Back in 2001, along with much of the rest of the UK population, I started watching a new kind of television show. It purported to be a documentary, set in a fairly ordinary, Slough-based company. The camera lingered too long on participants’ awkward expressions, it picked up whispered conversations which weren’t meant for public consumption and it kicked off one of the most hotly debated, “Will they, won’t they?” office relationships in the shape of Tim and Dawn.
It was, of course, “The Office.” It introduced me to Mackenzie Crook, who has written two of the very best sitcoms in the known universe.
I started watching the first of these, “Detectorists”, on BBC2 in 2014 and fell deeply in love. My husband was soon converted, as were the children. The writing was unbelievably good.
Just like most of my favourite programmes, nothing much happened. Andy and Lance go out detecting, in search of gold, but never find anything good (unless you count Blakey’s, BOATs (bit off a tractor) and old toy cars. Russell, one of the members of the DMDC (Danebury Metal Detecting Club) is paired up with young Hugh and their relationship is both touching and hilarious. Catchphrases from the show (“Pub?” “Go on then.” “Buttons?” “You heard me.” “First day of metal detecting school.” “Years of age?”) have become part of our household argot.
Since November 2024, I have been more focused on world news than ever before. I’ve become pretty well-versed on the American constitution, subscribe to podcasters and political commentators and am, like many around the world, deeply troubled by the way things are going. It’s not a stretch to say that my entire world view has changed in the past fifteen months. As a relentless optimist, I’m doubting, questioning and challenging more than ever before. I think it’s important to be well-informed and to keep up to date – the downside of that is that I know things I now can’t unknow, and have seen things that have permanently rearranged my view of the world, and not in a good way.
So if there was anything which could soothe my troubled soul, pour balm on to the stinging wounds inflicted by fear and apprehension and reassure me that there are more good people around than bad, it would of course be a new sitcom written by Mackenzie Crook
We sat down to watch, “Small Prophets” last week and it was an absolute delight. It has actually restored my faith in human nature. Yes, I know it’s all made up. I am aware that the characters he’s created aren’t real. But none of that matters. It is the most beautiful writing and perfect casting, just like, “Detectorists.”
Pearce Quigley, who played Russell, is Michael Sleep, a lavishly bearded middle-aged man who has an unsatisfying job at a DIY shop, lives at the end of a cul-de-sac and is waiting for his girlfriend to come home. She left on Christmas Eve seven years ago and he can’t move on. One on side, we have Clive and Bev who live in an alarmingly immaculate house. On the other resides Olive, who’s locked in a constant battle with ants and slugs, although her garden appears to be entirely paved over. In between, Michael’s house and garden is wonderfully, organically, unrepentantly overgrown. Fecundity versus sterility. Life versus existence.
Some of the scenes are so touching as to be almost heartbreaking. The humour is gentle and wry, and the jokes all land. My favourite scene is in episode four where Michael is mugged. It’s genius. And I don’t bandy that word around a lot.
Hand drills. Buckets. A special kind of paint. A shed with a mystery in it. An unlikely friendship. Michael Palin playing the dad. It’s made my life better and judging by the reviews and the comments online about it, I’m not the only one.
Please, watch it. It’s amazingly life-affirming. And if you don’t, you’ll never understand the title of this blog.