Pynchon

"The Fountain". (There might be mild spoilers.)



It wouldn't be wrong to say that here in the UK "The Fountain" has had mixed reviews.

The Bad. The Metro called it a "spectacular mess". The Independent called it a "towering, tumultuous folly".

The Good. Empire Online called it a "complex and gorgeous mini-epic". Everybody on IMDB, who's bothered to review it, thinks that it's one of the greatest films ever made.

I'm with the latter bunch. I thought that even in it's compromised form (there is a bit later about what "The Fountain" could have been), it was just wonderful. Absolutely fantastic. I was speechless at the end. (This has been a very difficult film to write about. I have started this pitiful review several times.)

Forget the bollocks about this being a science fiction film about the search for the Tree Of Life. It's like saying that Soderbergh's "Solaris" (another film I really loved) is about George Clooney meeting aliens in outer space. "The Fountain" is way more than just a science fiction film. It's a beautiful and ambiguous meditation on life and death. Specifically it's about the all encompassing obsession, anger and frustration of a man unable and unwilling to accept the death of his wife and his eventual journey to acceptance and peace. It's easily the best performance, by a country mile, that Hugh Jackman has ever given. He should have been Oscar nominated. It's a scandal that he has been ignored.

"The Fountain" has had a troubled genesis.

It was supposed to have gone into production in 2002, with Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett in the lead roles, but Pitt bailed days before the $70 million production was due to begin, citing that great old standby "creative differences" with Director Darren Aronofsky. Aronofsky went on to work on several other projects (a "Batman: Year One" film, that to be honest sounded fascinating because it would have been a realistic and gritty take on the Batman story, with much of the familiar back story jettisoned, and "Watchmen"), none of which made the screen, before securing a much reduced $35 million budget to crack on with "The Fountain" It meant a compromised movie. Less on special effects, huge sets and set pieces.

"The Fountain" was probably never going to be a huge financial success. It is an art film. It was booed at the Venice Film Festival (which was strange) and it died on it's arse at the box office in the States. It is way too strange and obscure and good for the multiplex audience.

Somebody once said to me that they admired me because I have no cinema snobbery, as I will go to see anything. Well, the last bit is true, but I can be a snob. When I saw the 7 Cinema Arseholes walk into the Cineworld at Broad Street in Birmingham last Saturday, my heart sank. I just wanted them to fuck off and watch something else. Eventually they did, probably because I took exception to them after they had managed to talk constantly thorough the adverts, trailers and the first 5 minutes of "The Fountain" . I told them to "shut up" and referred to them as "Fucking Arseholes". I was angry and I looked insane. They probably thought I was going to attack them.

"Venus" tomorrow. It has taken me nearly two hours to write the above, becuase I really am a shit writer.

Labels: Movies

You'll forgive me if I write nothing of any consequence this evening.

I forgot that I was going to be late home from work due to the external staff seminar, and that the shopping was going to be delivered this evening, and that the new series of "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation" was going to start with a double bill.

What's a boy to do? No time.

I shouldn't even be here. I need my beauty sleep.

Labels: Television, Time, Work

Excuse me while I swallow this lump in my throat. (Swallows.)

Also, I need to wipe away this tear. (Wipes.)

I've literally just finished reading "The Time Traveler's Wife". I am a complete and utter wuss. Nobody told me it was a love story and a weepie and that I would be experiencing many a quivering lip and misty eye moment.

Bastards.

They are planning a movie of "The Time Traveler's Wife" and are in discussions with Rachel McAdams to play Clare. I think that she would be a mighty fine choice. Henry? I don't know. I believe that at one point Brad Pitt was attached. Not bad, but somebody like Patrick Wilson would be better.

Next book up? "Tanner's Tiger" by Lawrence Block.

Talking about movies, I saw two at the weekend - "The Fountain" and "Venus". I liked them both a great deal. Time permitting I will go into them tomorrow. Not now. I am beyond tired.

(Tired of a lot of things, really. Situations. People. Missed opportunities. I'll go into it sometime. At the moment I like my isolation.

I'm mysterious, me...)

Labels: Movies, Reading

We decided to watch "Domino".

About 5 minutes in we decided that it was awful. About half an hour in Lorraine decided that she had had enough and went to bed. An hour in I finally gave up, turned over to the "Television X" free preview and had a wank.

I am on Lorraine's laptop. I have downloaded Microsoft and Norton upgrades. I have surfed You Tube. (The "Sunshine" trailer looks pretty good.) I will reply to comments in a minute and then I will go to bed and read my book for half an hour.

That was my Friday night. Kind of pathetic, yes?

Labels: Computers, Lorraine, Movies, Sex

Better late than never. Last Sunday I went to see Paul Verhoeven's new film "Zwartboek" or "Black Book".



I really love Paul Verhoeven. I love his outrageousness. I love his chutzpah. I love the way he only seems to have a limited knowledge of political correctness and chooses to give it the finger when he encounters it. I love the way he turned up at the Razzies to collect the Worst Film and Worst Director awards for "Showgirls" (sure it's bad, but it's entertaining). I've not seen his early films, but I have loved everything since "Flesh + Blood" in 1985.

