Silver Lining

Piqued

We went to see the Bourne Ultimatum last weekend.  Apart from the part where I lost my footing and fell down the stairs, it was a very enjoyable evening.

I'm frustrated by the Nicky storyline, though.  Why leave it hanging so blatantly?  I'm dying to know who she is.  What's the connection?  Why does she find it so difficult with him?  Why pique my curiosity like this and leave it unresolved.

In the back of my mind, while I'm doing deathly dull but complex coding at work, I'm writing Nicky and Bourne a back story.

But what I really want is a 4th film, to tie up this unsatisfactory loose end.  Who would you make her be?

Surprisingly enough, A didn't make it yesterday.  I told him I could get a complex about him getting ill *every* weekend.  I think he might actually be persuaded to go and see a doctor this time. 

Sissy came up though!  Yay for Sissy!!  We spent a mellow afternoon ambulance chasing bargain hunting in Allders.  Unproductively.  I want a new bed - too many associations with my bed.  There was a beautiful suede one.  Champagne coloured suede would be such a practical colour for me, don't you think?  The dog would love it, and I'm sure it would be immune to muddy cat feet.  Let's not even think about overexcited snotty, puking small people.  And I bet it was vegetarian suede, and everything.  Sadly, it wasn't in the closing down sale.  How does that work, then?  CLOSING DOWN, it said in the window.  EVERYTHING MUST GO.  I went outside and looked again.  Nope, no asterisks.  No little afterthoughts about EXCEPT THE LOVELY CHAMPAGNE COLOURED SUEDE BEDSTEAD SPECIALLY SUITABLE FOR VEGETARIANS WITH AN IMMODERATE NUMBER OF SMALL, MESSY CHILDREN AND MUDDY, FUR-SHEDDING ANIMALS.  Do you think the Trade Descriptions Act might apply?

Then we went to the local mall in the evening.  Got there *far* too early for our film, so we were sadly forced to do some retail therapy.  I failed to demonstrate any sense of restraint at all and bought a rather lovely jacket in River Island.  There's something very liberating about River Island.  For a start, this time last year, I was far too large to look appropriate in any of their clothes.  And now I wear a 10 - kiss my skinny little ass!   And for another thing there's a whole new level of rebellion in rushing screaming towards middle age and buying clothes in a shop designed for teenagers and early twentysomethings.  Yes, the phrase Mutton Dressed As Lamb has just arrived, unbidden, in my head too.  Banish it, precious!  It's a nasty, evil thought!

A lovely meal in Tampopo.  I love Tampopo.  For a start the food's always good, but it has a real feel of South East Asian street restaurants, which I think Wagamama somehow misses.  And it's lovely to say I'll have Pho Xhao Bo, please, and Gyosa and Chap Chai.  And then it all arrives at once.  But it's in the speaking of it that the pleasure really lies.  Try it; just say Pho Xhao Bo please, and see if you don't suddenly feel the oppressive heat, and smell the dirt.  See if your senses aren't assaulted by the sights and sounds, the colour and noise of a South East Asian street restaurant.  I have to confess, I've only been to Malaysia, nowhere more exciting or exotic than Kuala Lumpur.  But it was a lovely experience.  ( and it was Sissy who ate Pho Xhao Bo - obviously - I only ordered it!)

Then we saw Million Dollar Baby.  What a *fantastic* film.  It's rumoured Hillary Swank will clean up in the Oscars, and I think she thoroughly deserves to.  The reviews all said it was slow and overly long although beautifully crafted.  Well it *was* slow - but it needed to be to build properly.  It didn't lose interest for not crashing along at a rate of knots.  Truly the most moving film I've seen in a very, very long time.  And I'd forgotten that Clint Eastwood is actually a really good actor, as well as a fine director. 

Anyway, time for a shower.

We went to see The House of Flying Daggers last night. I'm not a huge fan of martial arts films, but this was truly beautiful. Stunningly choreographed, and with an almost believable plot - although there were a few too many double blinds going on for my simple brain to wrap itself around.

There is, in particular, one fight scene, set in a bamboo (what? Grove? Copse? Plantation? Wood?) um, clump thingy which is totally stunning. People running up the bamboo; aerial fight scenes; people sliding, inverted down the bamboo - a truly awesome visual display. And made me want to try pole dancing...

