Feeling guilty for spending so much time on the sofa watching TV? Don’t worry. There are plenty of television losers to make you feel better about yourself. And here are ten examples...
Looking into the bathroom mirror, a pang of guilt occurs for what I am about to do. It's morning. It's sunny. I'm young and healthy. Other people, proper people, have been hard at work for a good three hours now. Those who haven't are probably looking after their children, helping the homeless or bottling homemade chutneys for winter. Useful things. Grown-up things.
I avoid my reflection's accusing glare as I slink through my un-chutney-stocked kitchen scooping up a net of Babybels en route. Curtains drawn, beanbag plumped, DVD player whirring, I am ready.
A high school. A gaggle of Californian teens. A stake. And what is quite possibly my ninth back-to-back Buffy boxset viewing.
I should clarify that I'm not telling you this to gain any kind of kudos amongst you people (seriously, is there any to be gained here?) or as the 'before' section to a ‘And then my loser life changed forever...' tale of inspiration.
No, there is no 'After' after to this mundane story, because I won't change. Can't change. Don't even want to.
What I can do, though, is justify it to myself. I can reassure myself that, however useless I am, there is someone more useless. However vitamin-deficient my diet, someone else's is worse. However untidy my house or dead-end my job, there are others who make me look good. And they live in my telly.
As a gift to any of you out there thinking that career-wise, relationship-wise, chutney preserving-wise, you're not quite at the top of your game, I say this to you. It's okay. We're okay. And here's why...
You want to feel better about:
Bad relationship choices or pretty much any food-related transgression.
Your saviour is:
Liz Lemon
Romantic history includes settling soulmate foot cyclist Wesley Snipes (not that one) and Dennis the Beeper King. Once ate so many Mexican Cheese Curls the evaporated bull semen ingredient induced a false positive on a pregnancy test.
Ignore the fact that:
Tina Fey is actually a tiny, very successful person.
You want to feel better about:
Being thick-tongued, sweaty palmed and unable to make small talk in social situations.
Your saviour is:
Maurice Moss
Moss survives in mainstream male company only by memorising web-gleaned football lingo, orders White Russians when everyone else is drinking Carlsberg and carries a special spray to cool down his hot ear. Compared to him, you're Sean motherflipping Connery.
Ignore the fact that:
Richard Ayoade is actually a hotty, who probably spends his nights hanging out in Hoxton with Noel Fielding and The XX rather than pimping Roy's mobile vibrate setting in his mum's semi.
You want to feel better about:
Having completed Tomb Raider 1 through 8, but not your Electoral Registration Form.
Your saviours are:
Spaced's Tim Bisley and Daisy Steiner
An unpublished comic book artist and a freelance writer with a less than prolific output, Tim and Daisy are our go-to guys for days spent playing Resident Evil, making glitter balls out of tin foil and hiding our student loan repayment letters under the wardrobe.
Ignore the fact that:
By all reports, Jessica Hynes and Simon Pegg are officially successful, hardworking people who most probably arranged prompt repayment of any student loans and who are almost definitely registered to vote.
You want to feel better about:
A CV that's still milking the 'invaluable people skills' provided by your year 10 work experience.
Your saviour is:
Buffy Summers
University drop-out whose jobs include waitressing in LA, wearing a really special hat behind the counter at fast food joint Doublemeat Palace and counselling Sunnydale students, mostly in how not to get sacrificed by demon worshipping cults until her town fell into the hell mouth.
Ignore the fact that:
Not only is Buffy the chosen one, but Sarah Michelle Gellar was a multimillionaire at the age of like, 8 (albeit one with Scooby Doo on her conscience).
You want to feel better about:
Not being hip.
Your saviour is:
Murray Hewitt
Despite his hip sounding role as band manager, Murray couldn't hipster his way out of a limited edition American Apparel paper bag. He thinks chewing a stick of hay is the ultimate rock star act of rebellion and takes the register at the beginning of each band meeting. Loser? Present.
Ignore the fact that:
Rhys Darby is quite a good sound effect based comedian (like that guy from Police Academy) and we should remember that hipsters in general are massive pricks. See Nathan Barley for further details.
You want to feel better about:
Realising the most intensive calorie burning activity of your day was typing sarcastic pedantry on web forums.
Your saviour is:
Homer Simpson
Wiping away tears while dipping Pinchy the Lobster's claws in molten butter and choosing morbid obesity because of the homeworking perk, Homer can simultaneously absolve you of both gluttony and sloth.
Ignore the fact that:
Being drawn, Homer doesn't have a human metabolism or digestive system, rendering all comparisons sort of well, null.
You want to feel better about:
The sneaking suspicions you harbour that, not only are you not a good parent, you're not even a good enough parent.
Your saviours are:
Don and Betty Draper
Those children. Wow. Just imagine the therapy bills. When the series sadly ends, Sally and Bobby at least need to have their own 1975 flash-forward special when 23-year-old Sally is a coke snorting regular at Studio 54 and Bobby a 19-year-old midnight cowboy picking up men who look like Don in Times Square.
Ignore the fact that:
I don't think Jon Hamm or January Jones have kids yet, but if they do, I'm sure they're probably great with them. Actor parent great.
You want to feel better about:
Being rejected by the opposite sex.
Your saviour is:
Howard Moon
Howard's a man with the sexual allure of a disgraced Geography teacher and a line in elbow patches that runs the colour gamut from angry beige to aggressive nutmeg. His man corset and love of Weather Report repels the pretty young things of Camden almost as quickly as they flock to the ambiguous beauty of his hipster foil Vince Noir.
Ignore the fact that:
Julian Barratt is married to the awesome Julia Davis in real life, which is just, well, awesome.
You want to feel better about:
Not being a free spirit globe trotting drug guzzling sexual experimenter who pushes envelopes, breaks barriers and rocks boats in a world changing way.
Your saviour is:
Mark Corrigan
His inner monologue (which congratulates me every time I too do "excellent shopping") is testament to all things small and unimportant i.e. what we're all really thinking.
Ignore the fact that:
David Mitchell is a Bafta-winning national treasure whose charm, quick wit and side parting are putting him well on his way to becoming our next Stephen Fry.
You want to feel better about:
Your lack of personal grooming and dressing in unwashed laundry taken back out of the machine.
Your saviour is:
Dave Lister
He's the space bum whose best shirt is the one with just the two vindaloo stains. Stand next to him and suddenly you're Gok Wan.
Ignore the fact that:
Craig Charles is really a... well, never mind, actually. This one's pretty much golden.
Article updated 25th August