So Boris (et al) have been pretty consistent, since way back in March, with their convictions, coronavirus-wise.

Work/don’t work. Work from home/go into the office/preferably at home. Keep your distance/move closer/not too close/preferably 2 metres, though 1 is acceptable but only with ‘PLUS’ attached to it. Go to work/don’t get on tubes/buses/trains. Don’t drive/drive if you have to/unless you’re Dominic Cummings/don’t drive in London. Unless you’re rich enough. Face masks are irrelevant/essential (cross out as applicable). But mandatory on public transport. Which you shouldn’t use unless you have to. To get to work. Which you should do from home. To help the shops re-open. And bolster the economy. Don’t hug anyone’s grandchildren. As fucking if.

Glad that’s clear.

But you can watch tv. And what we’ve been watching is Fauda. It’s on Netflix and Mel is addicted. Even though every episode makes her tremble, scream, cry and shake uncontrollably. I used to have the same effect on her, now its just the screaming that’s remained. Ok, crying too sometimes.

We love Fauda. It’s rough, brutal and fast. Everything happens quickly. They do do ‘pause’ or ‘rest’ in Israeli tv. And it depicts life on the edge. The terrorists of Hamas and the elite ‘team’ who… basically, kill everyone they can. It doesn’t portray the Israelis in any golden light, nor does it vilify Palestinians. It shows the wonderful balance. Of evil people on both sides.

We also just started to watch ‘The Last Dance’. The documentary of Michael Jordan’s last season with the Chicago Bulls. We’ve only watched a bit so far, but even Mel loves it. I generally have a fairly low threshold for acceptance of any programme of a sporty nature.

But The Last Dance isn’t actually about sport. It’s about hero-worship. And how we love a hero, we love the adversities they face and (obviously) overcome to become MUCH BETTER PEOPLE THAN THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN. And certainly much better people than you. Unless you tell me you can float 20 feet above the ground for 5 seconds whilst fending off three giants and slam-dunking a basketball? No, didn’t think so.

And its the same with the Rockumentaries I love to watch. I don’t want a Cliff Richard, goody-two-shoes, creepy-extraordinaire, pretty boy waste-of-space. I want Keith Richard. I want bad. I want them to have nearly died at least 4 times before 1972. Because that’s how heroes are made.

Happy heroic Tuesday

A xxxx