Random Dan

announces that when he grows up he's going to be either a footballer or a builder. But he can't decide which. Daisy, on the other hand, would like to be a teacher or a zookeeper. But only if I can come with her in the morning and drive her home when she's finished. That's my girl!

Dan has a front tooth that's hanging at a rakish angle, attached to the gum by no more than a couple of threads. But he won't let me touch it; and he won't interfere for himself, either. So today I have tempted him with corn on the cob, crunchy apples, and enticingly crispy spring rolls. Imagine my disappointment, then, to see it still lending him that almost-charming reprobate air.

We've snuggled up and watched Spiderman 2 this afternoon. What a bleak and unredemptive little tale that is! I'm sure it's a good idea to introduce children to the thought provoking intricacies of noir at a young and impressionable age. However, I think it's also a good idea to produce it well, and make it subtle. Why don't people understand that kids are actually quite good at subtle?! Anyway, I'm not sure this really qualified as noir, given that it was neither intricate nor thought provoking, so I'll stick with bleak and unredemptive.

I once saw a children's book in Borders, which was beautifully illustrated. Really gorgeously drawn and coloured pictures of a futuristic landscape; mostly in a dark and shadowy theme, but usually with a single spot of vibrance on each page - very striking. But the story ran something along the lines of:

"Some mornings I just don't feel like getting out of bed. And as I go through the day it just gets worse. Everything seems black and unfriendly. The buildings press down on me. The sky is overcast."

and yada yada. Really! Every page I read, I became more incredulous! This stuff is for *children*? Seriously?!! I kept expecting that I'd turn the next page and something would happen; something light and bright to bring the story upbeat and give it a positive glow to cast backwards over the dreary desperation of the rest of the story. But it never came. It never happened. I swear by the end of the book, I wanted to slit my wrists!

So I was pleased that at the end of Spiderman 2, Peter Parker at least got the girl. I don't think nihilism is a good philosophy for small people, on the whole.

Diversions welcome

At the moment, I'm being diverted by MSN kisses. Not as diverting as the real thing, but very nice all the same!

I'm listening to Paul Weller. I apologise for the image that conjures; tonight I just felt like listening to Paul Weller, OK? But since Moo was last to use the stereo, I'm listening to Paul Weller at Eminem volume. Lucky neighbours!

And I'm feeling cold... and achey. Oddly, my back aches most. Just between my shoulder blades. Pretty much any offer of a good rub down will be accepted at this point - though I'm confuzzled about why running should make my back ache! Did it again tonight. More running, less walking, much the same time, felt less like dying at the end. Such is progress!

I was feeling *so* much like a domestic goddess earlier. Or at least, a heftily significant accolyte! I came home, completed my tax return; changed small people into pyjamas; ran a mile, stretched and showered; brushed small teeth, read small stories (The Whale and The Snail. Brilliant! Thoroughly recommend it. The cleverly rhymed story of a snail with an itchy foot who hitches a ride on the patient tail of a great big, grey blue hump backed whale); ate meal cooked by well trained oldest child; cleared and cleaned(ish) kitchen; set bread maker going; emptied washing machine. ARSE!!! The bloody washing machine has bloody broken! Fuckitalltohellandback! How can it? It's January for fuck's sake! How can I possibly be expected to replace a dishwasher, and repair a washing machine. In. Fucking. January??!! I'm not happy. At all. Bet you'd never have guessed!

I've been seriously distracted all week by the billboards for Closer. A film with Jude Law *and* Clive Owen?! Genius! Apparently it has a plot, too - but really who gives a stuff? The only way it could be more perfect would be if Bill Nighy had a cameo role. Please, nobody tell me he does - they'll have to prise me out of that cinema with a crowbar! I'm just wondering whether it would be better to persuade A to come and see it with me, or go on my own... There's a lot to be said for going on my own: nobody to see me drooling; not having to admit to the embarrassing, groupie like scenario that is almost certainly undignified for a woman of my age. That sort of thing. On the other hand, nothing at all will be said for taking A with me: a conversational cul de sac looms and I refuse to venture foot in it! But oh! Just think of the gratification...