In most movies there's a germ of a good idea, and it's the director's job to bring it out as much as possible. Does that happen in 'Deadly Pursuit'? Well, it's debatable.
'Deadly Pursuit' is known through most of the world by the far more generic and unimpressive title 'Shoot To Kill'. It was changed here in the UK in the aftermath of some headline-grabbing shootings and henceforth we knew it as 'Deadly Pursuit'. It's a funny, odd, bizarre mix of a movie which really would sink without the gravitas of its lead actor, the man himself, Sidney Poitier. Poitier is an enigma to me, being as he was for the longest time the living representative of the African race in movies. He was THE African American leading man, and he did it by being tough, straightforward and relentlessly honest on screen. Without him, Will Smith and Denzel Washington couldn't have become actors and progress would have taken decades longer. It's funny that it almost seems that with 'Deadly Pursuit' and 'Sneakers' (an awesome film), he finally let himself do a bit of comedy. Maybe he did lots of comedy that I missed but in his first flush of fame he did a lot of 'issue' movies and that's fatal for me.
In 'Deadly Pursuit', Poitier plays FBI agent Warren Stantin and has become embroiled in the manhunt for a kidnapper who has taken a fortune in diamonds for a ransom and then shot his victim anyway. Warren is almost stereotypically stubborn in his pursuit, a deadly pursuit. Finally, after being boxed in, the kidnapper takes off into the wilderness by replacing a tourist on a hiking trip. Warren recruits his own guide and the pursuit is on.
The core of the movie is in this wilderness pursuit, where the killer (Clancey Brown) has his own captured guide Sarah (Kirstie Alley) while Warren has Sarah's country hermit beau Knox (Tom Berenger) to help him and spark off of in a small scale clash of cultures. That's it, except for the humorous moments. There are some humorous animal incidents involving a horse, a moose and a bear and that's all I'll say. The funny bits are very funny, and really feel weird in this mixed up epic. We start off with murderous urban noir, then outback survivalism with some animal gags, then another set of urban noir and close. It feels very strange. This is a movie that is easily lost in the mass of 1980s cop films, and honestly the casting of Berenger doesn't help, but it does stand out as different. In many ways it pulls its punches and I wish it wouldn't. There's an abortive attempt to make us wonder which of the hikers is the killer, and they're all played by people with experience of playing bad guys, but then they reveal it rather too easily. We could have been tense well into the second hour wondering who the killer was, but that's blown. Also, the cops seem very easily impressed by the killer's smarts at avoiding being shot, but it seems like a duvet over him and his victim would be a common way to avoid sharpshooters.
The production values are good, but it does look cheap in the way that a lot of late 1980s movies looked cheap. The music is steady and does its job. The performances are solid, except maybe for Berenger, and Poiter pulls funny faces to great aplomb. The direction is okay but uninspired although a sense of height is conveyed very well throughout the mountainous scenes. Overall, if you don't mind a few gun deaths and a funny moose scene then you might like this. It's mainly to be watched for Poitier being goofy in a clichéd role.
O.
Sunday, 10 March 2013
Friday, 8 March 2013
An Appeal
(Part I)
Amongst all the biscuits there is one that commands respect and wields fear like a sharpened weapon of war. Before it there can be no restraint and there is no defence, unless it's Morrisons own brand. This is a warning for you all to be cautious, and if you should still happen to see a packet of plain chocolate digestives move elsewhere as quickly as possible. This is no false warning.
The plain chocolate digestive is a deceptively simple object, being as it is the humble digestive biscuit with a topping of plain dark chocolate. You would think that it was harmless, unless taken excessively, and indeed it should be but it has powers that extend beyond the addictive food substances contained therein. For instance, there is the case of Randall Sponger, who was last seen in the environs of Milton Keynes town centre last May. Pleas for assistance from his family and the unresolved nature of the case brought it to BBC Crimewatch's attention and several witnesses claim to have seen him buying two packets of digestives and an orange before ambling out into the dark to be seen never thereafter. Or consider Wanda McGilivray, who vanished on a cross-channel ferry to Calais, and whose last words were 'No, never the milk chocolate.'
There are score of disappearances and deaths that go unsolved every month, all linked by plain chocolate digestives and digital wrist watches. Dozens of people are left in anguish and only the biscuit makers make any allowances for their welfare. As a result of this we would like to ask you, the humble biscuit buying public, to support us in our quest to solve the Mystery of the Plain Chocolate Digestive. If we act quickly enough we can stop people like James Crankle from appearing one day, stone cold knurd and amnesiac in Hyde Park wearing a plain chocolate digestive wrapper hat.