"Zwartboek" is interesting because if you take away the extreme sex, violence and horror what you are left with is an old fashioned Sunday afternoon WWII melodrama. You know the kind of thing. You've seen it a million times. In the dying days of WWII a plucky Jewish singer, hiding out from the Nazi's, starts to work as a spy for the Resistance. She dyes her hair blonde (all her hair) and starts to get close to a senior Nazi. She falls in love...

So far, so typical, but it is a good film. Not a film, perhaps, that he would have got away with making with an English cast. (It's mostly in Dutch.) There is a interesting ambiguity in that not all of the Nazi's are bad and not all of the Resistance are good. In fact, some of the Resistance are as racist as the Nazi's. Verhoeven winding up his audience again? Good man.

This weekend I will be seeing "The Fountain" and something else, yet to be decided.

I might watch films on TV tomorrow night. If I do, I will be back on Saturday.

... I turned to Stef and said, "Is Stef your real name?"

Turned out that it was. Turned out that the rest of his name was real as well, and that by some strange conjunction (not sure if that is a real word or not) of time, planets and history he was given the perfect name for somebody who works in IT in the 21st Century.

Found out that Stef has been a Blogger, or more accurately, has had an Internet presence since 1999, when approximately 2 men and a dog were surfing the Internet. Lorraine was disturbed to discover that Stef has been following her around for years. Bristol, Nottingham, Birmingham. (Stef - Lorraine wants to know if you ever worked in Brighton or Leicester?) We live directly opposite a school and it turns out that Stef worked as a supply teacher in that very school.

Perhaps I am Stef? Or perhaps he is me? Perhaps I will finally crack those Rassilon equations in the future, regenerate, travel back in time and become Stef? Perhaps Jason Statham will really be the next Doctor (but my choice would be somebody like Jason Flemyng; somebody physically different from the other recent Doctor's)? Perhaps the secret villain in the next series will be the Master (and if he is, and they haven't cast yet, they really should give Rufus Sewell a call)?

Ahem. Sorry about that.

Where was I?

The Science Museum.

Things sometimes really work out for the best. At Christmas we promised my Niece and Nephew that we would take them on a jaunt to London when the weather gets a little bit warmer. One of the places that we thought would be really good to visit was the Science Museum. Mark's kind invitation gave us the chance to do a dry run.

The Science Museum is 5 floors. Time constraints meant that we didn't get the time to visit every floor. We just managed to peruse the floor that we came in on and the "Game On" rooms. Not to worry, though. What we saw was fantastic.

A full size V2 rocket. (As big as a four storey house. I never knew that it was so big.) The Apollo 10 command module. (LB said to me that it was like something out of the old series of "Doctor Who". He was absolutely correct. It looked small and flimsy. How did they go around the Earth in that?) Stevenson's Rocket. (With a big sign saying not to touch in case you might damage it. Damage it? They were having a laugh. It looked huge and fuck-off solid.) Fragments of pottery and glass from Hiroshima. Jet engines. Old cars. An Australian Euthanasia machine. (Eh?)

There was a lot of stuff on the ground floor. Too much to mention. Fascinating. Really interesting. My Niece and Nephew will love it.

Eventually we got into the "Game On" rooms. The ticket said to enter at 16:15. We had an hour and a half.

I am not a gamer. Never have been. The only game I have ever really played on a computer is Tetris or Space Invaders, and I discovered that I was very shit indeed at playing both of them. Computer games have never been anything that I have ever particularly sought out, but I did enjoy having a go on some of the games on offer on Saturday. I won't go through the names of the games because I don't know them, but Lorraine proved to be a whiz on everything she tried.

Horrible cow.

The group had split up and were all over the "Game On" rooms. Every now and again I ran into people. LB had a feverish expression on his face, like a kid who had eaten too many sweets. (Game Addiction. It's a terrible thing.) Suburban Hen was taking photos. Swiss Toni was deep in thought in front of some game or other. (He was driving around a racetrack.) Mark and Graham were living out their Rock God Fantasies. (You can check out the pictures.) Stef waved as he went by. Handsome Mr. X was checking out some Pokemon game. He had successfully mastered the ability to reset the screen. He was laughing. Ellen was keeping an eye on him.

Phew. Exhausting.

At 17:45 we were thrown out of the "Game On" room. Lorraine digged me in the ribs and reminded me that our coach was at 19:00 and that I would be freaking out if we were not at the coach station with at least 30 minutes to spare. So, sadly, we had to leave. Handshakes all around. Some hugs. Promises to do something again. I hope that we do.

Great day all around. Mark - thanks for inviting us. It was a pleasure.

(BTW. Mark, tell Ellen that if she really is interested in joining us for an afternoon or an evening in the West End the next time we are in London, the offer is genuine and she is more than welcome. Actually, so are you, but you might end up at a girly musical and suddenly develop an interest in show tunes. It happened to me!

