QPR at home today
Arseblog provided the lookalike:
Wilshire's back. We need a win. I need
a good Internet steam to calm my nerves.
A win, albeit an indifferent one.
An Internet stream, albeit equally
indifferent and needing the usual messing about with the stop / start
and non-closeable adverts.
Late 1 – 0. Nerves shredded.
Apparently, our goal may have been offside. Now, Mark Hughes wakes up
in an apocalyptic, apoplectic rage at the injustice of being served
up another morning. So tomorrow I'll be looking for footage of his
post-match melt-down to laugh at.
That's the way to do it.
Swimming Home
Umbrella should have won the Booker.
This short (160 pp) novel must have greater ambition and imagination
squeezed into those pages than the winner. Two couples are on holiday
in France, when a mysterious and odd stranger arrives. I sped through
the book in hours. If, as the panel originally claimed, this year's
idea was books that will be taken off the shelves again and re-read,
this and Umbrella have to be higher up the rankings than Bringing Up
The Dead.
The Lighthouse
BLISS regularly complains about my
insomniac tendencies. I finished Swimming Home, picked up The
Lighthouse, and, suddenly, am halfway through that. Another short,
tense and intense novel, 2012 has been a strong year, Booker-wise.
Planet Terror
One of the Tarrantino Grindhouse double
bill, Plant Terror was the absolute definition of 'hokum'. Starting
with the 1960's cinema motifs, the built-in dust and hair on the
'film', the reel-changes, this was an absolute hoot. Splattered with
blood and gore, blessed with no anal attention to detail, plot,
continuity, this is to zombie shoot-em-ups what Carry On films are to
comedies.
No comments:
Post a Comment