A helpful explanation of why Cabin Pressure is awesome and everybody and their cat should listen to it. Art by the amazingly talented tealin (used with permission)
I’m relistening –for the second time in a row on a daily basis–as I drive to and from TMS treatments. It keeps me calm and makes me feel safe.
BRILLIANT!
i wonder why this post doesn’t have a giant picture of Benedict Cumberbatch since he is the one voicing Martin Crieff.
Have you ever heard of the BBC Radio drama, Cabin Pressure? Well, I think our final plane is MJN’s GERTI.
Our pilots were very nice, and the plane was quite cramped. And may have had a hole in the fiberglass of the cockpit so that I could see some of its internal riveting. The important thing is that it got us safely to Victoria.
today’s ludicrous over-read of something in pop culture
Martin’s surname is Crieff, which is technically a real name (town in Scotland) but instantly reminds Mr. Birling of the much more well-known surname Moncrieff. “Like Algernon? In ‘Earnest’?” Martin hasn’t read it, which sets up the whole dynamic between him and Mr. Birling, that’s why that line’s in there.
But recently I DID read ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’, and found out THIS detail, via TV Tropes:
The names of Algernon and Lady Bracknell allude to Wilde’s lover Alfred Douglas and his mother .. Moncrieff was the name of an ancient Scottish family just like that of Douglas.
Martin is a Crieff because he’s not quite a Douglas. I have no idea if this was intentional but I’m just gonna say it is.
Carolyn braced herself for the peculiar while Arthur interrupted himself with a big bite of his home-from-school toast.
“Did you know,” he repeated, so as to restore the flow of his remark, “That half of a half is a quarter?”
“I did, in fact. I didn’t know you knew, though.”
“We’re revising fractions, ’cause Mrs Westerby said there might be some people who were a bit confused.”
“Mrs Westerby is a diplomat of the highest order.”
“She’s my maths teacher.”
“That too.”
“So I was thinking,” Arthur continued, “You know how we celebrate my birthday in October and my half birthday in April…”
“Goodness, I wonder where this is going,” Carolyn muttered. “Yes, then? What were you thinking?”
“Well, shouldn’t we celebrate your half birthday in September? Otherwise we’re only doing half the half birthdays. Which is a quarter.”
“Oh,” said Carolyn. “I thought you were going to say we should pencil in your quarter and three-quarter birthdays for January and July.”
His eyes turned to saucers, then dinner plates. “Wow! I never even thought of that.”
“I realise that now.”
“Can we do that? Is it allowed?”
“Allow— who precisely do you think makes laws against how often you wear a silly hat?”
“Well, you. The birthday police?”
“Oh, I should think we can fly under their radar. Not a proper party, mind. But you can sing the song and do….whatever it is that produces that cake sort of thing.”
“And wear the hat?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She chuckled. “Of course, wear the hat.”
“Brilliant! Wow, fractions are great!”
“I’m thrilled you think so.”
Toast now fully devoured, Arthur sprang out of the room, only to return two seconds later. “Oh! What about your half birthdays, though?“
Carolyn pretended to consider. “I think I can manage without,” she said grandly. “But it was a lovely thought.”
“Thanks! I do a lot of lovely thoughts.”
This, she had to admit, was true. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that six months after February was August, in any case, not September. But either way, once a year was quite enough for her own birthday. More than enough, even.
“Homework?” she prompted him as he departed.
“Just maths!”
His newfound love of fractions, Carolyn was sure, would not outlast the worksheet.
Carolyn had phoned her mother afterwards, having as she did the vague notions that a) one phoned one’s mother in times of great change, and b) getting divorced from one’s husband of six years more or less constituted a time of great change.
“We’re finished,” she said, her voice clipped, sharp: well-kept like a hedgerow, like a hand of nails. “Ian and I. I thought you ought to know.”
“Oh.”
Carolyn waited. Her mother didn’t usually keep to single syllables, would surely have a judgement to render.
“Well, that’s a shame, isn’t it. Still, five years, though—”
“It was six years.”
“Oh, really? Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Of course. Of course, you’d know. Well, that’s rather good innings, considering, isn’t it?”
Carolyn’s grip on the handset tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you know—nobody really thought—we all thought he was sweet on Ruthie, at the start. You and he just didn’t always seem to fit. Ian’s….”
