Smells like the beach

I say it a lot recently, but I really don't know where the time goes. I don't have time to blog; I don't have time to work (!); I don't have time to watch movies or write reviews. And I have had very little time to visit all my blogpals, so MASSIVE APOLOGIES to you all, but I'm trying to make good.

Anyway... today I will work. I have a lot to do. The frustrating thing about work is that some clients piss you about. And when you get pissed about and screwed over, it makes you feel like not working on people's jobs, y'know? But I've got to, so I will.

I must say, though, I feel a bit queasy. Last night I had Indian food for the first time since my food-poisoning episode. And we ate it with some Prosecco (Italian sparkling wine; Champagne and Prosecco go great with Indian, in case you don't know). This was also the first alcohol to have passed my lips in more than a week. I feel delicate. Not ill; not relapse stylee. Just "maybe I shouldn't have done it"-ish. But you gotta get back on the horse sometime, right? So I saddled up, baby...!

What a great weekend it was, though, here in the southeast of England. Red said to me on Friday night, "Let's go to Whitstable tomorrow, since it's going to be so lovely." I agreed. We often go to Whitstable on a weekend for a constitutional stroll to get some blood moving through our veins. What she meant -- and what I didn't fully realize until we got there (don't ask why; I'm an idiot. And it led to some degree of upset) -- was to spend the whole day. Like going for a day at the seaside. Despite my being ill prepared, we made the most of a bad lot and enjoyed it while we were there.


Since Sunday was due to be nice, we made a pact to do it again properly the next day. In the United States they have a great term that we don't seem to use here in the UK: "do-over". I'm a big fan of the do-over. Something goes wrong, hell, let's have a do-over, and this time we'll get it right. And get it right we did on Sunday!


We took the parasol from the garden, a couple of bath towels, appropriate head gear (Red's Yankees baseball cap and my trusty tattoo-style bandanna, instead of the shirt I used on Saturday, seen in the pic at top), swimwear, and just enough money to buy lunch, and off we set. We didn't take the camera because we wanted to spend some time in the water. It's a shame in hindsight, because it is nice having photos of when you're being dorks! It was a fun day out.

Whitstable's beach is a pebbly beach, and it is painful as hell walking to and from the sea. It's also amazing how shallow and deep the water gets. During the mid-morning we commented how safe it is for children, since you have to walk for miles in the water to get even your ankles wet; but after lunch it was impossible to touch the seafloor after just a few feet.

I had ice cream! And I wore my black Chuck Taylors in the sea (picture by Red below). I had no other footwear, and the pebbles were slaying me, man. Red says, "You can't not come in just because it's painful. Put your shoes on." She was right. (It's not just that it was painful. I have got the most sensitive soles of feet in Christendom, I swear. My feet cannot be touched. I will accidentally kick you in the face if you touch my feet. Accidentally, mind.)


So, two days on the beach. And I got a little burned, but only really around my feet, so that's okay.

On Friday I guess I must have worked some. I also watched the previous week's episode of The Shield in preparation for that night's. I love The Shield. And I finished reading my book (more on that soon). We also laughed about the dorks we made of ourselves with Eamonn at The Globe. I dunno what else...

Oh yeah, and here are some pics I promised from The Globe.


Desdemona and Othello alive and well and gettin' jiggy with it at the curtain call.


The stage at The Globe.


Eamonn humouring two adoring fans -- i.e., Red and me. (He's much more smiley over here at Red's blog.)


An autographed programme.

A grand day out

Thanks so much for all your comments on my long, rambling post about the hospital visit. I am almost 100 per cent again now, though still a bit appetite-suppressed: always hungry, but not really wanting to eat anything much.

Thursday, in celebration of our 10th wedding anniversary, the wife and I went to the theatre to see Othello at The Globe, as previously mentioned in this post. Pictures will follow.

The theatre itself was magnificent and the play was great, with a really gripping, compelling last act, and the performances were solid all round. Afterwards we met the man in the title role, Mr Eamonn Walker himself, had a chat with him in the bar for a good five minutes, possibly ten, talking about his film choices, locations he's worked in, and things like that. He then humoured us with some photos and an autograph. A real gent of a man.

A great day was had by all.

Shaking my spear

Oo er, that sounds a bit like a euphemism for having a wank, doesn't it? Anyway, that's not what was intended.


