Congratulations everyone we’re on Day Four, we’re on 1280 confirmed cases, and South Africa has recently been downgraded to Junk. I now know how my parents must have felt when they received my Std 5 report card. But if we’re using my delinquency as a metaphor, ‘just look at me now’. ‘Just Look?!’ Sorry guys there’s no silver lining here, it’s best for you to accept that things are not looking particularly rosy right now and just settle in with a blankie, a horse tranquiliser, and some YouTube videos of puppies.

And if puppies aren’t your thing there are some particularly vibey videos of ordinary South Africans, cooking in real time, doing the rounds. It appears that the era of “Reality Cooking” is upon us. And this isn’t like those “reality” cooking shows we’re used to with the smug over-tanned judges, donning cravats and salivating over (not another fucking) panacotta or a (can nobody bake a proper bloody) chocolate fondant. Oh no, this is a new wave of basic home cooks, blindly clambering around their poorly designed, badly equipped kitchens with absolutely no bloody clue about basic mise en place.   

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all about pushing envelopes, boundaries, and generic conventions, but I’m not sure I’m onboard with spending half an hour of my time watching some bokkie with sub-par knife skills prepare ingredients for a pasta dish. I nearly had a pulmonary embolism when I saw her chop olives with a fucking steak knife. And sure, she does reassure the boujie amongst us that we “can’t afford to be picky about cheese during the time of Coronavirus”, while she gives us all a lesson in how to pronounce “Halloumi” like a complete asshole. And I understand that every single one of us have dazzling personalities that we can’t wait to unleash on the world, but there’s a reason cooking shows are edited, and “here’s one I made earlier” is a catch phrase.

But my reaction to this video stirred something up inside me. I realised that “live reality cooking” was engaging the same reactions that I get during live sports events. Do you see where I’m going with this? Hold my beer.

It appears that while watching bokkie do battle over a perfectly perfunctory pasta dish, I was activating the part of my brain that involuntary yells, “Fucking Ref that was offsides man are you blind?!” “Come on oke pass the ball man you asshole!” “Get in the hole you piece of shit!” and “Run you asshole! Run!” (Full disclaimer I am a delight to watch sport with. Bring your mum.) Watching this bokkie was almost like watching the… … I can’t bring myself to use that joke I’m sorry.

So, here’s my big lockdown challenge to the fine, financially buggered, folk at Multichoice. In lieu of sport, why not broadcast really terrible home cooks that we can shout at and abuse from the comfort of our own couches? Because nothing brings a nation together quite like shouting at the telly while we eat meaty snacks and drink Oros (no one has enough beer to survive this don’t kid yourselves). I just feel that as a nation we’re getting on each other’s nerves now and we all need to unite behind something. And if you can’t unite behind someone cutting olives with a fucking steak knife then there’s no hope for the Rainbow Nation.

There’s an old rugby cliché that the two Davids seem to be embracing; ‘Well that was a game of two halves’… And boy oh boy don’t they look like a couple of Naases.

Apparently there are psychologists cashing in on all the depressed and angry people walking around going ‘What the actual fuck?’ I’m one such What-the-Fuck Walker. Yesterday my work wife and I just sat opposite each other repeating ‘What the actual fuck?’ And then laughing. And then silence. At one point I found myself doo-dooing the theme tune and throwing in a loud raspberry fart sound- Davids you’ve reduced me to this. Fuck you guys. Oath Breakers.

I tell my students that context is everything. So let’s break down the Game of Thrones of two halves context, before you start telling me that I’m taking this shit too seriously and it wasn’t actually that bad…

“They cut off his fucking head!” Season One was deliciously fucking bizarre, it brought us incest, chucking Bran out the window, so many naked humans, and so… so much sex. But the flesh bonanza wasn’t as wonderfully pornographic as the dialogue. I’ve long believed that conversation is sex for the soul. George R.R Martin’s writing talent makes me sad and mad-jealous because it is so fucking beautiful. Cleverly, the Davids lifted Martin’s words directly off the page- conversations were long, it was like listening to your favourite album on repeat. And then… as if it couldn’t get any better…

“Moon Door!” How fucking cool and terrifying was the moon door?! I literally got vertigo just watching that creepy ass episode with that breast fed tween licking off his mammamilkshake-brings-all-the-little-lords-to-the yard moustache. Eyrie, as its name suggests, was a dazzling exercise in how to create terror out of beauty. Oh and keeping track of the characters… good fucking luck with that. This was clearly not a series to watch while sexting your bae… in the Game of Thrones there’s no Ohana here… you either pay attention, or you get left behind. And let’s not forget they cut off Ned Stark’s fucking head and made it into a lollipop!

