Period drama therapy
As Blur once quite rightly said, ‘Modern life is rubbish’. When work is getting on top of me, and family, and every-bloody-thing-else, I watch period dramas. I watch hour after hour of soothing, tear jerking, wonderfully-dressed, films and box sets. The romance is always so perfect, even when the lovers must overcome great trials to be together (Oh Dorothea, your young heart will know love!), as on the whole, they don’t make men like that any more (if they ever did, to be honest, but never mind that).
I am also currently reading Jane Austen’s ‘Mansfield Park’, which is therapy on the go. I can hear the swish of silk dresses and the horses’ hooves over the lunch break background noise of staff room microwaves beeping, and telephones ringing.
And when I am all cried out from the heart break, tuberculosis and trouble a’ mill or down t’ pit, there is Jeeves and Wooster, Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are to me, the best Jeeves and Wooster ever. And I go to bed happy, dreaming of flapper dresses and a time when it was acceptable to call someone ‘Tuppy’, and people were casually invited for a week in the country at a fancy house. My friend said I could stay in her static caravan for a few days, but it’s not the same.