Pete's Pad: March

This month I finally moved my mammoth magazine collection out of my old room in the parental home. I suppose I was destined to be journalist if you go by the amount I got through from the age of about 11 to 17. Moving from The Beano to Shoot and on through a couple of years of Top Gear subscription, I then jumped on the lads mag bandwagon, before escaping to the likes of DJ and Mixmag. Regular long car journeys to the family cottage in north Wales and back meant from about 1997 to 2001 I stacked up a formidable stack of Sky, FHM and Loaded. Not all of them needed to enter long-term storage in our attic, so many an evening in March I flicked through and photographed bits I thought entertaining enough for Instagram, before most went in the recycling.

This is an overly long preamble to my first review, by way of examining the parallels between that late nineties swell of bloke-ish behaviour (Randy adverts, naked ladies and increasingly toxic masculinity) and the early twenties rise (still feels odd referring to our current age that way) of mostly online manly #content for teenage boys. The stuff in those old mags was certainly a lot tamer than what the algorithms are incentivising influencers to do and say now, but it’s the same basic impulse. I wrote my uni dissertation on the rise and fall of men’s magazines and perhaps the most striking (but in retrospect obvious) finding is that despite the editorial/advertising aim being those aged over 25 with spending power, the majority of readership was those under 18 who aspired to driving flash cars, wearing designer clobber and shagging fit birds; to paraphrase the vernacular of the time. There will always be horny boys, but if the easiest outlet for that is hardcore porn and social media coercion, rather than a bit of softcore smut and some advice on aftershave, then you can see where the problems start to arise.

Suffice to say, I watched the new Louis Theroux’s Netflix doc with some trepidation. I’ve read a lot about the so-called ‘manosphere’ over the last few years - via the likes of Laura Bates and Marianna Spring - and then watched it all explode into the mainstream via Adolescence and the fallout from that dramatisation of what the likes of Andrew Tate can do to impressionable young men. That particular lowlife escapes Louis’ grasp here, so he has to go fishing in shallower waters, instead ensnaring Brit abroad HSTickkyTokky and a couple of American blowhards. I’m not sure what to add really: it seems most people have seen it and drawn their own conclusions. Some have argued the programme didn’t go deep enough into the causes of the crisis, or challenge the behaviour more vociferously; but Louis has never really been about that. In some ways I’m glad it wasn’t a multi-part, critical expert-filled series, as many might have not bothered engaging. Instead, hopefully the episode sparks some productive conversations with teenagers off the back of the hypocrisy Theroux was able to demonstrate, rather than driving a wedge further between red-pilled sons and their parents. I certainly don’t feel sorry for these men doing vile things on the internet to make money, but perhaps more ire should be directed at the tech platforms fuelling them; their algorithms designed to monetise ever-more unpleasant performance for the live stream. In an increasingly difficult-looking world for today’s teenagers I can see why these get-rich-quick grifts tacked on to the latest viral clip look so appealing; I certainly remember seeing luxury pads and a harem of babes as being pretty aspirational at that age. With a son not far off the most impressionable age, it’s incumbent on me to show a more positive side of masculinity - and femininity - in the hope that some nature or nurtured conscience pulls him back from these rabbit holes when he inevitably encounters them.

Much like Mr Theroux, I’m willing to give just about anything Hannah Fry is involved in a watch, and given how important and interesting this topic is, AI Confidential was key viewing. The first few episodes go deep into especially controversial parts of the emerging technology: algorithmic health insurance decision making, the early accidents caused by driverless car tech, and the dangers of chatbots via that lad who tried to kill the queen with a crossbow. I’m currently trying to write a feature article at work about this sprawling subject matter, so I’m slightly jealous of the resources Hannah has at her disposal, but she wields them well, getting exclusive interviews and conducting them sensitively. There’s a lot of sensationalism out there and it’s easy to become a doomer on AI, but when people I know and respect are already integrating it into their daily lives, I’m at least going to try and remain open minded about our new overlords.

The few months of free Apple TV that came with my phone contract came to an end earlier this month, and it really is one streaming service I can do without (until they upload a new season of Severance or Pluribus). The only thing that seemed worthy of watching was that Scorsese retrospective by Rebecca Miller, which went into proper chronological depth on one of my favourite directors. It does a good job of explaining why his films are so violent and bleak, why he was so terrible at staying married, being a father or coping with fame and coke-addled fortune. But, it also demonstrates his wicked sense of humour, balance of detailed perfectionism and script/scene flexibility, as well as a later life improvements in parenting and husbandry. Fundamentally though, it’s about the movies - and my what a body of work - with all those along the way giving juicy little anecdotes, while Marty dishes the dirt on himself and his collaborators, from mafia-ridden sixties Little Italy to sleazy seventies Hollywood and beyond. Long live the king.