“Fuck that Joffrey guy!” In Season Two King Joffrey is swanning about like King Douche on parade, and the only time we like him is when he’s being slapped by his uncle. Once again there are so many fucking multiple narratives going on… I tried to watch an episode while drunk because all those jugs of wine tempted me out of whatever booze free month I was partaking in. Anyway it was a complete fuck up because the characters pop up like fucking daisies, and it’s not like they’re called Sally to make your life easier, so if you’re shitfaced… forget it. You have to pay attention because ‘Is this oke important?’ ‘Oh hells yes?’ ‘But whatever. Off with his head!’ Fuck you Game of Thrones.

Season Two ends with wildfire, Tyrion getting axed in the face, Sansa getting dumped, Arya escaping thanks to that Crazy Face dude, Jon going full Wildling, and Daenerys going to rescue her dragons from the guy who looks a lot like a penis.

Turns out the House of the Undying is important later. Hold my Starbucks. Daenerys has a vision. She’s walking towards the throne, the throne room is all fucked up, snow is falling, she reaches out to touch the throne… her dragons cry and off she trots.

“Season Three Bitches!” We join the Wildlings and check out Jon cashing in on his Virgin Active Membership (thanks to Discovery). Here come the Unsullied, “King of the North!” Aaah shame, Jaime is now learning to masturbate with his left hand. Olenna is a boss dogg, Daenerys sets the wheel in motion, Joffrey shows he is the biggest prick in King’s Landing, and Sansa and Tyrion tie the proverbial knot (I’m bloody sad this didn’t work out- but technically they’re still married so maybe that’ll make for a kak spin-off Game of Homes). Props must go to the Red Woman for revealing Gendry’s six-packed side… oh Ja and there’s a fucking massacre at a wedding. “King of the Nor..!”-dead. Hey he was hot?! I was… Oh nevermind. Man of the match- Ramsay fucking Bolton.

“That guy with the Lego-man haircut makes Joffrey look like Prince-fucking-Harry!” Daenerys’ dragons behave like a bunch of teenagers in Season Four. Mancandy is ramped up a notch when Javier from Narco’s enters as a dazzling and very delicious fighter. Shae keys Tyrion’s car (horse?), Joffrey has a kak time at his wedding, Daenerys shows no mercy (take note people), The White Walkers are getting restless. “Holy shit the Mountain!” “Oooo yay Moon Door is back!” And Lysa has a turbulent flight. Jon knows nothing and Season Four ends with the Mountain getting a makeover.

In Season Five Cercei has a vision. I hope she dies soon. Scrap that I love Cercei. Varys and Tyrion start a bromance and Arya attends the University of Crazy Face. Cults! Cults Everywhere! Ramsay Bolton steals the show and Everybody Loves Tormund (another spin off). One High Sparrow makes a summer, Drogon saves the day and finally we say Sayonara to Stannis who won’t be missed. Cercei’s walk of shame makes the time my friend took a long bus ride home covered in baby oil from a night of clandestine banging look like a walk in the park, and John Snow dies because he knows fuck all.

“Jon Snow is way too hot to die”. Yippee! Thank god of fire Jon is back! Maybe that Red Slapper isn’t so bad after all? A lot of people die in the first episode, which is always a good start. Bran sees some shit, King Tommen has the highest smackability factor on television, and Arya is blind- bummer. Daenerys burns the shit out of a bunch of grannies. “Hodor!” Arya gets her sight and her name back, the Battle of the Bastards is all it’s cracked up to be and Ramsay becomes a bowl of Pedigree Chum. Cercei out-crazies crazy to land her skinny ass on the throne.

Crazy always wins.

Jon Snow’s Bum (yes it gets a capital B) is at the heart of Season Seven. But even though his ass is the major take-away it’s not all ass about face. Speaking of faces Arya bakes a fucking delicious looking pie. Euron Greyjoy is a fucking leather-panted delight.

Go home Ed Sheeran.

Qyburn is weird as fuck. There’s something funny with Olenna’s wine, Sam is inspired by Greyscale Anatomy and dabbles in surgery, Jon bends the knee… and the moment we’ve all been waiting for…

There’s his Bum… press pause and take it in… you deserve it.