Thank you for any information you can provide. And be careful out there. Vigilance is the key.
The Plain Chocolate Digestive Detective.
Amongst all the biscuits there is one that commands respect and wields fear like a sharpened weapon of war. Before it there can be no restraint and there is no defence, unless it's Morrisons own brand. This is a warning for you all to be cautious, and if you should still happen to see a packet of plain chocolate digestives move elsewhere as quickly as possible. This is no false warning.
The plain chocolate digestive is a deceptively simple object, being as it is the humble digestive biscuit with a topping of plain dark chocolate. You would think that it was harmless, unless taken excessively, and indeed it should be but it has powers that extend beyond the addictive food substances contained therein. For instance, there is the case of Randall Sponger, who was last seen in the environs of Milton Keynes town centre last May. Pleas for assistance from his family and the unresolved nature of the case brought it to BBC Crimewatch's attention and several witnesses claim to have seen him buying two packets of digestives and an orange before ambling out into the dark to be seen never thereafter. Or consider Wanda McGilivray, who vanished on a cross-channel ferry to Calais, and whose last words were 'No, never the milk chocolate.'
There are score of disappearances and deaths that go unsolved every month, all linked by plain chocolate digestives and digital wrist watches. Dozens of people are left in anguish and only the biscuit makers make any allowances for their welfare. As a result of this we would like to ask you, the humble biscuit buying public, to support us in our quest to solve the Mystery of the Plain Chocolate Digestive. If we act quickly enough we can stop people like James Crankle from appearing one day, stone cold knurd and amnesiac in Hyde Park wearing a plain chocolate digestive wrapper hat.
Thank you for any information you can provide. And be careful out there. Vigilance is the key.
The Plain Chocolate Digestive Detective.
Thursday, 7 March 2013
'Don't mention the war'
<Switches from maths mode to writing mode with difficulty>
Huzzah! Once again it is time to put on the top hat of fate and commit to this, the Quirky Muffin, some morsels of prose linked together by shreds of what remaining sanity lingers in the vicinity of my mind. Shreds of sanity that are slowly being eaten up by calculations, computations and long lingering looks out of the window at the scenic delights of Aberystwyth University. It's a pretty place.
I don't get to spend as much time as I would like wandering around Aber. Being Internet-less and running podcasts late nights at the office are the norm, and that's not so much fun as I would like, especially with the total hour of commuting each day to get there and back. It would be nice to be able to walk hills a bit more, trundle up and down the prom and not be brain-tired all the time.
The real danger of being heavily mathematical is in the introversion required to be able to do the job. It's hard to shift out of without some effort and that is the principal purpose for this fine, educational and nonsensical publication. Without it there would be a numerically obsessed cabbage sitting at a computer and not remembering how to string coherent sentences together. Some would argue that that's happened already, and those people I respond with 'How appropriate, you fight like a cow'.
So, what's coming up? There are big plans afoot, which will only be marginally affected by events in the coming weeks. Hopefully there'll be a movie review for 'Mr Smith Goes To Washington', a book review for Dashiell Hammett's 'Red Harvest', more stories, and some self-worship of the worst kind as I introduce 'Film Bin' to anyone who doesn't already know what we do over there. It seems like it will all be fun. I'm also going to jump headfirst into Jon Pertwee's tenure as Doctor Who, which will certainly be fun, as that is an incredibly interesting era of the show and possibly the only one I'm interested in.
Good luck, people. I hope you don't suffer through any more poetry!
O.
PS Two Film Bin shows this week so far. We just posted a commentary for the 'A-Team' pilot episode and a discussion of 1993's 'The Secret Garden'. Lots of Film Bin goodness!
PPS If you like Scrabble, try out the Pixie Pit website. It's not free but the service is excellent.
Huzzah! Once again it is time to put on the top hat of fate and commit to this, the Quirky Muffin, some morsels of prose linked together by shreds of what remaining sanity lingers in the vicinity of my mind. Shreds of sanity that are slowly being eaten up by calculations, computations and long lingering looks out of the window at the scenic delights of Aberystwyth University. It's a pretty place.
