Pynchon

40 minutes or so ago we finished watching "Carry On Up The Spartan", sorry, "Troy". It's a film full of beautiful, long haired, buff looking men (and women), some of them wearing tight leather skirts. There are fights, beards and portentous dialogue. At times Brad Pitt gazes soulfully into the distance (no doubt thinking of Angelina and who can blame him?), his features ablaze with conflicting emotions. At one point Brad deflowers a virgin (Rose Byrne, possibly the new Bond girl) who looks a bit like a young Gillian Anderson. We wondered why the great Brian Blessed (the loudest British actor working today) was not offered a part in this movie. We worked out that he is far too subtle an actor.

We thought that "Troy" was dreadful. It was almost a parody, which was it's saving grace as far as I was concerned. We were entranced for the whole 2 and a half hours of it's running time. When the dialogue was not up to it, Lorraine and I made up our own. When Orlando showed himself to be a chicken shit, Peter O'Toole should have said, "You bring shame upon this kingdom!", but he didn't. So I did.

The highlight of my working day was Vicky Sunshine waving at me from her car as she arrived at work. I forgot to say that we shared a moment in the canteen yesterday.

I said, "How you doing, Vic?"

She said, "Fine John. How are you?"

I said, "Busy."

She said, "Me too. No time. Gotta go."

And with a thrust of her chests in my general direction, she was gone.

Lovely girl. Lorraine was standing next to me during this entire exchange and I swear that I could feel her laser beam stare burning the hair off the side of my head.

Not connected to the above, I'm sure, Lorraine told me that she will be "Too tired to do any sex things this week, so don't even ask, thank you very much". Last night, before bed, I found some clips of Christy Canyon on the web and entertained myself. I know. It's very sad.