Please pass my email address onto Ellen so that she can contact us if she wants.)

Sunday... I went to see Paul Verhoeven's latest, "Zwartboek" or "Black Book", but I will go into what I thought about that tomorrow. Ironing awaits.

Right, let's try this again.

Saturday was a blast. A real craic. One of the best days that we have had for ages and over way too soon. If I had thought about it I would have either booked us into a hotel overnight or I would have arranged to get a much later coach home. It was a great day. I didn't want it to end.

You will find pictures here if you are interested. Myself and Lorraine are in some of them. You might spot us...

Nah. I think that my reputation as an International Man Of Mystery is probably still intact.

It will probably be best to do this in some kind of chronological order. There may be digressions.

5am. I awake. I'm in the corridor. I can hear Lorraine snoring in the back room. (Yes. I am still in the front room. It is what it is. I don't dwell on it.) She told me to wake her when I get up, but I don't. I know for a fact that she went to bed sometime after midnight, because she was doing something on the laptop and she is a silly cow. I let her sleep on.

I go downstairs. I have a cup of tea, but no food. The intention is that we buy something to eat at Tesco Metro or New Street Station, to eat on the coach. I watch TV for half an hour. BBC News 24 is obsessed with the whole Jade Goody/Racist thing. It is boring in the extreme. I have not watched even so much as a second of the latest series of Celebrity Big Brother and so I have no comment to make.

I go upstairs. I shit, shave and shower. I wake Lorraine.

She asks, "What time is it?"

I say, "It's a quarter to six, my little pirahna"

"We've got to catch the bus in a fucking hour!" she squeals, leaps out of bed and runs into the bathroom.

I chuckle (because I'm a bastard), go back into the front bedroom and read "The Time Travelers Wife" for half an hour. (It's very good, by the way.)

I dress. I think that I look stylish and sexy. I am totally misguided. There is cursing from the back bedroom. Lorraine has lost her trousers. She says that I have moved them. I deny it. I never touch her clothes. She finds the trousers. Lorraine decides that she doesn't have time to dry her hair, so she combs it back and on some kind of hair band. She asks me how she looks.

"Gorgeous" I say, and I mean it, but she calls me a "Bastard!" anyway.

Out of the house and down the hill. We miss the bus by seconds. It's cool. That service runs every 15 minutes. I chat to a pissed old man at the bus stop. Lorraine eyes him like he has rabies. The bus turns up late.

Tesco Metro. Drinks and sandwiches. A quick jog through town and we are at Digbeth Coach Station. It is nearly 8am. Luckily there are two seats together right at the front of the coach and I manage to drop kick two old ladies to get them. (I made that last bit up.) While Lorraine sorts herself out I scan the bus and spot the mighty Graham making his way back to his seat. He has been in the toilet. (Graham had a bit of a dicky stomach for some of the day.)

"We'll see you later", shouts I.

Thumbs up.

I take my coat off and sit down. The coach moves off. I take out my food. Orange Juice and a BLT. They are gone in seconds. I am fucking starving. Then I sleep for about an hour and a half.

Eventually we get to Victoria Coach Station. We make good time. We are 20 minutes early. I disembark. Graham is nowhere to be seen.

"Did you see Graham get off?" I ask Lorraine.

"I don't know what he looks like" she says. (True.)

I am mighty puzzled. Did I imagine him? No, I didn't. There is movement on the bus. Graham gets off.

"We're you asleep?"

"No. In the toilet." (I told you. Bad stomach. Poor bugger.)

Introductions and then we go the Victoria Station to await Mark and Ellen and the handsome Mr. X. We sit in Starbucks and discuss movies. (Not a surprise.) "Passenger 57", Ken Russell, Hugh Grant, Wesley Snipes. There is a bit of piss taking over the fact that Graham is carrying a Star Wars bag. I thought that there were laws in London about that kind of thing?

Graham's mobile rings. It's Mark. We troop down to Victoria Station and meet up. I've met Mark before, but not Ellen (Mark's missus, who is lovely) or Mr. X (who is even more handsome in real life than he is in the many pictures on Mark's blog). Mr. X eyes us suspiciously. He doesn't know who we are. We eye him back suspiciously. We nod and achieve detente.

Time to meet up with the others.

Victoria to South Kensington on the tube. A walk down the longest tunnel in the world. Lifting pushchairs up and down stairs. (I didn't mind. I needed the exercise.) Out into the street. A walk to the Kensington Palace Thistle Hotel. (Swiss Toni writes on his blog that he didn't rate the hotel much, either for the staff or the facilities. I don't know about that, but I will say this. After we had retired to the bar to await the arrival of the Others (sounds very "Lost", doesn't it?) I tried 3 times to order some teas and coffees, with the guy behind the bar promising to come over to our table every time, but he never made it. Not very good.)

The Others turned up. Suburban Hen, LB, Swiss Toni and Swiss Toni's Lady.

