We open with a couple enduring a tedious vacation in Greece – they have arrived at the end of their enthusiasm for each other and can barely muster the energy to make pained expressions of boredom as they listlessly untidy their bed. Bond, James Bond, is dutifully sleepwalking his way through his last appearance under the guise of Daniel Craig – it’s all done and dusted and now he gets to go and do some theatre at last.

People seem to wander around muttering Blofeld and Spectre a lot in this movie but to no real purpose and with zero conviction. The dialogue is blurry and aimless, the storyline muddy and irrelevant, but no one cares anymore, so it’s ok.

People get in and out of cars, on and off motorcycles, jump over bridges, in and out of boats they go, and guns so many guns of all different types and calibres are waved around (check your friendly gun vendor if you feel you too want to try it out) and disposable henchmen dispatched with as little drama and excitement as if they were lining up at the Motor Vehicle Branch. A pretty Latina spy in evening gown and high heels proves herself to be adequate at her job and earns an admiring handshake from Bond, like a contestant in the Great British Bake Off.

And the bad guy has many scars and a whispery voice, as if being bad was just so exhausting. Having scars is a real sign of being evil as everyone knows. Oh dear, it seems that no one involved in making this dreary film had time to write a real script with real motivation and characters with something real to lose…they are so listless that they don’t even have time to die, they just wander around trying to look like they might care but not quite getting there. What happened to the old Bond movies that crackled with excitement and humour?

So far it’s all very blase…so dull that I stopped watching the movie to write this and a movie that drives a writer to write must be very, very boring indeed because writers will do anything to avoid writing and a James Bond film should be so exciting that you even forget to eat your popcorn. I’ll give it another chance….BRB.

Now a small child has been enlisted to try to infuse the proceedings with some emotional depth. It’s not working.

Bond is attempting to speak with said child over breakfast. Very awkward.

Ok now they’re going on a road trip…the stakes are inching higher with the small child involvement. A car chase has been scheduled to create a sliver of excitement…Bond is now seriously displeased. A sprinkle of helicopter and a dash of motorbike…and they’re off, running through the forest…at this point I am more moved by the forest and the ferns than by the action.

The love interest and child have been abducted following time-honoured plot twists…Bond and the other 007 are being issued many alarming gadgets. Time to head into the villain’s lair….Bond has a watch with an electromagnetic whatsit..that is, the security cameras are knocked out because every action film requires it. I am now yawning uncontrollably…now Bond is having a philosophical debate with the villain. Bond is wearing a very cool, blue military-style sweater that I covet. Blah, blah, blah …”people want oblivion”… blah, blah, blah, “we both eradicate people to make the world a better place…”

I can’t take it anymore….”not as long as there are people like you in the world …angry little men, etc., etc.”

That’s it, I am going to bed…..Goodbye, Mr. Bond….I have no time for you….

The story begins with a home invasion. An innocent hobbit is attacked by ruffians whilst enjoying the privacy of his well-appointed home. He has a suspiciously well-stocked larder for a single hobbit. The ruffians devastate his supplies and take liberties with his mother’s fine china. The ruffians turn out to be dwarves on a quest to regain their kingdom which is currently occupied by an extremely destructive tenant. Appeals to the Tenancy Board have been fruitless and they have enlisted the help of a fixer by the name of Gandalf. Gandalf believes the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, might be of assistance in the role of thief. I am distracted by the architectural delights of the hobbit’s home and wish the entire movie would consist of a tiny house tour complete with house plans. But no, the story line devolves into an endless and enervating quest for a way back in to the dwarfish kingdom and, sadly, instead of a cosy exploration of the finer points of hobbit interior design and finishes, we are treated to the spectacle of troll snot and orc orthodontic calamities. In due course, we will be introduced to Azog , the Defiler, a giant Orc leader with the general aspect of a blanched turnip who will eventually be forced to sport a blender attachment skewered to the end of his arm stump. This unpleasant accessory will create the vague impression of a deranged baker and will serve to undermine his authority somewhat. Thorin Oakenshield, the young dwarf prince, believes Azog, the turnip, is dead but, ominously it turns out he is not dead but merely palely loitering offstage in some sulphurous orc sewer. The dwarves haven’t seen the last of Azog…

More angry men on horseback having fun with guns and beating each other to a pulp in the picturesque fields of Montana. But this is a noble, ritualistic type of beating, couched in the form of a “lesson” – if the cowboys are caught fighting, they’re made to fight until they’re all tuckered out. But it never really quite takes and the fighting just keeps going on and on. The violence and the stern lectures are all in aid of turning the men into real men – not weakling boys. And they need to be real men because there’s a hell of a lot of murdering to do; the resulting corpses are conveniently tipped over a cliff on a lonely mountain road with misleading signage. Welcome to Wyoming is the last thing you see before oblivion, cowboy style. It’s all very humourless and nasty – Macbeth without the poetry, which really just renders it relentlessly grim. Another season of expensive and elaborate gun advertising, but I guess guns are big business and worth advertising in style. I can’t look away because its ethos and mood match the world right now. Wish it wasn’t so.

