Monday, 29 April 2013

Uncomfortable Loves

I have many loves. Some of them are mainstream, some of them are obscure for my generation and kept quiet unless I met a similar fan. For example, I am a big fan of David Bowie. I appreciate that not many from my generation love David Bowie, and therefore don't have many people to talk about him. It's a joy to talk about him when I do though, because it is still a relatively mainstream interest.

Unfortunately, these are not my predominant loves. Uncomfortable Loves are are the ones that I share with none of my generation.

This will not be a hipster tract. Though I do have elements of my personality that could be labelled 'Hipster,' such as my penchant for wearing hats, I do enjoy when my loves get a mainstream focus.

But there are ones that I have to admit I will never be able to share.

One of my favourite dramas I have ever watched is the adaption of John Wyndham's The Day of Triffids from the 1980s. Though I was not around for its original broadcast, and in fact not there for another ten years, I picked up the DVD around seven years ago, watched and loved the show. I believe the DVD has since been deleted, but I still enjoy digging it it out now and again and watch it, especially for its first episode.

No one I know has seen this.

Not that there would be to be honest, nor do I expect there to be. Though if anyone I know would like to watch it, I am more than willing to share the DVD. It falls apart at episode six, but the rest is a fantastic drama. But as a child of The Simpsons, much of my joke comes from making pop culture references and if I were to reference that...

Nothing.

Similarly, if I make reference to any number of other shows that I love that remained relatively underground, obscure, or just plain old, my references to those are limited because no one knows what the hell I'm talking about. The saddest of these is Doctor Who.

Doctor Who is my favourite show ever made. In 2003, when its return was announced, I was overjoyed, and since 2005, each episode that wasn't written by Chris Chibnall has been a delight. I have even written essay about it, in books (here and one with ATB Publishing next year). For forty-five minutes ever Saturday, the Doctor comes along and makes me a frothing-at-the-mouth child once again. But I'm not talking about that.

In case you haven't noticed, which would be understandable, Doctor Who is currently enjoying its 50th Anniversary this year. With my Dad having been a fan for years, my education in the series began in 1993 with the repeat of Planet of the Daleks and has continued ever since. I know my Axon from my Zarbi, where Telos is in relation to Mondas, and am rather zen about the whole UNIT dating thing though not so much about the Cybermen.

But no one I know shares this. Sure, I love the Ood, the various TARDIS console rooms, and believe Matt Smith is the best since Patrick Troughton. At no point can I sit down and have a jolly chinwag about David Agnew's City of Death though. It is my Uncomfortable Love.

Still, I should be grateful I suppose. Though Triffids will always be obscure, I can still be happy there is a Doctor Who that I can share with people today, fostering new fans and enjoying stories. Because in the end, that's what makes a love of things so much fun: the ability to share and discuss, disseminate and laugh and cry and geek out, because I can share my love of something with my friends.

And slowly, and surely, I can make them watch the Robots of Death.

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