After hotel reception stuff was sorted, Hen came over and gave me and Lorraine a big hug. Hen stayed with us for a couple of days in the summer and has obviously been fighting her true feelings for me all of this time. :-)

"You doing OK?" sez Me.

"I'm fine" sez She.

And that's that. And she does seem fine. Happy and content. Nice hair as well. She's done something to it.

I do the man thing with LB and Swiss Toni (handshakes) and introduce them to Lorraine, who is impressed with their male beauty and the fact that they are both giants. Well, compared to me they are giants. Swiss' Lady I have never met, so we just say hello.

We leave the hotel in search of food and find a very nice Italian restaurant called Strada on Kensington High Street. There is eating and there is drinking (I had a diet coke - just as well) and there is conversation. Comic book adaptations. "V For Vendetta" (good and why did Alan Moore take his name off it?). "Spider Man" and "Hulk" (bad, although Swiss Toni liked "Spider Man"). Would "Watchmen" be any good? (It may go into production later this year. I have high hopes.) Would "Knight Rider" starring George Clooney as Michael Knight be any good? (of course it would be brilliant, but only if they did it seriously and cast James Earl Jones as the voice of KITT).

Much drivel was spoken. Much of it was spoken by me.

Swiss seemed particularly perturbed by the reference to his physical resemblance to Colin from "Spooks". I don't know why. Colin was a genius IT geek and was a hero!

LB wore a Windy Miller T-Shirt. Very cool, except that all of the photos of him show just the word Windy. A cruel person might say that this is a reference to certain gaseous movements, but obviously I would not say such a thing.

Swiss' Lady seemed very tired. I asked her if she had a blog. No. Ah... A normal person. Somebody said that Swiss' Lady is very busy and has way too busy a schedule to do such a thing. A bit like Lorraine, then. Lorraine has never blogged and certainly has never read mine. (Would we still be together if she did read my blog?)

Graham had a camera that, he said, apparently only takes only 1 photo in 3. It did look a bit... old.

Hen and I talked about drinking. She was very interested in the Christmas Party I attended. She asked me exactly how much I did have to drink. I didn't know the answer to that. Not very much. I've written about it. You can find it if you want.

Stef turned up an hour late! It had to be said, though. Stef has the coolest sunglasses.

Mark and Ellen played with Mr. X. Half the restaurant joined in. It was a really happy, nice atmosphere.

Somebody remembered that we were actually in London for the "Game On" exhibition and we decided that we had better get a move on. The bill was paid and we were out in the street. I turned to Stef and said...

... Hmm... I've been here ages. I had better carry on tomorrow. Things to do. People to see. I can't hang around here.

I will add links tomorrow.

Before I go... A joke.

Wanda's dishwasher quit working, so she called a repairman.

Since she had to go to work the next day, she told the repairman, "I'll leave the key under the mat. Fix the dishwasher, leave the bill on the counter, and I'll mail you a cheque.

"Oh, by the way don't worry about my Doberman , Spike. He won't bother you. But, whatever you do, do NOT, under ANY circumstances, talk to my parrot!

"I REPEAT, DO NOT TALK TO MY PARROT!!!"

When the repairman arrived at Wanda's apartment the following day he discovered the biggest, meanest looking Doberman he had ever seen. But, just as she had said, the dog just lay there on the carpet watching the repairman go about his work.

The parrot, however, drove him nuts the whole time with his incessant yelling, cursing and name calling. Finally the repairman couldn't contain himself any longer and yelled, "Shut up, you stupid, ugly bird!"

To which the parrot replied, "Get him, Spike!"

And... Another joke.

Q: Why did the tachyon cross the road?
A: Because it was on the other side.

I feel depressed and sad and upset. Saturday was so good and so enjoyable. So was Sunday, for completely different reasons. It's like the weekend was a happy dream and I have finally woken up.

I suppose that when you have such a good weekend, when you finally come up against the wall of normality, everything that is crap seems so much more magnified.

I'm sorry. I don't want to put a damper on things. Saturday was truly the craic. Don't doubt it.

I will be better tomorrow and I will write and write and write.

Photographs have been circulating of the last Company Christmas Party. I am in a number of these photographs.

I am fat, bloated and red-faced.

I am totally caned.

In every photo my mouth is open. No doubt I am in the act of sharing some of my wisdom with the world.

My beautiful psychedelic blue shirt is creased beyond recognition.

In one photo I am groping my friend Danielle Frank. Danielle is laughing. (Danielle's great. One of my best friends at work. Big tits. Actually big everything. Funny, unpretentious and working class. Every day I tell her how nice she looks and every day she asks me what I am after. She says that I am responsible for her child.... No. You don't understand. She says that I am to blame for her getting together with her boyfriend, now husband.

Danielle and I were once doing a Saturday shift and chewing the fat about boyfriends and girlfriends. Work? Ha ha ha ha ha! She told me all about the guy she was with (who was nice and safe and boring) and another guy she had just met that she really liked (who was a bit of a bad boy). I told her to shag both of them, because a fuck is a fuck, after all. I was joking, but she did shag both of them and ended up with the bad boy, who turned out to not be such a bad boy after all.)

