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Jamshyd's sev'n-ringed Cup
Friday, 2 December 2005 06:30 pmNew challenge: to construct a subject line from Omar Khayyam by randomly opening it at a page, and finding something relevant. The first attempt worked rather well, given that this morning I did go forth (channels Samuel Pepys, the de facto patriarch of blogging) and see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. This breaks my hitherto unbreakable rule, which is never to see movies in their first week unless they're Serenity or Lord of the Rings, but in fact ends up rewriting said rule with a corollary: unless it's a 9.15 a.m. show, in which case the cinema is gratifyingly empty. The older I get, the more I hate crowds. Must be the Granny Weatherwax Syndrome. Anyway, today's film was relatively underattended, and the smallish horde of screaming kids was, in fact, relatively well behaved, except for the clutch of early teenagers sitting behind me, who snickered at all the off colour jokes, which was OK, because it covered up the way I was snickering at the off-colour jokes. ( Spoilery sort of review follows )
Book club last night: a more than usually talkative, giggly and sozzled sort of evening, punctuated by excellent food cooked, in a pleasing reversal of cliche, by attendant men - stv on Thai, and the Evil Landlord on don pedros. I restrained myself, and have only come away with a P J O'Rourke, Allende's Zorro, and a second stab at The Time-Traveller's Wife, a novel which I was unable to read beyond the first few pages last time I tried. Presumably the structuralist criticism will let up enough at some point for me to actually read frivolous stuff like literature.
The Army of Reconstruction have, in defiance of all probability, more or less constructed a garage in our front garden. Yesterday and today were somewhat noisy, as they took down the old pillars off the pergola outside my bedroom, only killing half the grape-vine in the process, and joyously dug up various drains in pursuit of some or other obscure end. The garage is roofed, half-painted and almost doored; another few days and I'll be able to make the final survey which will reveal how many square inches of lawn have actually survived. My guestimate: about three and a half.
Book club last night: a more than usually talkative, giggly and sozzled sort of evening, punctuated by excellent food cooked, in a pleasing reversal of cliche, by attendant men - stv on Thai, and the Evil Landlord on don pedros. I restrained myself, and have only come away with a P J O'Rourke, Allende's Zorro, and a second stab at The Time-Traveller's Wife, a novel which I was unable to read beyond the first few pages last time I tried. Presumably the structuralist criticism will let up enough at some point for me to actually read frivolous stuff like literature.
The Army of Reconstruction have, in defiance of all probability, more or less constructed a garage in our front garden. Yesterday and today were somewhat noisy, as they took down the old pillars off the pergola outside my bedroom, only killing half the grape-vine in the process, and joyously dug up various drains in pursuit of some or other obscure end. The garage is roofed, half-painted and almost doored; another few days and I'll be able to make the final survey which will reveal how many square inches of lawn have actually survived. My guestimate: about three and a half.