Ok, I haven’t posted anything for a while because I am lacking in even the most basic ambition and am a ne’er do well, but this was too much…here are some more phrases I really object to….

Let that sink in – NO. No I won’t, go to hell with that phrase. I may have mentioned this phrase being awful before but no one listened, as usual, so it bears repeating.

Sliding into my DMs – Stop it! Stop it at once! You sent someone a message. No one wants to hear that you slid into their DMs. It sounds objectionable and of this moment -and this moment definitely sucks and social media is a boil on the face of humanity. I rest my case. If you want to be a human boil, use this phrase often.

The PM has been crystal clear about… – Methinks the PM may have lied a few times in the past and just recently, especially just recently, like today even, he may have lied in a crystal clear voice about a certain Christmas Party at #10 Downing Street while everyone else was ordered to lockdown or else. It’s possible. So definitely stop using this phrase when referring to Boris and stop using it at all because it always means that you are trying to be really murky about something really shoddy. So there. Don’t let it happen again.

Damn it, I’ve run out of phrases that annoy me and that is really annoying. Oh wait, here is another one.

Step out of my comfort zone – No! Don’t step out. Stay right there so I can walk away from you.

Ok, I’m done for now, but I’m watching you.

Adrian von Ziegler’s Dark Celtic music is the only appropriate soundtrack for what’s going on in the world right now: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mIrt5MkGpy0&t=763s&ab_channel=AdrianvonZiegler

1. Never join the military.
2. Never marry into the Royal family.
3. Never, ever open a restaurant.

Stripes

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I’ll just run across.”

“Call me when you get home.”

She flashed her sweet smile and waved. “I wish I could hug you!”

“Soon we’ll be able to hug everybody!”

She smiled. “Everyone! I’m going to go around hugging absolutely everyone!”

“Good-bye!”

They waved, giddy at the thought of hugging everyone. Soon. Soon it will be over, and life can begin again.

She crossed the street and walked until she found the path leading into the Common. It was dark. She scanned the Common for other people and saw a couple of joggers running in the opposite direction. That reassured her a bit, but she reached for her phone to call Max so she could have the sound of his voice to keep her company as she walked.

“Where are you?

“Just crossing the Common.”

“Is there anyone around? Are you sure?”

“There’s people running. It’s ok. I’ll run once we’re done.”

“What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“I want to go to that antiques market I told you about. We could have tea after. There’s a sweet little tea-room nearby.”

“Tea? You’re taking me to tea?! You know I’m not a tea guy.”

She laughed, “Antiques and tea, it’s your favourite way to spend the day! We’ll go fishing next time. Something manly to make you happy.”

“Well, let’s not get carried away. I’m not a fishing kind of guy either. Ok, come home, darling. Run all the way. I want to see you.”

She put on her headphones and searched for her latest obsession, this song by the Pet Shop Boys that she loved more than anything. It was so moody and poignant – the lyrics kept running through her head over and over and she had to listen to it feel the emotion again. Once she fell in love with a song, she couldn’t stop listening to it until she wore it out.

She ran, light on her feet, her slight frame bouncing on her bright orange shoes.

Now it almost seems impossible
We’ve drunk too much, and woke up everyone
I may be wrong, I thought we said
It couldn’t happen here

She took a deep breath of the chilly spring air. The breath of the Common lay silky on her skin: a mixture of mown grass, wet earth, and the pond. She stopped to rest. It was a gentle song, slow and mournful. It felt right as a backdrop to what was happening in the world. When this song was written the world was going through another pandemic.

Now it almost seems impossible
We’ve found ourselves back where we started from
I may be wrong, I thought we said
It couldn’t happen here.

She looked around and didn’t see anyone else nearby, so she started running again this time with more urgency. The path was well lit but… she looked ahead and beyond a copse of tall trees she could see the streetlights on the other side of the Common. This spurred her on. She reached the trees and ran faster; the sudden screech of some roosting parakeets almost made her jump right out of her skin.

Something slammed into her. The blow left her breathless. She put her arms out in front of her before the ground came up to meet her. She felt her feet lift off the ground and her body scratched along the ground as someone dragged her quickly off the path and into the shadow of the trees. Then his weight fell on her. Her lungs collapsed and she couldn’t lift her body enough to take a breath, she twisted around trying to breathe or scream but her voice was gone. The weight on top of her may as well have been a boulder; she couldn’t shift him even though her hands were free, and she was pushing off the ground with all her strength. He grabbed her hands and tried to shove them under her body so she wouldn’t be able to use them to protect herself. He pushed her head into the dirt and shifted his hands to fit around her neck. Now she struggled as hard as she could, her mind screaming: no, no, no.

She lost consciousness for a second and lay limp under him. Reassured, he shifted his weight to pull at her clothes. She came back with a gasp and fought even harder than before because she knew this was the end. There was no way out of this – this was the end. She wanted to scratch a hole in the earth and disappear into it, she wanted to lift up to the treetops and fly, she wanted to turn into water or mist, she wanted to become an insect, she wanted so much to live – he punched her hard and she shook her head to clear the tears out of her eyes.