In another photo I am intently gazing down the cleavage of the lovely Sandy Trout. I am smiling. Sandy is looking at the camera with a glazed look on her face. She looks as drunk as I am. (Sandy broke up with her husband Jack over Christmas. It's a terrible shame, because they are both good people. Lorraine and I went to a couple of the BBC Good Food Show events with them. Sandy has wasted no time and has now got together with one of the idiot analysts from upstairs. Freddie Podge, who is a nice guy and is good enough to give Lorraine and me a lift home from work now and again, said that Sandy and the analyst were practically taking each other's clothes off at the Christmas Party. I don't remember that at all.)

In another photo I look like the bastard son of Keith Moon and Oliver Reed. I am wild eyed and my arms are in the air. I look like I have just come from a fight.

In another photo I am kissing some bloke on the cheek. He looks kind of sexy, actually...

The worrying thing about all of the above is that I remember none of it. Perhaps I blacked out. Good job I didn't kill anyone, isn't it? I don't actually remember having very much to drink at all. I remember getting to the party and I remember Lucy Toad's dress. I remember talking to Danielle and I remember thinking that it was a quite good party, if somewhat scaled down from some of the parties of the past. I remember going home.

I've told Lorraine about the photos. She shrugged and said that I always turn into Mr. Nasty once I've had too much to drink. She said that the loss of memory is a new one.

I worry that I am turning into my Dad.

I am now older than my dad by about 8 days. I didn't mark that anniversary.

Anyway...

We're out tomorrow on a trip to the smoke to meet... Well, actually to meet some of the people that drop by here occasionally. I'm looking forward to it. Should be good. Lorraine may be there, or she may not. If she's not there, I'll explain on the day. If she is, well, we won't mention it, will we?

The first pint's on me. (Er... Maybe not.)

Move along. Move along. Nothing to see here.

(It's amazing what a bit of wind can do to your plans. Late leaving work. Late getting home. Late eating, washing up and ironing. Late getting onto the computer. Late.

I'll be back tomorrow.)

I need to backtrack slightly to Sunday. There are a couple of things that I forgot to mention. It might be interesting. I don't know.

On Sunday I went around to Sister 3's house early to try to sort out her PC. She had been having problems. The plan was that I would be finished by midday, stay for some lunch and then be in the cinema by 3pm watching "The Last King Of Scotland". It didn't quite go that way.

Sister 3 lived up magnificently to my Brother's low standards of computer security. She had let her firewall/virus checker subscription lapse. (Good job I had purchased her a new firewall/virus checker just for that eventuality, wasn't it?) Her PC was riddled with spyware, malware and every other kind of 'ware' you might think of. She had loaded 'strange' software, given to her by her friends. There were weird files on her desktop and various programs loading at bootup stage that shouldn't have been there.

Ho hum. It was about what I expected.

So, after hitting Sister 3 around the head with a rolled up copy of "Web User", I got to work and eventually got most of the problems sorted out. It took hours, and there were some things that still needed to be done, but nothing urgent. I'll be going back there at some point.

There was no time for the cinema, and that was a pain, but truth be told I quite enjoyed myself at Sister 3's. At home I am a very nervous computer user, full stop. I'm very apprehensive about loading new software onto my own computer and I hardly ever change settings. It's the way I like it. I do not like having to sort out the messes if it goes wrong. My attitude? If it works and it suits, leave it alone.

Give me somebody else's computer and I am fearless. I will load, run and delete applications. I will reconfigure software . I will reboot to my heart's content. I will look up solutions on the Internet and implement them (after a backup, of course.) I will damn the consequences and laugh in the face of danger, like Zorro. If only I could be that guy on my own computer...

Perhaps it's that I don't care about anybody else's property? Yes. It might be that.

So, it was a good day at Sister 3's. I introduced by Nephew (he's 10) to You Tube and found some classic clips by the Beatles and the Stones, with which I hoped to improve his musical education. He shrugged and said that they were "OK" and then found a clip by some rapper called Akon, who I had never heard of, which he proceeded to groove to.

What are they teaching kids these days? Savages. Philistines.

(The first time I ever heard the Beatles "She's Leaving Home" was in an English class when I was very young. We had to analyse the lyrics. I remember that it was the first time I realised songs could tell stories, rather than just be about boy meets girl and girl meets boy.)

Sister 1 and my Niece turned up. Sister 1 said that my Niece wanted to ask me something.

"What do you want to ask me?", I said.

"Do you think that Nicole Richie is nice looking?" asked my Niece.

"No, I don't" said I. "She's too thin. She's horrible."

"Told you!", said Sister 1 to my Niece. Then to me "Do you think that most men like girls that are curvy?"

"Definitely. I think more men like girls that are curvy than girls that are thin. I do. Yes."

It turned out that my Niece had become quite picky with her food recently, and sometimes didn't eat very much at all. She said that this was because she wanted to look like Nicole Richie or Paris Hilton.

My Niece is 9 years old. Oh, yes.