I don't get to spend as much time as I would like wandering around Aber. Being Internet-less and running podcasts late nights at the office are the norm, and that's not so much fun as I would like, especially with the total hour of commuting each day to get there and back. It would be nice to be able to walk hills a bit more, trundle up and down the prom and not be brain-tired all the time.
The real danger of being heavily mathematical is in the introversion required to be able to do the job. It's hard to shift out of without some effort and that is the principal purpose for this fine, educational and nonsensical publication. Without it there would be a numerically obsessed cabbage sitting at a computer and not remembering how to string coherent sentences together. Some would argue that that's happened already, and those people I respond with 'How appropriate, you fight like a cow'.
So, what's coming up? There are big plans afoot, which will only be marginally affected by events in the coming weeks. Hopefully there'll be a movie review for 'Mr Smith Goes To Washington', a book review for Dashiell Hammett's 'Red Harvest', more stories, and some self-worship of the worst kind as I introduce 'Film Bin' to anyone who doesn't already know what we do over there. It seems like it will all be fun. I'm also going to jump headfirst into Jon Pertwee's tenure as Doctor Who, which will certainly be fun, as that is an incredibly interesting era of the show and possibly the only one I'm interested in.
Good luck, people. I hope you don't suffer through any more poetry!
O.
PS Two Film Bin shows this week so far. We just posted a commentary for the 'A-Team' pilot episode and a discussion of 1993's 'The Secret Garden'. Lots of Film Bin goodness!
PPS If you like Scrabble, try out the Pixie Pit website. It's not free but the service is excellent.
Tuesday, 5 March 2013
Ah, 'tis surely to the good
Fly to the skies in shock, and leave your banana skins behind, as it is Tuesday! Tuesday, the jester of the week, is with us once again and even now is mixing together a cunning bag of tricks to trick us and mystify us unto the realms of total confusion. Tuesday! Tuesday!
As the revolving bar stool of fate spins us into the week once again it seems proper to commemorate the event with a poem. Ahem.
---
I used to like Tuesday as a day of the week
But its liking for jokes one day caused me pique.
So I renounced that second day and its ways
And embraced the dullness of all other days.
Now, the pain of that Tuesday that provoked me
Was no match for time and duly met its ennui.
I began to miss those old jollies and japes
And reviewed in my mind those shadowy tapes.
I chose to repent and now redeem myself true
To begin to rebuild what once inside me grew
To find the jokes and funnies that made life worthwhile
And rework myself into someone who could smile.
The next week on that day I awoke and did beam
And felt as if joy shone out like light from a seam.
It was back, that energy, that innermost grace
And was suddenly hit by a pie in the face.
---
Yes, Tuesday takes no prisoners, so beware when it next rolls around. Ask not on whom the Tuesday falls, for it may be you!
O.
As the revolving bar stool of fate spins us into the week once again it seems proper to commemorate the event with a poem. Ahem.
---
I used to like Tuesday as a day of the week
But its liking for jokes one day caused me pique.
So I renounced that second day and its ways
And embraced the dullness of all other days.
Now, the pain of that Tuesday that provoked me
Was no match for time and duly met its ennui.
I began to miss those old jollies and japes
And reviewed in my mind those shadowy tapes.
I chose to repent and now redeem myself true
To begin to rebuild what once inside me grew
To find the jokes and funnies that made life worthwhile
And rework myself into someone who could smile.
The next week on that day I awoke and did beam
And felt as if joy shone out like light from a seam.
It was back, that energy, that innermost grace
And was suddenly hit by a pie in the face.
---
Yes, Tuesday takes no prisoners, so beware when it next rolls around. Ask not on whom the Tuesday falls, for it may be you!
O.
Monday, 4 March 2013
Book: 'Mostly Harmless' by Douglas Adams (1992)
I had a problem when approaching this fifth and last 'Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy' book: I had fallen very much in love with the previous entry in the series and considered it to be the best possible ending. Why come back and write another? Why? Chronologically this is Adams last completed novel, and comes after the disappointing and dark second Dirk Gently novel, 'The Long Dark Tea Time Of The Soul', and after a long hiatus from the rest of this series and as it turns out I was right to be wary.
Each of the Guide books has, to an extent, wiped out or ditched what came before in order to make scope for its own narrative. This is quite common in cases where the story is being mostly improvised as I'm sure it was. 'Mostly Harmless' does this too but in abundance, with an apparently preordained ending in sight, and thoroughly robs its predecessor of any significance at all. It also rubs out Arthur's soulmate, saddles him with a sudden genetic daughter and returns Trillian into the mix. In addition to all that, it is soaked in doom-laden melancholy and weariness which rub the comedic elements into frictional abandon.