Instead it was just to say we're going to see some Shakespeare. Not something I do every day of the week, but then it's not every day of the week that the legendary Eamonn Walker (of Oz fame) comes back to his home town of London to play the Moor, Othello, at Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, no less.

How could we not treat ourselves to an anniversary matinée? Trouble is, I know Red has A Bit of a Thing for Eamonn, so I'll need to keep a close eye on her after the show, lest she starts telling him how his performance was like a cultural orgasm or something along those lines.

When I phoned the box office to ensure Mr Walker would be playing all shows, including matinées, the posh and elderly sounding woman on the phone said: "Well, I think so. I mean... well... he's... well, he's the man, isn't he?"

"Yes," I replied. "He is the man."

People, we are going to see the great Kareem Said in the flesh, playing Othello. Does Shakespeare get any better than that? I rather think not.

Movie dream team

So, let's say you were making a movie, and let's say money was no object in terms of getting the cast you want for it. Let's also assume that anybody whose work you have seen and admired is available. You've got the pick of the bunch. Whether your thing is low-budget Belgian cinema or overinflated Hollywood stylings, what would be your dream cast?

The only limits I will put on your imagination is that you must choose six actors or actresses. They can be any mix you like, any age, etc, but they must all be alive and you must use them at their current age. So you can't say "a young Robert De Niro", for example.

Here are mine:

Christopher Walken
Johnny Depp
Eamonn Walker
Philip Seymour Hoffman
Giovanna Mezzogiorno
Jennifer Connelly.

(What's great -- and this is totally coincidental -- is that all of these people have previously been mentioned in my writings in blogland. Click the links to refresh your memories if you wish.)

Walken has to play Depp's dad. Giovanna and Jennifer are best friends who met while the latter was travelling in Europe. Not sure what roles to give Walker and Hoffman yet, but they're great at everything, so it really doesn't matter.

Join in the fun... Leave your six in the comments box! I'm looking forward to seeing them.

Lord of War

Sitting on the side in our lounge are two DVDs from LoveFilm: The Eye, a Hong Kong/Singaporean horror film from a few years ago; and Network, a probably rather dated 70s film. You know, the one with the line "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore." But Wife and I just can't bring ourselves to watch either of them. So, despite the fact that they are effectively costing us money languishing there, the other night we decided to rent yet another movie.

Off we trotted to our local video store, which seems these days more like a games-rental store that happens to have a few DVDs too. What is with that?

We wanted something recent and decent: fair enough, right. And there on the shelf was Lord of War. This movie is what the Hollywood marketing machine has told us is an "intelligent film". What that means is that it doesn't treat its viewers like a complete fucking dumb-ass. It's not your typical "you'll-understand-this-even-if you're-a-fucking-moron" Hollywood fare.

Don't get me wrong: I love Hollywood. I watch a lot of mindless drivel. I buy a lot of mindless drivel. But I know it's mindless drivel, and enjoy it for what it is.

Lord of War stars Nicolas Cage, who is probably one of my favourite actors. His presence lifts even the most boring of films into something better than boring. We also knew that the great Eamonn Walker (seen here, with Cage) is in it, if only in a tiny role. Walker is a black Briton who is most famous for playing the Muslim leader Kareem Said in the greatly missed HBO prison drama Oz. So we were pretty certain this was the movie for us. But the clincher for Wife was that Jared Leto is in it too.

Cage plays an arms dealer. And the plot is essentially an excuse for a look at the politics of such a role in the world today (although it is set in the mid-1990s), and how all world leaders are essentially gun-runners for the developing nations. So it's only an "intelligent" film if you didn't already know this, which maybe lots of people didn't.

The lead actor is his usual watchable self. Leto, however, is woefully underused. He is such a great young actor and he should have had more to do. The same exact thing applies to Walker.

The problem with this film is that the director wasn't intelligent enough to realize there's absolutely no need for a "love interest" subplot. Any interactions between Cage and his on-screen wife (the woman who played Mr Big's wife Natasha in Sex and the City) are slow and boring and have no place in a movie on these themes. It's clear from the off that she's only there to lead to his downfall.

Overall, though, better than most mainstream Hollywood fare. It's a bit like a cool independent movie with a bigger budget and bigger stars. And it's got a surprisingly quotable script, too.