And then… What the fuck the Night King dredges a dragon from the depths? THEY HAVE A FUCKING DRAGON!!! Mind Blown. It takes two years to clean up the mess.

Two years later and we’ve been promised a lot. I’m up at 4am. Chomping for Jon Snow’s Bum…

Everyone except Cercei rocks up at Winterfell. Euron and Cercei bang instead of marching North- who could blame them?

Jon learns his name is Aegon… and let’s all take a moment to appreciate how utterly naff that name is. Being a bastard is a way better alternative to living with the name Aegon. So Jon finally knows something. So that’s Episode One folks.

Another week of chewing the cud and spewing out predictions.

It’s Episode Two and Jaime is finally accepted into the wolves’ den. Brienne goes from boss to sir which makes for a bit of a sore throat, and is someone cutting onions in here? Sansa and Daenerys have an awkward conversation- made more awkward because the script has gone to absolute dog shit. Bran has a plan- he must have got it all that morning. Stay with the fibre Bran, it looks good on you. Then the moment where I completely nailed it… Arya and Gendry bang. Jon on the other hand no longer wants to bang his aunty. Exit Jon’s Bum stage left. Fuck you Davids.

Another week waiting for you assholes to catch up so I can say “CALLED IT… I FUCKING CALLED IT! ARYA AND GENDRY BANGED!”

In seasons past I would have had a lot more to say… but hey this is lean times on the plot complexity front. I’m reduced to Arya’s teenage sex life. Shame! Shame! Shame!

OK finally fucking battle week rolls in hot (or cold whatever) and I’m awake before 4am because I am so excited that I have heart palpitations (it might have been the Sunday night red?) I have a pot of tea and I’m settled in.

I didn’t think this episode sucked at all. It buoyed my spirits and it gave me hope for the rest of the season. I think a lot of this was because they’d decided to give complete control of the dialogue to the genius that is Ramin Djawadi. Music and visuals really has been the sweet spot of the final season, and if I hold onto that maybe I won’t go postal (although I’m told Crazy. Always. Wins.).

The major take-away from this episode is that people are stupid. People aka audiences moaned that it was too fucking dark. Jesus Christ okes he’s called the Night King… the episode is called “The Long Night”. I don’t know what you expected, a mid-morning battle followed by a Mimosa brunch? You want them to add in another moon for the occasion? “Guys it’s a bit dark can someone turn up the moon?” Also FYI there’s no electricity in Game of Thrones time. Maybe Samsung could have product-placed a whole bunch of S7s and the Unsullied could have used them as torches? While they’re at it maybe they could bring back Ed Sheeran for a bit of a knees up before the big fight? Would you have liked that?

Luckily the Red Woman was there to turn on some lights. She was shit hot in this episode.

I liked the battle scene because as someone who runs away from a fight it was nice to feel like I was involved in the action for a change. The battle plan was a complete cluster-fuck and once again proves Jon Snows inability to know stuff. However, when the Dothraki rode to their deaths and the lights went out (sorry audience turn up the brightness levels on your shitty tvs again) it was chilling. I had to take a time out to frantically boil the kettle for another round. Finally I got shivers. Welcome back feeling of unease, where have you been?

Lyanna’s death was straight out of Lord of the Rings… exact same Whatsapp group. The Night King almost won man of the match for raising up a whole new fucking army and I did shit my brookies a little bit, I’m not gonna lie. Jon Snow should have been fucked. Daenerys should have been fucked. Luckily it turns out that MVP Arya learned quite a lot at the University of Crazy Face… and cos crazy always wins she shanks the Night King in an impressive display of knife skills.

Death count was high. But don’t worry almost no one important died apart from old Mormont which was slightly sad but moving on… What’s gonna happen next week?

So after almost no one of any significance died in the greatest battle of all time my hopes were dashed that things were going to go full G.R.R Martin… Episode Four had to rely on dialogue again so it was a complete and utter fuckshow. OK, minus the one bit of dialogue providing an excellent definition of a secret. Daenerys lost her metaphorical head, Missandei lost her physical head, and Euron impressively killed the penultimate dragon. Euron got man of the match for surprising me. Otherwise it was perfunctory. Cercei nailed it. She’s fast becoming my favourite for the throne.

OK chaps here comes another battle hold onto your knickers.         

Episode Five begins with killing Varys. For a second I thought there was dragon mutiny and “dracarys” was off the menu. Nope turns out the beach barbeque was still very much on the cards, don’t pack away the potato salad just yet. Shame about the weather. I’ll miss Varys, if you gave me enough fucking time. Nope shake rattle and roll it’s time for another battle bitches.