The night was so dark now under the trees, all the light had gone out of the world, all the light had gone. His hands had been so heavy. She felt a shiver run up her spine and tensed her muscles to push him off one last time. Her haunches rose up and pushed into the ground; her spine felt dense and hard – but then his weight felt lighter, and the hackles rose up at the back of her neck. There was a little shriek, and she hoped the parakeets would save her, stupidly she thought the parakeets would attack him – it wasn’t her shrieking, her voice came back guttural and she couldn’t scream but a low sound was traveling up through her, which felt odd, thick somehow, and heavy – she pushed off the ground and this time she was able to fill her lungs with that chilly, clean air, but the smell of him was repulsive. She snuffled a bit to get his scent out of her nostrils. She felt warm all over and her paws were strong and heavy on the ground.

The little shriek came again. She rose up on all fours; the vermin-creature on her back was sliding around grabbing on to her, puny and light now as she stretched out her legs and her claws dug hard into the ground. She turned around, her jaw clenched and massive – she had a voice now, but it was slow in coming; it came up out of her belly – this unearthly growl, the fur rose up all over her body as she heard this sound coming out of her – the vermin-creature was scrambling all over her trying to get off her: shrieking, shrieking, oh how it was shrieking. It annoyed her, the way the creature shrieked, so she swung her powerful neck around again and clamped her fangs around its shoulder and bit down hard to make it stop. Her tail swished around, showing her irritation. It was now screaming without pause and pushing against her grabbing at her fur as if it could push her away. She shrugged it off easily now. She twisted around growling and clamped her jaws around its head. The crunch was satisfying. She held it down with one massive paw and sliced its belly open with her claws which were pleasantly sharp – its belly came open in strips – the shrieking stopped – finally the night was quiet and just the birds rustled in the branches above her.

The vermin-creature lay still. She couldn’t be bothered to eat it; her tastes ran to venison. She lay on her side and began to lick her paws clean.

The Indian parakeets rustled above her, awed. They knew her, she was one of them, she came from their jungle; she was the first familiar thing they had seen since they were brought to this strange, cold land. They watched as she groomed herself, licking her bright orange stripes clean, clean, clean.  

By Valentina Cambiazo

*On the same night that Sarah Everard disappeared, the body of Brianna Lozano was found in Beacon Hill Park, Victoria BC. This story is a tribute to all victims of violence. When is it going to stop?

Poor Piers, he definitely got his nose out of joint today with the release of the so called thermonuclear Oprah interview with Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. He didn’t seem quite as outraged by the Prince Andrew/Jeffrey Epstein debacle, which is an odd kind of outrage setting to have – abused children in association with the royal scion: yes, that’s “outrageous” says Piers…unhappy American Duchess expressing how she feels about the way she was treated – Well, here Piers has to expend all of his considerable energy dreaming up superheated adjectives: “appalling, cruel, unacceptable, disgusting”, even. In other words, how dare she be overwhelmed by tabloid viciousness and in-law issues? Good Morning, Britain co-host, Susannah Reid, never stood a chance to get a word in edgewise so powerful was the blast coming from Piers. Truly she is a saint the way she manages to keep her cool. I’d very much like Susannah to have her own show so we can finally hear from her without the constant manly interruptions. She seems like a very intelligent woman. But then again women should just be quiet and wait for the men to talk and should preferably not express their emotions or their pain even when they have been treated badly.

It has surprised everyone that the rich and famous have feelings too. Women, whether they are rich, poor, white, or black are punished more severely for those feelings and found to be unacceptable more than men for some reason which I still can’t quite understand. It’s as if the rule book can never be translated or understood. Should Meghan have just smiled and nodded for the next 30 years no matter how abusive the tabloids got? Would that have satisfied the critics? Should Harry have stood by nodding as his wife was savaged by the press? Well, they didn’t and they got away. Proximity to the Crown has always been a tricky and dangerous place to be. Just look at a few history books.

There are certain basic questions in life to which the answer is always yes. In my opinion. Also, most of these questions do not even need to be completed before the answer springs up.

Do you think there is corruption in…? Yes.

Do you need help with…? Yes.

Is it difficult to…? Yes.

Are you sad about…? Yes.

Did you forget to…? Yes.

Is this named after a dude…? Yes.

Would you like to hold a puppy…? Yes.

Ok, I can’t think of any more but if you can, leave me a comment. Wait, here’s an obvious one…

Is it a total drag leaving comments on a WordPress site…? Yes.

Do you wish you could …? Yes.

Do you want a cookie…? Yes.

Do you need a hug…? Yes.

Do you need a thousand hugs…? Yes.

Do you want another one of those cookies…? Yes, yes, yes.

After watching The Last of Us:

“Is there anything bad in here?” YES!

So much writing to so little purpose. These are the times when all right-thinking viewers yearn and sigh for the resurrection of one Jane Austen so that she could hit the writer of Bridgerton over the head with a pink parasol, brush her aside and sit at her tiny writing desk to put some real dialogue and coherent narrative drive down on paper. No more to be said….be gone Bridgerton, be gone….