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Yes, Bear Grylls can make fire. But could he survive in the kitchen? Yes, Bear Grylls can make fire. But could he survive in the kitchen?
(4 months later)
Grayson Perry, you may have heard, believes that Bear Grylls promotes an outmoded notion of what it is to be a man. “He celebrates a masculinity that is useless,” Perry told the Radio Times. “I want to see Bear Grylls looking for a decent state school for his child.”Grayson Perry, you may have heard, believes that Bear Grylls promotes an outmoded notion of what it is to be a man. “He celebrates a masculinity that is useless,” Perry told the Radio Times. “I want to see Bear Grylls looking for a decent state school for his child.”
Related: Grayson Perry: Bear Grylls 'celebrates a masculinity that is useless'
I have to admit sharing this fantasy about forcing TV survival experts to endure ordinary modern life, to the extent that I once thought it might make a good programme. I think it was called Ray Mears’s World of Interiors, or something. One whole episode might be about Ray planning a dinner party, or trying to upgrade his broadband. Things would turn out badly, and Ray would get a bit tearful and need a lie down. The end.I have to admit sharing this fantasy about forcing TV survival experts to endure ordinary modern life, to the extent that I once thought it might make a good programme. I think it was called Ray Mears’s World of Interiors, or something. One whole episode might be about Ray planning a dinner party, or trying to upgrade his broadband. Things would turn out badly, and Ray would get a bit tearful and need a lie down. The end.
Of course Mears and Grylls do live in the modern world, and I’m sure they have both had to send back kitchen tiles for being the wrong shade of earth. But I would still watch. Their exasperation would please me. I must also admit to a certain compulsive interest in survival TV. At some level I do harbour the delusion that all my problems would evaporate if I could learn to make fire from scratch and knew which bugs to eat – because then I could at least go and live in the woods by myself.Of course Mears and Grylls do live in the modern world, and I’m sure they have both had to send back kitchen tiles for being the wrong shade of earth. But I would still watch. Their exasperation would please me. I must also admit to a certain compulsive interest in survival TV. At some level I do harbour the delusion that all my problems would evaporate if I could learn to make fire from scratch and knew which bugs to eat – because then I could at least go and live in the woods by myself.
Perry, whose TV series All Man starts on Channel 4 next week, doesn’t think our ideas about modern masculinity are so much ill-considered as unconsidered. Hardly any of the men he interviewed for the programme had ever even thought about it. “I got the impression that when I asked them to talk about masculinity, it was like asking a fish to talk about water,” he said. “Self-examination was alien to them. Gender was a woman’s issue.”Perry, whose TV series All Man starts on Channel 4 next week, doesn’t think our ideas about modern masculinity are so much ill-considered as unconsidered. Hardly any of the men he interviewed for the programme had ever even thought about it. “I got the impression that when I asked them to talk about masculinity, it was like asking a fish to talk about water,” he said. “Self-examination was alien to them. Gender was a woman’s issue.”
Perry has thought about masculinity a lot, and if anyone can teach us how to reclaim it, it’s him. Bear needs his help, and so do I.Perry has thought about masculinity a lot, and if anyone can teach us how to reclaim it, it’s him. Bear needs his help, and so do I.
Gut reactionGut reaction
I am standing patiently in a queue, clutching my paperwork, when a man walks into the reception area. He seems surprised to see me at first, then delighted, then a little confused that I am not equally delighted. I don’t recognise him. Finally, his face clouds over. “Sorry,” he says. “I thought you were someone I knew.”I am standing patiently in a queue, clutching my paperwork, when a man walks into the reception area. He seems surprised to see me at first, then delighted, then a little confused that I am not equally delighted. I don’t recognise him. Finally, his face clouds over. “Sorry,” he says. “I thought you were someone I knew.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’s that kind of place.” By which I mean, the colorectal clinic.“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’s that kind of place.” By which I mean, the colorectal clinic.
In retrospect I’m glad I didn’t know him. He would say: “What brings you here?” And I would be obliged to explain that certain members of the medical profession considered it remiss that I’d reached my present age without ever having had a camera stuck up my bottom.In retrospect I’m glad I didn’t know him. He would say: “What brings you here?” And I would be obliged to explain that certain members of the medical profession considered it remiss that I’d reached my present age without ever having had a camera stuck up my bottom.
This was, coincidentally, the day before the junior doctors’ strike, and the atmosphere was one of heroically managed chaos. A whiteboard kept patients apprised of delays in all clinics (30 to 40 minutes, across the board). There seemed to be a shortage of available consulting rooms, and the appointments computer was playing up. And yet everything was somehow managed calmly, professionally and cheerfully. Personal experience of the NHS is always, at best, anecdotal, but this is how I find it, every time: people working diligently under a system seemingly designed to thwart them.This was, coincidentally, the day before the junior doctors’ strike, and the atmosphere was one of heroically managed chaos. A whiteboard kept patients apprised of delays in all clinics (30 to 40 minutes, across the board). There seemed to be a shortage of available consulting rooms, and the appointments computer was playing up. And yet everything was somehow managed calmly, professionally and cheerfully. Personal experience of the NHS is always, at best, anecdotal, but this is how I find it, every time: people working diligently under a system seemingly designed to thwart them.
Haunted by GallowayHaunted by Galloway
On the bus on the way home, a familiar droning voice creeps up behind, saying something about a fairer London for all. I turn around and look out the back window of the top deck to see George Galloway’s mayoral campaign bus right on our tail. I can’t see Galloway; I just hear him, everywhere. It’s like he’s haunting the bus. We lose him at the lights but he soon catches up, getting louder as he closes in, seemingly intent on following me home. I’ve just had a camera up my arse, I think – and now this.On the bus on the way home, a familiar droning voice creeps up behind, saying something about a fairer London for all. I turn around and look out the back window of the top deck to see George Galloway’s mayoral campaign bus right on our tail. I can’t see Galloway; I just hear him, everywhere. It’s like he’s haunting the bus. We lose him at the lights but he soon catches up, getting louder as he closes in, seemingly intent on following me home. I’ve just had a camera up my arse, I think – and now this.