Jon really does know fucking nothing. I’m absolutely certain I made the right choice choosing Aragorn.

Enter dragon. Fire. Death. Destruction. Crazy always fucking wins.

Some people die in mysterious ways. More on that in my next rant.

So the key players are still alive and another week of speculation takes over all aspects of my life.

The final episode. I don’t wake up at 4am. Fuck that.

At 9.30am the watch begins. Holy shit the first 20 minutes are spectacular?! Why? Aaah of course, no dialogue, and that Ramin guy is just hitting fucking sixes all out the park (my rugby metaphor is now a cricket one because I’m making this up as I go… in the true spirit of the Davids…). Also it’s visually spectacular and Tyrion’s face is making up for the horrible script he’s been given… it’s raw and emotional and the proverbial chills are multiplying…

“We must break the wheel!” Chill your boots Stalin. Enter scene from Season 2 except this time she touches the throne. Yip Daenerys is toast. Well maybe not toast. More like a kebab. Jon Snow takes a leaf out of Ygritte’s book and drives a dagger into the crazy bitch’s heart. So Crazy doesn’t always win?

What happens next won’t shock you… Drogon burns the iron stool that these folks have gone bat shit over. It’s probably for the best and uncleverly goes full circle to breaking the wheel. Well done on the metaphor you absolute geniuses.

Time passes in an odd way. And what the fuck how did all the team captains get here so quickly? And what’s up with the weather? They’re clearly here to play ball though.

Lots of bad dialogue ensues. It’s so bad that I think I just heard that Bran is now king and Jon Snow is back off to the wall. What about that Aegon guy everyone kept harping on about?

There’s a scene at the harbour, which is about as sad as Tommen jumping out the window. Absolutely no feels whatsoever. I’m reminded of being unable to move after watching Lord of the Rings and how it took me ages to get out of the movie theatre. Now I can’t move because I’m so shell-shocked at how unbelievably bad this writing is.

To cheer us all up there’s an unbelievably poor bit of dialogue about brothels and rebuilding the city. In the old days, when the banter was tight, this would have been excellent. Now it’s a Royal Duck.

Sansa gets a nice new chair; well done she really stuck it out and mined her own patch of diamonds. She really is the smartest of them all. Arya jumps on a boat to start up her own Crazy Face University one assumes. Jon goes North and I’m glad because I can’t handle looking at his mediocre face of disappointment and what could have been anymore. Maybe Tormund can cheer him up and smack some knowledge into him. Oh look and it appears spring is here. Winter came and went like a fart in the wind.

Oh and King Bran? He’s going to look for the dragon. I told you. Crazy always wins.

But I’m not here to talk about Gilmore Girls… I’m here to talk about how my mum, my best and closest friend, threw me under the bus (not the first time, and it won’t be the last). It all began because I needed to talk to my mum about Big Little Lies so I made her watch it. Being her daughter’s mother my mum binge watched the show in record time (I’m so fucking proud) hence it took no time at all for us to be in the position where we could go “full media bitches” on it. What I didn’t account for was the fact that my mum is a professional and immediately started watching another series immediately after… I was unaware of this.

After going critical media theory on Big Little Lies for the best part of an hour my mother dropped the bombshell.

‘Jaqui I can’t talk to you until you’ve watched The Handmaid’s Tale’.

The gauntlet had been set. My mother knows that bowing out of communication is a sure fire way to get me to do anything. It was an asshole move, but effective. Ask me how long I can go without talking to my mum?

As I hung up I asked Monkey if we had any plans. He told me that owing to our financials the plan was to eat leftovers and use as little of everything that wasn’t free as possible. Score. I turned to Showmax and settled in. Ten hours later I’d gone through my allocated weekly 500ml allowance of wine (fucking diets are such a buzz kill) and I felt like my brain was going to explode. There’s a line from an episode of Grey’s Anatomy where Meredith Grey says,

‘That’s called thinking. Go with it’.

Not to sound like an intellectual asshole but not all thinking is created equal. If you’re not completely fucked up, torn to shreds, dehydrated, fucked up, emotionally spent and riddled with headache it’s not legit thinking. Thinking doesn’t nap… it hangs around… it lingers… It engulfs you and you just can’t shake it… The only way to put it to bed is to write it down… which is why I’m here. I’m a prisoner in my own thoughts… it’s time to escape. But I’m not sure I want to.

So now I’m at the stage called thinking… Still…