.

Grant, for instance, is supposed to be a solicitor. I've had some experience of hiring solicitors, on mission critical briefs, and if I spotted someone like Grant so much as collecting the office teacups I'd take my business elsewhere. The Law Society should contact BBC 3 to discuss a possible Bringing to Disrepute action, in that the program suggests that people like Grant, clearly delusional and undergoing a hyperexcitable episode, are given licenses to practice law.

Yes, the pert Sheridan Smith as Michell manages be faintly arousing, but you feel it might involve taking advantage of the afflicted. Here's the storyline she battles, In a bid to win Grant over, Michelle throws herself in the canal. I don't think I can add to that.

A sitcom can jump the shark, or to use an expression from the last century, become too daft to laugh at, as soon as the first episode, like Grown Ups. Two Pint of Lager and a packet of Crisps, with Sheridan Smith playing a single mother partnered with a halfwit, did so when it introduced a Shakespearian poltroon as Gaz's drain bandaged brother, further enfeebling the overall signal to the funnybone, already strained by the disturbing Louise, making you want the Social Services take her away before she cuts someone with with the scissors in her handbag.

My favourite good sitcom of the last few years has been Curb Your Enthusiasm. A masterpiece.

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