Some people are good with cold weather. Their cheeks pink prettily. They have a wardrobe of clothes that are somehow warm but also, as if by magic, flattering, and they are really, really good at skiing.
And some of us are not. We – my people – develop a pallor in the winter that veers between what Farrow & Ball would call Laura Palmer Grey and Jaundiced Victorian Child. From September to May we have a constant cold, and what our winter wardrobe lacks in aesthetic appeal, it makes up for in having Kleenex stuffed in every pocket. Why some of us choose – willingly, apparently – to live in northern Europe, where it is, to paraphrase Niles in Sleepless In Seattle, cold nine months of the year, is a question we have never answered satisfactorily to ourselves.
So lockdown January is pretty much indistinguishable from my normal January, given that I always avoid leaving the house (too cold), never go out at night (are you insane?) and make no plans of any kind (see previous parentheses). If it weren’t for all the death, unemployment and anxiety that accompanies lockdown, I’d be quite enjoying this legally mandated winter hibernation.
Those of you who usually spend some of January on skiing holidays or tramping through national parks (why, why, why?) are probably wondering how you’re going to get through this godforsaken month inside. For definitely the first and possibly the only time in my life, I have actual expertise I can bring to this situation.
About a decade ago, my friend Charlie gave me what remains the greatest gift ever bestowed upon man or woman: a box set of The Golden Girls. Yes, The Golden Girls: that 1980s US sitcom about a bunch of older women (actually played by women in their 50s and 60s: don’t think about that too much) living together in Florida. If you remember it, you perhaps think of the incredible 1980s Miami decor in Dorothy, Blanche, Rose and Sophia’s house, with the gladioli-print sofa and giant Chinese vases. Or maybe you think of the ludicrously catchy theme song. (Quick diversion. Top five greatest 80s US sitcom theme tunes, no arguments allowed, in reverse order: 5 Diff’rent Strokes; 4 Perfect Strangers; 3 Family Ties; 2 The Golden Girls; 1 Cheers.)
As you might have gleaned by now, I watch a lot of TV, but The Golden Girls is, bar none, my favourite show of all time. I love it so much that when I got my own home, I copied the living room (greens, whites, pinks, florals) and Blanche’s bedroom (palm-print wallpaper, velvet furniture). If you think that sounds obsessive, I probably shouldn’t tell you that I named my dog and my daughter after two of its stars.
My passion for this show tends to surprise people, and I’m always surprised they’re surprised, because the first thing to say about The Golden Girls is it’s funny. A lot of 80s sitcoms weren’t (sorry, Diff’rent Strokes), but The Golden Girls is funny the way Cheers is funny. It’s also intensely comforting, with its running gags (Rose talking about Minnesota; Sophia talking about Sicily) and repeated shtick (Dorothy’s sarcasm; Blanche’s horniness). And this makes sense, because one of its writers, Mitch Hurwitz, went on to create the ultimate show about shticks, Arrested Development. I once interviewed Hurwitz, ostensibly for the fourth series of Arrested, but instead focused quite heavily on The Golden Girls; Hurwitz, to his credit, was fine with that.
“I remember when Sex And The City started happening and the characters would talk about sex and people would be so scandalised and I was like, ‘We did this! We talked about orgasms – with older women!’” Hurwitz rightly recalled. This is another reason I love it: it’s the most feminist show made – about a bunch of women living happily together, who don’t need men, but who do have sex, and not in an, “Eww, old ladies!” way. When’s the last time you saw an 80-year-old woman in bed with her boyfriend on TV? Probably on The Golden Girls.
And the women who appeared on it were all amazing. Bea Arthur, best friend of Rock Hudson, was a proper goddess, and Betty White’s memoir If You Ask Me (And Of Course You Won’t) is fascinating. Rue McClanahan was married six times! Estelle Getty was heavily involved in HIV/Aids activism! All of them were (and are, in White’s case) in their own unique way heroic.
I watch my Golden Girls box set every winter, because it’s funny and comforting, and because it’s set in Miami, which feels especially cheering this year, given that’s the only sun I’m likely to see. Living in Florida with my three best female friends is my fantasy future. As well as the future, it makes me think of the past, specifically, the Christmas vacations I spent as a child in Miami with my grandmother. Unlike my mother, she let me watch The Golden Girls. She was nothing like them, but seeing it today still reminds me of those trips. My love of Christmas may have baffled her immigrant Jewish mind, but all she wanted was to make me happy, so we would sit down and watch a sitcom about a bunch of pensioners. It turned out to be the present that never stopped giving.