Despite my pervasive negativity there are comedic elements to 'Mostly Harmless'. It has rather a lot in common with 'Tea Time' actually; a mass of interesting ideas that are trapped in a homogenous fudge of melancholy. My favourite aspect of 'Mostly Harmless' is Arthur Dent's role on the primitive planet his passenger ship crashes into: 'The Sandwichmaker'. He thinks he only has one useful skill and makes himself useful with it, even becoming a master and taking on an apprentice in this incredible art. Essentially, as long as Arthur is in view the story becomes bearable, but when he's not there it's far less bearable.
Now, perhaps the foreboding layered into this narrative is a function of the ending, the second and final destruction of the planet Earth and destruction of humanity, Arthur and Trillian included. Isn't that cheerful? No, you're right, it's miserable. After four books of Earth being gone, possibly being rebuilt, the universe being saved from Krikit, and finally a shadow backup Earth being plucked out of storage somewhere, it all ends in destruction. I just don't like that.
'Mostly Harmless' and 'Tea Time' both seem to suffer from similar malaises, lacking the spontaneity of preceding works, and clearly suffering for having preset endings. It's a spectacular comedown from the brilliance of the two novels that preceded these last two. In all fairness however, it is possible I'm projecting misery on to the text, but there does seem to be ample material to project onto here. In honesty I can't recommend this one. As mentioned previously, there are two Douglas Adams novels I recommend highly: 'So Long And Thanks For All The Fish' and 'Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency'. Everything before these two is fine and readable and everything after... not so much.
O.
Each of the Guide books has, to an extent, wiped out or ditched what came before in order to make scope for its own narrative. This is quite common in cases where the story is being mostly improvised as I'm sure it was. 'Mostly Harmless' does this too but in abundance, with an apparently preordained ending in sight, and thoroughly robs its predecessor of any significance at all. It also rubs out Arthur's soulmate, saddles him with a sudden genetic daughter and returns Trillian into the mix. In addition to all that, it is soaked in doom-laden melancholy and weariness which rub the comedic elements into frictional abandon.
Despite my pervasive negativity there are comedic elements to 'Mostly Harmless'. It has rather a lot in common with 'Tea Time' actually; a mass of interesting ideas that are trapped in a homogenous fudge of melancholy. My favourite aspect of 'Mostly Harmless' is Arthur Dent's role on the primitive planet his passenger ship crashes into: 'The Sandwichmaker'. He thinks he only has one useful skill and makes himself useful with it, even becoming a master and taking on an apprentice in this incredible art. Essentially, as long as Arthur is in view the story becomes bearable, but when he's not there it's far less bearable.
Now, perhaps the foreboding layered into this narrative is a function of the ending, the second and final destruction of the planet Earth and destruction of humanity, Arthur and Trillian included. Isn't that cheerful? No, you're right, it's miserable. After four books of Earth being gone, possibly being rebuilt, the universe being saved from Krikit, and finally a shadow backup Earth being plucked out of storage somewhere, it all ends in destruction. I just don't like that.
'Mostly Harmless' and 'Tea Time' both seem to suffer from similar malaises, lacking the spontaneity of preceding works, and clearly suffering for having preset endings. It's a spectacular comedown from the brilliance of the two novels that preceded these last two. In all fairness however, it is possible I'm projecting misery on to the text, but there does seem to be ample material to project onto here. In honesty I can't recommend this one. As mentioned previously, there are two Douglas Adams novels I recommend highly: 'So Long And Thanks For All The Fish' and 'Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency'. Everything before these two is fine and readable and everything after... not so much.
O.
Saturday, 2 March 2013
Story: 'Night Trials', X
Night Trials is nearing its conclusion, and I am actually starting to get the ideas behind the finale put together. It should be much more readable once it's all assembled into a full story. The previous shlocky chapter is here.
----------
'Night Trials', Part X
(Part IX , XI)
In the end it was very simple. The aliens had overplayed their hand and taken over too many towns too quickly. The Federal Government was moving already to crush the invaders but the troops were still a week away from Sheriff Bob, and semaphore hadn't reached Poon Hill yet.
