I have been listening to a burglar alarm ringing for the last two hours. I’d say it was one building across, two max. It makes a swirling howl for five minutes, stops for one minute then starts again.
Clearly its doing a bang-up job. Worth every cent the owner paid. And now, the guy in the flat, two floors up, has his stereo on loud, possibly to drown out the burglar alarm.
Right, I can hear the bassline ‘doofing’ through the ceiling. Good.
I’ll meditate through it.
* * * * *
Oh Good Grief. There is a fireworks show by the river. Doof Dooof. Screeeeeeeeeeee. Pop. Pop. Crump. Crump. Crakka-keracker-cracker. Crump. Doof. Doof. Doof.
When they prise me out of this flat, white and shivering, I will utter a wordless doof, by way of farewell.
* * * * *
Couldn’t meditate through it. So I turned up my muted telly.
The PRINCESS DIARIES directed by Gary Marshall was on. I’ve never seen it, so I have a question.
What’s with the intimations of some kind of Lady Chatterly action occurring with the Queen (Julie Andrews) and her Head of Security (Hector Elizondo)? Isn’t this a Disney movie? I find the implication that the monarch of Freedonia (or whatever) is shtupping the hired help, to be most disagreeable.
Julie Andrews. Most people regard her as some kind of asexual, secular saint. And with good reason. She taught the Baron’s children to sing. And wear poorly-cut chintz curtain clothing. And she can fly. Can Paris Hilton do that?
Hector Elizondo, the Major Domo, King of the Bellhops dude in that delightful romp about the the sex industry – PRETTY WOMAN turned up. Another Gary Marshall film.
This PRINCESS DIARIES flick actually resembles PRETTY WOMAN in a number of ways. Except it seems like its going to be clean when you start watching. None of this Edward and Vivian work out how much it costs for her to stay the whole weekend.
So to bring stern, but musical, but unsexy, but maternal, but overacting Julie Andrews together with competent, but subservient, but honorable, but paternal Hector Elizondo in some kind of trysty, illicit and frankly, trashy liaison, is quite the disappointment.
Still “I love your eyebrows – we’ll name them Frida and Kahlo,” is a pretty funny line.
* * * * *
Plenty more of this kind of action with me this coming weekend. I’d ignore my next couple of blog entries by the way. In them, I will attempt to judge a person’s character by the type of washing powder they use.
Go to a ‘discotheque’ and get off with someone dodgy. And you – kid at the back – do your chemistry homework, it’s due first thing Monday!
The weekend starts elsewhere.