Back to the Grind...

Happy New Year and all that jazz! 

Apologies for radio silence for the past three weeks.  I’d fully intended to post something before the end of the year.  In fact, before Christmas I’d written a charmingly unoriginal post about how the death of so many beloved artists over 2016 had provided the positive effect of reminding us of their excellent catalogue of work.  I’d added YouTube links to some of my favourite Victoria Wood sketches, and that was that.  But then George Michael died.  So I spent the last week of the year lamenting that there really was no chance of him becoming Mr. Nicky Bond one day, and I listened to Wham’s Make it Big on repeat.  Time ran away with me.

With added Christmas decoration,
and not a Tom Cruise in sight.

Apart from mourning the death of my first human crush (at age 6) I also managed to read a couple of books, watch a few films and eat all the cheese in Christendom.  Between mouthfuls of Stilton, I thoroughly enjoyed Lee Child's Night School – which I read from start to finish over a fourteen hour period, last week.  (Period of time, not lady period.)  I can't for the life of me remember what happens now, but it kept my attention for as long as it lasted, with a 2.50am finish time.  Sometimes that's all you need from a book.  

House of Cards with Cardinals.  
Kinda.

I also devoured Robert Harris' Conclave, which was worth taking a little more time over.  Without wishing more premature death on the world, I now feel confident I know what will be going on behind the Vatican’s closed doors when the current Pope breathes his last.   Intrigue and scandal!  That’s what.  Just as I did when I watched Netflix's The Crown, I read it with a constant eye on Wikipedia to see if the real life historical events that were referenced really did go down as described.  It seems they did.  A jolly Papal romp with learning too.  Win.

Film news now.  Over the Christmas break I re-watched Private Benjamin and remembered how funny Goldie Hawn is, and whilst Star Wars fans went straight for their Princess Leia memories to honour the life of Carrie Fisher, I turned to When Harry Met Sally – one of the smartest, wittiest comedies ever written.  (Nora Ephron rocks.)  Fisher’s Marie has all the best lines – “Oh, I’ve been looking for a red suede pump" – and for my money is a far more likable character than Meg Ryan’s Sally.  But what do I know.    

And so here we are.  The end of a lazy, indulgent few weeks, and now a brand spanking New Year, with all the fresh-start mentality that it provides.   I don’t really do resolutions, but read more books, lose the cheese-guilt and keep on keeping on, seem reasonable plans to follow. 

Happy 2017, y’all.  Let’s have a good’un.

Cheese