I have every confidence that Sister 1 will manage to knock this nonsense on it's head, but I did sit my Niece down and try to explain a couple of things about being healthy and what dieting at her age could do to her body in the future. Also the difference between being curvy and being overweight.

My Niece has always been slim, and has always eaten well, and I will do my best to ensure that the situation remains that way.

Fucking cliched media images. You're looking for trouble, guys. Don't push me.

I found this on a blog somewhere. I can't credit it, because I can't remember which blog.

Sorry.

A - Available/Single? Not available. Co-habiting.

B - Best Friend? Lorraine, of course, but perhaps a few other people online who may have some inkling of what I am all about. I don't really know.

C - Cake or Pie? I ate all the pies.

D - Drink Of Choice? Tea.

E - Essential Item You Use Everyday? My TV. (Very sad.)

F - Favourite Colour? Haven't got one.

G - Gummy Bears Or Worms? No idea. What are Gummy Bears and Worms?

H - Hometown? Birmingham.

I - Indulgence? Going to the cinema.

J - January Or February? February. No reason.

K - Kids & Their Names? I had ideas for names for both my Niece and my Nephew, but they were completely ignored. It doesn't really matter.

L - Life Is Incomplete Without? Sleep.

M - Marriage date? No idea.

N - Number Of Siblings? I had 3 younger sisters and 3 younger brothers, but 2 of my brothers were stillborn. They had names, they were here and they were part of my family.

O - Oranges Or Apples? Apples, but I prefer Bananas.

P - Phobias/Fears? Suffocation, and I really don't like it much when my day to day routine is disturbed. I really don't like it. I get angry and agitated and mental.

Q - Favourite Quote? "I can't die yet. I haven't seen 'The Jolson Story'." which were the last words spoken by the fatally injured Jetboy as he attempted to stop a bomb containing the Wild Card virus from exploding over New York City on 15th September 1946. (Some of the "Wild Cards" books are great. You should check them out.) ... In fact that's a great quote. I think I'll put it on my blog header.

R - Reason to Smile? Getting one over on the pricks.

S - Season? Autumn. "All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey." Isn't that just the most brilliant, evocative opening line for an Autumn song?

T - Tag people? I tag everybody in the entire world.

U - Unknown Fact About Me? I cannot think of a single thing. Perhaps somebody would like to ask me something that they have always wondered about me?

V - Vegetable you don't like? Parsnips, but I will eat them because Lorraine says that they are "good for me". Who's she kidding?

W - Worst Habit? Biting my nails.

X - X-rays You've Had? My wrist, my legs, my mouth.

Y - Your Favourite Food? Chips! Chips are your friend! Chips are your buddy! Chips are good for you? (No they're're not.) Oh... OK.

Z - Zodiac Sign? Virgo. Cool, calm and collected. I wish.

I have a joke!

It was entertainment night in the lounge at the Old Age Pensioners Home and the Amazing Claude was topping the bill. People came from miles around to see the famed hypnotist do his stuff. As Claude went to the front of the meeting room, he announced, "Unlike most hypnotists who invite two or three people up here to be put into a trance, I intend to hypnotize each and every member of the audience."

The excitement was almost electric as Claude withdrew a beautiful antique pocket watch from his coat. "I want you each to keep your eye on this antique watch. It's a very special watch. It's been in my family for six generations."

He began to swing the watch gently back and forth while quietly chanting, "Watch the watch, watch the watch, watch the watch..."

The crowd became mesmerized as the watch swayed back and forth; light gleaming off its polished surface. Hundreds of pairs of eyes followed the swaying watch, until, suddenly, it slipped from the hypnotist's fingers and fell to the floor, breaking into a hundred pieces.

"Shit" said the Hypnotist.

It took several days to clean up the lounge at the Old Age Pensioners Home.

Pynchon is available for weddings and Bar Mitzvah's.

In other news, I've been to see "Apocalypto".



I come to praise Mel Gibson, not to bury him. In recent times he may have turned out to be a bit of a nobber, but he has put together a good film in "Apocalypto".

Yes, "Apocalypto" is extremely violent and bloodthirsty, and has pretentions towards art by shooting all of the dialogue in authentic Maya, when really shooting the dialogue in English wouldn't have made a lot of difference to the reality of the film, but it is also a beautifully constructed and exhilarating action film. The film is visceral, fast and even funny. The whole chase sequence during the second half of the film is fantastic, with our hero using only his wits and cunning to take out the villains. And what villains... (Boo, hiss.) Perhaps "Apocalypto" is a little bit long, and (vague spoilers ahead) the whole wife-in-peril and the arrival of the future at the end is a bit conveniently plotty, but on balance it is not a bad film to start the year with.

You'll like it. Forget that Gibson's a twat. Go to see "Apocalypto" and enjoy, but beware, it is violent.

I have just finished "The Colour Of Magic" and am now about to start "The Time Traveller's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger . Lorraine tried to read it yonks ago and gave up, saying that it was not her kind of thing. I never do that. I try to finish everything that I start - book or film. I want to know how it ends, no matter how bad it might be.