To round out documentary corner in a more whimsical manner, I present to you My Garden of a Thousand Bees. It’s basically just a spring and summer’s worth of super slo-mo bee filming in the pleasingly ramshackle garden of affable Bristolian wildlife photographer Martin Dohrn. He’s got all the fancy kit, the incredible patience of a professional, and has clearly amassed in-depth knowledge of the many species that make homes in his various bits of wood. What separates it from Attenborough and the like though is that he’s not afraid of a bit of anthropomorphising as he becomes fond of certain residents. It’s a charming little film and a good reminder for everyone to do their bit in making the world a bit more hospitable to these crucial little creatures.

For once, a movie review you can actually use, as literally earlier today, I went out and saw Project Hail Mary, which is going to be at your local multiplex for at least another few weeks. Given that’s the case, I commend you to go and enjoy it as much as I did. It’s based on a book by Andy Weir (who gave us The Martian), so you know the science is solid, and directed by Phil Lord and Christopher Miller (Lego Movie, Spider-Verse), so you know the fiction is going to be fun. I won’t give too much of the plot away, but you’ve likely seen the posters of Ryan Gosling in an astronaut suit, and if you can get on board with that prospect then you’re in for a treat. Unlike the time we had to see Matt Damon struggle against the adversities of the void, this has a lot more joy and humour mixed into the space strife. At times it starts to feel a little too fantastical, but then honestly even the strictly factual stuff to do with the universe (I’m thinking Brian Cox, et al) is so mind boggling, I figure you might as well follow through on what might be out there.

I also recently watched the inaugural Saturday Night Live UK, so you didn’t have to. I suppose it was better than the pre-panning suggested, and most of these young comedians seem talented enough, so maybe I just don’t really like sketch comedy that much any more. Even the best ones - I’m thinking Python, Fast Show, Limmy, Ianucci, etc - are hit and miss. You’re not going to tickle everyone’s funny bone every time; something all the harder when performed live and with only a week to write and rehearse the material. So with all that said, there were some sections that raised a smile - I liked the news bit, but perhaps that’s because it’s essentially a bunch of topical gags, rather than five minutes of scripted acting for laughs - and also because the American import I’ve long been campaigning for is to get John Oliver back with his Last Week Tonight format. The shiniest star so far seems to be Fouracres, with his cunty little earring and Irish grandad impressions. I can’t see myself tuning in regularly, much like I never did - or was able to - with the US version, but then that won’t prevent clips being foisted upon me across the socials.

Last month I think I was banging on about that odd compulsion I have against shows that get too popular. Well, combine that with shows that rack up multiple seasons and you’ve got the two main reasons I hadn’t gotten involved in Industry. This being a relatively slow month for new telly options though, meant that I finally decided to press play. And of course - albeit only four episodes in - it’s every bit as excellent as everyone says. Quick, smart, sexy, stressful and with a sharp sense of humour, it also crucially nails goings on in The City due to being written by a couple of former financial services professionals. So many little bits of this - the jargon, the pub patter, the Bloomberg monitors, the deal-making gossip - give me flashbacks to a decade covering various bits of the Square Mile. It’s grubby, gak-filled and gripping. In many ways Industry feels a bit like this generation’s This Life, which I see is back on the Beeb for some anniversary run to make me feel old.

I should also say that as it’s finally made its way onto UK telly via HBO Max, I did watch the first episode of The Pitt - another programme people keep banging on about. This was also pacey, stressful and well put together, but something made me not particularly want to return for another dose. I used to watch ER during the summer holidays when I was younger, so should be predisposed to the genre and Dr Carter/Robinavitch, but unlike similarly anxiety-driven place-of-work shows like The Bear, this seemed devoid of humour or any release outside the hospital. Someone please tell me it gets easier?

And finally for the telly chat, I bloody love Riz Ahmed, but he has been awfully sad and angry in things I’ve seen him in of late, so it’s nice to see him back being funny again with his new venture; Bait. The show opens on his semi-autobiographical character’s Bond audition and spirals from there, mixing comedy banter with cuz Guz Khan into a critical take on how brown people fare in the industry. I’ve only watched a couple so far, but they’re short and sweet; strong recommend.

To conclude the post, some music. It’s the end of the first quarter and my annual playlist has just tipped over 25 songs (out of a usual 100-odd by the end of each year), so time for a quick roundup of what’s happening musically so far in 2026.

The albums I’ve really enjoyed include Sault returning to soulful R&B form, Nathan Fake doing his glitchy, melodic IDM thing, and an early contender for album of the year in the form of Grace Ives’ wonderfully wonky, incredibly catchy pop music.

I was going to do a top five, but to be honest the only track that’s really lodged itself in my head over the last few months has been off that last record. She made one of my favourite earworms of recent times in Lullaby, but Grace has done it again on Dance With Me. I just can’t get enough of that distorted little violin line, the sumptuous production and her breathy vocal.