Looking down from the last hilltop before descending to Poon Hill, Tom realised he had run out of options and mentally surrendered. He led his tired and thirsty horse down the hill in the moonlight, fully intending to surrender and take the consequences. The aliens stood motionlessly at the perimeter as he approached, never moving a jot. He became ever more curious at their staticness. He crossed the city line and still nothing happened. He'd never tried this at Wandering Yip and now he wondered if he'd made a mistake in his shyness. Reversing course he stepped out of the city lines again. Nothing.
There wasn't much night time left so Bob re-entered and went straight to the sheriff's station. It was full of goo. Then he went to the house of a retired US Marshall he was on speaking terms with and found it flattened to the ground as if blown down and then crushed underfoot by some monstrous force. Involuntarily he looked up at the sky and wondered at what could have caused such crushing and chaos. Then, dusting off some debris from his boots he hurried to the stables and left his horse before bolting for the saloon just as the sun touched the horizon.
Within the saloon people were shocked at a stranger with a badge but he paid them no attention and hustled to a window to see the reaction of the aliens he'd walked in by. They were just visible down the end of the street and already in motion, albeit leisurely motion. The two who had flanked him simply floated down the road into the town hall and then nothing happened. It seemed as if most of this experience involved nothing happening. Somebody plucked at his sleeve and he turned to see a little girl.
"Can you help us? We're really scared." The little girl was scooped up by a woman, presumably her mother, who then looked him in the eyes. "Yes, Sheriff, can you help us?"
"Maybe. Why didn't they do anything when I just came into town under their noses?"
"Every time one of us tried to leave or someone from outside enter, they were burnt to ash or slimed. They left you alone?"
"Yes. It's almost as if they're statues by night." Bob was a little mesmerised by the woman's stare. "Why don't you all leave or clobber them?"
The eyes deadened. "Would you, mister, if you'd seen your husband ashed before your eyes? Would you take the risk?"
Bob knew his answer, he just didn't say it out loud.
"We have to go to work. Stay here, Mister. They won't notice you now unless they use their machines to count us, and they don't do that without reason. They seem to be short of steam or whatever." The woman carried her daughter away, but said over her shoulder. "Welcome to Poon Hill."
Welcome to Poon Hill indeed. Would the welcome stay so warm?
To be continued...
----------
'Night Trials', Part X
(Part IX , XI)
In the end it was very simple. The aliens had overplayed their hand and taken over too many towns too quickly. The Federal Government was moving already to crush the invaders but the troops were still a week away from Sheriff Bob, and semaphore hadn't reached Poon Hill yet.
Looking down from the last hilltop before descending to Poon Hill, Tom realised he had run out of options and mentally surrendered. He led his tired and thirsty horse down the hill in the moonlight, fully intending to surrender and take the consequences. The aliens stood motionlessly at the perimeter as he approached, never moving a jot. He became ever more curious at their staticness. He crossed the city line and still nothing happened. He'd never tried this at Wandering Yip and now he wondered if he'd made a mistake in his shyness. Reversing course he stepped out of the city lines again. Nothing.
There wasn't much night time left so Bob re-entered and went straight to the sheriff's station. It was full of goo. Then he went to the house of a retired US Marshall he was on speaking terms with and found it flattened to the ground as if blown down and then crushed underfoot by some monstrous force. Involuntarily he looked up at the sky and wondered at what could have caused such crushing and chaos. Then, dusting off some debris from his boots he hurried to the stables and left his horse before bolting for the saloon just as the sun touched the horizon.
Within the saloon people were shocked at a stranger with a badge but he paid them no attention and hustled to a window to see the reaction of the aliens he'd walked in by. They were just visible down the end of the street and already in motion, albeit leisurely motion. The two who had flanked him simply floated down the road into the town hall and then nothing happened. It seemed as if most of this experience involved nothing happening. Somebody plucked at his sleeve and he turned to see a little girl.
"Can you help us? We're really scared." The little girl was scooped up by a woman, presumably her mother, who then looked him in the eyes. "Yes, Sheriff, can you help us?"
"Maybe. Why didn't they do anything when I just came into town under their noses?"
"Every time one of us tried to leave or someone from outside enter, they were burnt to ash or slimed. They left you alone?"
"Yes. It's almost as if they're statues by night." Bob was a little mesmerised by the woman's stare. "Why don't you all leave or clobber them?"
The eyes deadened. "Would you, mister, if you'd seen your husband ashed before your eyes? Would you take the risk?"