Her mother trailed off, but Carolyn had heard the end of that sentence many times over. Ian’s such a dear. Ian’s a wonderful man. Ian’s just so terribly nice, isn’t he? Really solid. Really reliable.
What on earth is he doing with you?
This last, only once, the Christmas between their engagement and wedding. Ian had stepped out onto the patio to smoke a cigar with her father and Carolyn’s mother had said it laughingly, watching the silhouettes of the two men through the window. Yes, yes, he’d liked Ruth at first and wasn’t it a turn-up, nobody could have seen it coming, wouldn’t put you two together, but don’t they always say opposites attract?
She should be in floods of tears, Carolyn reflected, should be in pieces now because it was all over and Ian was such a dear, just so very… nice, wasn’t he?
And that was just it. He was nice. So awfully nice. And it wasn’t that Carolyn wasn’t nice, exactly… She could be nice when the occasion presented itself, but in-between times, she preferred not to be bound to one adjective. Ian, she presumed, would be more, too, with somebody who knew how to draw it out.
So in the end – thinking about it as she had over the eons that had fled in the few seconds since her mother’s sentence had frittered away into static – in the end, she wasn’t all that offended. She and Ian had been a mismatch - right from the start, and not in a magical, binding sort of way. Just in a ‘what are we actually doing?’ sort of way.
Six years. Not bad innings, considering.
“Yes,” said Carolyn. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” But then, because at the end of the day she was going to be divorced at twenty-nine and her mother had not so much as asked her if she was alright, “So now you know. Goodbye, then.”
She set down the receiver and sighed and wondered a little if she might cry.
Carolyn: What is it now. Oh good lord. Herc, give it back. Where did you even find it? Ugh, it doesn’t matter anyway. Just give it back and we can both pretend that you’ve never even seen it.
Herc: But why would I do that? I know why *I* fell in love with you, but now I know why Gordon did. And I must say I can’t blame the man.
Carolyn: I hate you, you know.
Herc: No, you don’t. But you will if I show it to Douglas.
Carolyn: If you show that to Douglas, your next birthday present won’t be a dead sheep.
Herc: All right, all right! Here, have it back.
Carolyn: Thanks. I presume the fire in the living room is still going?
Look what arrived in the post today! They’re bigger than I thought and absolutely brilliant. :)
Hooray, I’m so glad you like them! By coincidence, these are also my two best-selling mugs right now.
Other viewers: if this post has given you a gnawing case of novelty ceramic envy, please note that you can currently get 15% off any of my mugs with the checkout code STOCKING15, until midnight on Wednesday 19th November…
Dear traveling lemons, I am so excited I got the ok to post these beautiful Cabin Pressure illustrations made by the talented Gracia via her Twitter page @Gracein140
They are absolutely brilliant and I can’t get enough of them. You can also check her work out on her Facebook page.
The thing I love most about drawing Cabin Pressure, especially captain Crieff, is that I CAN DRAW BENEDICT’S FUCKING FACE LIKE WHATEVER I WANT. Someone might ask “hey you can’t do that” than I would say like “hey it’s ok, because captain Crieff is not actually Benedict, only his voice is. And in script, it clearly states that Martin Crieff is a small red faced man, so everything’s fine. Just like Stephanie Cole, Roger Allam, and John Finnemore.” and someone might say like “then what about promo pictures of them?” then I…………… uhm…….I haven’t thought about that……………..
Bahh I’m so honored! I was invited to contribute to this lovely project >> Cabin Pressure Artbook
. Glad to be in such good company! There are some lovely artists on that list. So in celebration, have some Douglas x Martin fluff.
Sorry, I don’t know why Douglas turned out looking like a girl…
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But yes, spread the word about this artbook, guys! It’s for a really great cause. All profits go towards funding a Cabin Pressure convention in Milan and John Finnemore has already expressed interest in attending if the convention happens!
It had originally been my contribution to Alpha Tango Romeo, the Cabin Pressure art/fanbook, but unfortunately real life got in the way and I didn’t have enough time to finish it. Here’s the unfinished sketch.
Definitely check out the fanbook if you haven’t already!The artists who took part in it are all amazing and the submissions were beautiful! I believe they are still taking orders for the next couple of days so get them while they’re hot! :D
I really wish life hadn’t gotten in the way of this, but to all of my fellow artists who worked on this and made it to the finish line, I hope the fanbook continues to be a huge success! Congrats, everyone!