Boring story.

Years ago Pynchon knew somebody. (Yes I did.) Pynchon did not like this somebody. This somebody was a very big fan of the work of Terry Pratchett. Pynchon decided that as this somebody liked Terry Pratchett, Terry Pratchett must obviously be crap.

The End.

Utter nonsense of course, but I have indulged in this kind of smug damned-by-association gubbins before.

I used to work for a guy that I loathed. (Hard to believe, I know.) The guy was an arselicker, management-bollocks sprouting, glory grabbing, ignorant cunt. If there was an annual World Championship for obsequiousness this guy would be World Champion every year. (Weirdly enough I now get on fine with this guy. I think that this says an awful lot about my attitude to anybody in recent times who has ever thought that they they can manage me. My manager at the moment is Lorraine. She leaves me alone.) This guy was a huge fan of the Ricky Gervais version of "The Office" . I decided that the series obviously must be shite in the extreme if he liked it. It took two years for me to finally see the series for the genius that it is when the BBC broadcast both the first and second series over consecutive nights, a few Christmasses ago.

Lesson number 1. Even arseholes can have good taste.

When I first started going out with Lorraine she lent me a Terry Pratchett book. She said to give it a try. I did. I remember that it wasn't one of the Discworld series. I can't remember what it was called, but I didn't like it. I patted myself on the back as I could now smugly claim that, "I tried to read Terry Pratchett, but I didn't like him".

During Christmas this year Sky One broadcast an adaptation of Terry Pratchett's Discworld novel "Hogfather". I expressed an interest in seeing it. The trailer looked funny and interesting. It was a two parter. I watched it. I didn't get past the first part. I thought it was boring and confusing.

Before watching "Hogfather" Lorraine was happy that I was giving Terry Pratchett a chance and she bought me 3 Discworld novels for Christmas. I remember her face dropping when I told her that I thought "Hogfather" was rubbish.

Still, all's well that end's well. I love "The Colour Of Magic". If I can get a few more of the Discworld books under my belt before the end of the year, then I would like to give "Hogfather" another go.

... And that's the story of how I came to get into Terry Pratchett this New Year.

Has the New Year stopped feeling... er... new, yet? It hasn't for me. Not yet. It's probably because my New Year didn't start until Monday this week when I went back to work. Until Monday this week I was living in a daze of toilet visits and bad daytime TV. Very easy to stop returning to the same bad routine when you are forced out of that routine.

When I became ill I decamped into the front bedroom in case I infected Lorraine. I am still in the front bedroom, even though there is now practically nothing wrong with me. My choice. I have told Lorraine that I am still feeling a bit iffy and that has been a good enough for her. Perhaps staying in the front bedroom will go on for some time? I think that it might.

At the moment I do not desire Lorraine at all sexually. I have not asked Lorraine for sex at all this year. I don't think Lorraine has even noticed that I have stopped asking. I have kissed Lorraine on the cheek, and I have hugged her, but that is as far as I feel the need to go. It's very strange. At one point that feeling was so strong and now it isn't there at all.

I do still love her. Maybe we will end up having one of those civilized relationships where a couple share a house in a loving, non sexual relationship with one of the partner's turning a blind eye to the sexual assignations of the other. I suppose it can work.

Thinking about it, I don't think I have masturbated at all this year, either. Perhaps I'm turning Gay! No. I remember now. I got a semi hard-on thinking about Hannah Waterman's breasts when she was performing in "Just The Two Of Us". Sorry boys. Another time, yes?

What else?

I have booked a ticket to see Amy Winehouse's show at the Carling Academy next month (Lorraine wasn't interested) and I have rediscovered reading. Morning and evening I have been reading the first of Terry Pratchett's Discworld books, "The Colour Of Magic". Brilliant. Very funny. I am so glad that Lorraine bought me that book for Christmas. There's a story behind Lorraine getting me that book for Christmas, which I will go into tomorrow.

At this moment the New Year looks good.

Lorraine went to the Vet today to pick up Ben's ashes. I would have gone with her, but I was working late. When I got home Lorraine was holding a small ceramic pot and was crying her heart out. It's not easy watching Lorraine cry. I did not cry. I think I got most of that out of me over Christmas.

The original idea was to scatter Ben's ashes in the long grass at the rear of the garden, where he used to crouch in the Summer, thinking that he was invisible. Ben was a huge, ginger monster. He was not invisible. I don't think that that is going to happen. The pot is currently in pride of place on the huge shelf that we bought to house ornaments, last summer. It's a nice little pot decorated with, I think, forget-me-nots, but Ben isn't in there. A big cat like Ben could never fit into such a small pot.

Ho hum.

I went out briefly yesterday morning to pick up the "The Nightmare Before Christmas" calendar from the post office, where it had been languishing since the 4th of January. I had purchased the calendar online before Christmas (way before Christmas - 25th November!) and it finally turned up this week, where a bastard postman decided to not to ring my doorbell and instead decided to stick a card through my door telling me, in effect, to come and get it because it was too big to put through the letter box.