Bob knew his answer, he just didn't say it out loud.
"We have to go to work. Stay here, Mister. They won't notice you now unless they use their machines to count us, and they don't do that without reason. They seem to be short of steam or whatever." The woman carried her daughter away, but said over her shoulder. "Welcome to Poon Hill."
Welcome to Poon Hill indeed. Would the welcome stay so warm?
To be continued...
Friday, 1 March 2013
In the aftermath of 'Lincoln'
Please don't misunderstand. This is not going to be a post exclusively about 'Lincoln', which I saw on Wednesday night. I don't feel even remotely passionate enough to write at length. I did find it to be very interesting, entertaining and successful but it's not a masterpiece. The ending fell a little flat, and I just didn't think they needed to show the dead Lincoln when they had already ended the movie perfectly in the previous sequence. Sometimes I wish Spielberg would make more movies like this, instead of going all out serious or trying too hard on things people don't really want to watch. He built his career on 'Jaws' and then seemed to turn at some point and try to be a director who wouldn't brush his teeth with something like 'Jaws'.
Gosh, 'Jaws' is awesome, and may be the movie of the night.
One of the good things about 'Lincoln', and the shark movie, is that they start with the story already in progress, 'en media res'. I really would like more stories to begin and end 'en media res' instead of in often unnecessarily contrived setups and resolutions. It's a far better way to tell stories and even have much better structured mid-sections. Sometimes a setup for a beginning and a perfect resolution to end is perfect but more often it's not. It's nicer to drop in to a narrative and work it out as we go.
<Note: I know nothing about writing.>
Writing a blog has been worthwhile, and continues to be worthwhile in many many ways. The power of revision, for example, is now clearly apparent. Even today, I have just restructured the whole post to read more naturally and it has improved dramatically. Write the way you would like people to speak. If someone sounds hokey reading something out loud then that writing is probably bad. There is a good bit in 'Lincoln' where the Secretary of War... no, no, just watch it. It's a good movie. He says something that we were all thinking. It's funny. Good show, Bruce McGill.
Aberystwyth has been dry for weeks now. It's worrying. All the moisture is dropping away from me and people could start reasonably confusing my appearance with that of a crumb of Ryvita. It has to rain soon, surely? It's not as bad as when I was in Hungary but still, where is all the water? Clouds roll over from time to time in a haunting teasing manner but it's not the same. I need rain! We all need rain - let's not be selfish - for very important reasons! And not just to make variety in the long walk into university each day, although I have an alternative route now, that is fifty-per-cent longer and more visually pleasing. There are sheep and if you stop paying attention you end up in a field in the middle of nowhere or playing golf and never going to work at all.
<Stops to think>
There shall be golf.
O.
Gosh, 'Jaws' is awesome, and may be the movie of the night.
One of the good things about 'Lincoln', and the shark movie, is that they start with the story already in progress, 'en media res'. I really would like more stories to begin and end 'en media res' instead of in often unnecessarily contrived setups and resolutions. It's a far better way to tell stories and even have much better structured mid-sections. Sometimes a setup for a beginning and a perfect resolution to end is perfect but more often it's not. It's nicer to drop in to a narrative and work it out as we go.
<Note: I know nothing about writing.>
Writing a blog has been worthwhile, and continues to be worthwhile in many many ways. The power of revision, for example, is now clearly apparent. Even today, I have just restructured the whole post to read more naturally and it has improved dramatically. Write the way you would like people to speak. If someone sounds hokey reading something out loud then that writing is probably bad. There is a good bit in 'Lincoln' where the Secretary of War... no, no, just watch it. It's a good movie. He says something that we were all thinking. It's funny. Good show, Bruce McGill.
Aberystwyth has been dry for weeks now. It's worrying. All the moisture is dropping away from me and people could start reasonably confusing my appearance with that of a crumb of Ryvita. It has to rain soon, surely? It's not as bad as when I was in Hungary but still, where is all the water? Clouds roll over from time to time in a haunting teasing manner but it's not the same. I need rain! We all need rain - let's not be selfish - for very important reasons! And not just to make variety in the long walk into university each day, although I have an alternative route now, that is fifty-per-cent longer and more visually pleasing. There are sheep and if you stop paying attention you end up in a field in the middle of nowhere or playing golf and never going to work at all.
<Stops to think>
There shall be golf.
O.
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