The 80s Were Bonkers And Bonking
God bless Jilly Cooper, Rupert Campbell-Black and the new Disney+ reboot of her classic bonkbuster. Yes, its a word!
This is an ode to Rivals and Riders. And Rupert Campbell-Black and Jilly Cooper. And the 80s and the 90s. And my youth. And my love of writing and words. And telling funny stories. Because all of these things are centred around the book, Rivals. Which is now a series on Disney+. I have read this book more times than I can count.
Full disclosure: I am a Jilly Cooper super fan.
Now many literary snobs will tell you that having a book that was dubbed a ‘bonkbuster’ as your favourite piece of literature, while simultaneously being someone who people rely on for endless book recommendations – both personally and professionally – is something of a career black hole. But I disagree and it’s not difficult to imagine that 1990’s Dani was even less culturally sophisticated. I was all in when it came to darling Jilly.
Everything I learnt about witty language use, one-liners, hapless heroines - and snarky ones too - I learnt from her. I know that Cameron wears Fracas and I was desperate for a signature fragrance. I know Taggie abhors violence so I got to be a 16-year-old who used the word “abhors” in a posh voice. I know that Freddie’s wife Valerie would just open up her silky gown to let him see her bush so she wouldn’t have to actually shag him….
Actually, I’m not sure what exactly that taught me other than that Jilly could write absolutely outrageous things that I had never read before and that I didn’t like Valerie and loved darling Freddie.
Plus the covers are iconic – and in the words of Kim Kardashian “I love to do iconic shit.” So does Jilly, as it turns out. Riders and Rivals covers live rent-free in the memories of anyone who grew up in this era. It was the well-worn book with the shiny gold foiled lettering and the man’s hand firmly planted on the peachiest of jodhpur-clad bottom, riding crop in hand. What followed for Rivals was the high-heeled red court shoe stomping on the man’s hand. Neither artwork has been updated much since – nor has it faded in the collective public conscience. So S&M, so naughty, so … Jilly.
And yet somehow despite all the bonking, still so wholesome.
Dame Jilly Cooper, because yes, she is now a Dame, is a certified legend. If Booktok had existed in the late 80s, she would have ruled the hashtag. She is a spicy beach read, friends-to-lovers, enemies-to-lovers, grumpy-and-sunshine-trope personified.
Jilly was a journalist in the 60s writing fiction for women’s magazines. These cute short stories became cuter books, named after all her hapless heroines, and then, eventually, with a drumroll and a great door-stopping thunk came Riders in 1985. Millions of copies sold and hundreds and hundreds of pages later - the bonkbuster was born.
Half the fun of Jilly’s books is that you get the sense that they are much like Jilly herself. They are conversational, gossipy, hilariously funny and raunchy. And don’t take themselves terribly seriously. I adore them. These first two books remain my most read books of all time. They’d be on my desert island with me.
That said, for many of you, Dame Jilly has perhaps not aged well in the 30 intervening years… In 1990 when I read this book – it is book number two about the dishy and philandering Rupert Campbell-Black or RCB as he is affectionately known – it was a riot.
RCB is a rake, a devilishly handsome, wealthy British aristo who shags absolutely everyone – single or married. Everyone - and I do mean everyone - salivates over him. Even his dogs and horses adore him. He started life as an Olympic show-jumper in Riders, but by Rivals-era, he’s the Minister for Sport in Thatcher’s conservative government.
You love to loathe him, but secretly you don’t – you also want to tame him, love him et cetera. Yes, very healthy, I know. Still hot though. And the start of many of my generation’s poor choice in men! He also lives in a ginormous golden country pile in Rutshire, so it doubles as a brilliant marketing tool for wanting to move to the countryside, get a pony and a hot, rich boyfriend.
Jilly is a total hoot – she will forever be on my list of “which celebrities would you most like at a dinner party”. She writes about being rogered in the rhododendrons – hark the poetry 😉 - and RCB’s ditty for the start of spring has been lodged in my brain for 30 years now. It’s this: ‘first of May, first of May, let outdoor f*cking start today’. I mean it doesn’t work for us Saffers, you’d quite literally freeze your balls off, but Jilly’s light refrain remains undimmed in my mems.
These Rutshire Chronicles were incandescent back in the late 80s, but it is positively vanilla now and also terribly un-PC… It takes you back to a past where the worst thing that could happen, as Camilla Long mused, was: “your tits accidentally flopping out or getting shagged up against the five-bar gate by an utter, utter bastard.” So how to make a series in 2024 that honours its gazillions of madly loyal, global fans while simultaneously making a mint and not being utterly irrelevant to contemporary audiences?
Thanks Disney, you absolute geniuses, you set it slap bang in the middle of the 80s excess. You lean into what has aged this story and you make it a period piece – a delicious, decadent, over-the-frothy-top period piece. Plus, the series literally kicks off with RCB’s naked bottom thrusting joyously in a Concorde loo as the sound barrier is broken to rapturous applause, so what could possibly go wrong?
Nothing it seems.
There’s a soundtrack of absolute bangers and the most outrageous and utterly marvellous fashion. Every man has a hairy chest. Many of them have a ‘tache that would make Magnum PI weak with envy. The ladies enjoy lashings of blue shadow, hairspray, shiny red lipstick and nary a BB cream, nude lipliner, Brazilian wax or boob job in sight. It is hammy and fantastic and naïve in its This Is Not 2024 Brilliance. And Excess.
Everyone is in on the joke. Plus its 1988, so bodies – true to form - are either RCB-levels of smoking hot or a little pudgy. Women have figures, not abs. Many of the men have a belly. The hair is positively awful but in a good way – perms, back combs, teased heights, flick curls, balding. Their outfits are beyond the pale – gold lamé, nipped waists, corsets, fans, corsages, flammable floof and more skin-tight than a Herve Leger bandage dress, which incidentally first launched at the exact same time.
Everyone smokes cigarettes, has a tan from the sun (good grief!) and has loads of sex and loads of orgasms with very little drama, navel-gazing, hair-pulling or porny weirdness. For all the shagging and naked tennis - more iconic shit - it is so wholesome. And Rivals: the series captures the moments perfectly, right down to Lady In Red played at the end of the night as everyone is either passed out, partied out or bonking on a pile of forgotten coats in the guest boudoir.
No surprise, I loved it. It stuck so slavishly to the book that when the series ended on a plot twist, my eyes almost bugged out of my head. Season two should be interesting. Suspend your disbelief and let me know what you think. And trim your bush!
Gawwwd now I have to reactivate my Disney+ subscription (rolls eyes)