Oh, well. Silver linings and all that. I needed the fresh air and the exercise. I hadn't been out of the house since Tuesday.

When I got home I watched TV. And then more TV. And then more TV. And then... (Oh Shut Up, we get the picture.) "Charade", "Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country", "Just The Two Of Us", "Have I Got Old News For You", etc. My eyes turned square and I went to bed.

I suppose I could have gone to see "Apocalypto" today, but I chose to stay in. I didn't feel like it and, anyway, I still feel very weak. Instead I pottered around the house with a sad expression on my face.

Manchester United 2-1 Aston Villa.

Lorraine is walking around in a barely suppressed rage. I think it's me. In her own words I am "under her feet". Her sympathy only stretches so far.

Back to work tomorrow. What's on TV tonight?

Ho hum.

Here I was, sitting here as miserable as sin, with a nuclear stomach ache, ready to spread horror and distress throughout the land, and my mood suddenly changes when "C.T.A.-102" by the Byrds (one of the daftest songs ever recorded) appears on my MP3 player.

And now it's playing "It's Only Rock 'N' Roll" by da Stones!

Music. It's great isn't it?

I think that's it for today.

Thanks guys. It's been emotional.

Welcome to Pynchon Towers where the entertainment since approximately 8pm yesterday evening to approximately 8am this morning has consisted for your host decorating the latrine various shades of brown. Maybe too much information, but it's my blog, so there!

I am feeling like shit. I smell like shit. The house smells like shit. It's all shit. Shit.

Almost poetry.

Last night Lorraine cooked me some eggs. It was a bad mistake. Midway through watching the BBC's pro/celeb duet singing contest "Just The Two Of Us" (it's essential viewing and absolutely dreadful; I wanted to vote for Hannah Waterman on the strength of her magnificent breasts, but Lorraine wouldn't let me) my stomach kicked in and didn't let go until this morning when I took some more anti-shit pills.

You'll excuse me if I cut this short. I have a toilet visit to make. I will be back tomorrow. I doubt I will be going to work.

The last time we visited Lorraine's Aunt in Golders Green, a couple of hours after returning home I went down with some kind of stomach bug that incapacitated me for 3 days. The old witch seems to be refining her technique. This time I went down with something just as bad while still sitting on the coach, two hours away from Birmingham. By an almighty effort of iron will I managed to avoid vomiting until I got off the coach and found a rubbish bin. Lucky really. I did have Lorraine's handbag in front of me, just in case. Lorraine winced every time I retched. (It's a nice bag.) Strangely enough I was quite enjoying the reactions of the rest of the passengers to somebody in their midst seemingly going down with the plague. You need to find your enjoyment where you can. That's what my Dad used to say.

So, did Lorraine's Aunt try to poison me, or was it the dodgy duck from the night before? You choose. Lorraine also vomited last night, but just the once, and she went to work this morning feeling fine. I've not been to work today. It wasn't an option. I have been to the Doctor's. He said that as the vomiting had stopped, the best thing I could do was to drink lots of fluids and to rest for a couple of days. He didn't feel the need to prescribe anything and said that it was probably food poisoning or some form of gastroenteritus (sic?) and that I would be fine in a couple of days. Good enough for another day off work, then? What's on the TV on Thursday, during the daytime? I'll have to check it out.

(Slumped in front of the TV this morning there was a story on "This Morning" (cuddly morning TV show, aimed at the housebound and unemployed) as to how this week would be the worst for people pulling "sickies". Oh, I did feel guilty...)

There were signs I shouldn't have ignored. On Monday night/Tuesday morning I didn't sleep a wink and I was farting noxious fumes (and I still am). Tuesday morning I had chronic heartburn. I was OK during the day, but fell asleep for hours at Lorraine's Aunt's house, which I put down to boredom. On the way home I felt queasy after having a cup of tea at Golders Green coach station and... you know the rest, except that I was sweating like a pig and developed lots of spots on my chest. More spots than normal.

Poor me. I am knackered.

I think I'll have a lie down before "Mission: Impossible" (the genius TV series, not the awful first two Tom Cruise films - the third one was much better) starts at 4pm. It's all go, when you're ill.

Happy New Year! (Same as the Old Year? Ah... Well, there's the rub. Who the fuck knows?)

I have allowed today to go by in a haze of negativity and anger; lubricated somewhat by several bottles of San Miguel. It is a piss poor start to the year, with all the promises of trying to be a better person going out of the window straight away.

Never mind. I'll get out of the house tomorrow.

Happy New Year to everybody who cares. There are quite a lot of people who, I think, care about what happens to me.

Dinner to be cooked before the finale of "Torchwood" at 9:30pm. I'm gone.

Lorraine is OK, by the way. She has been tiptoeing around me all day. I will never ask her for sex ever again. It's the one resolution I have made. We are going out tomorrow to visit her Aunt in Golders Green. I will behave myself.

I will catch up with everybody this week. I'm gone.