You may have noticed that watching TV’s an excellent way to stop yourself thinking. 

Last week, when I was holding my little dog as she was dying from a tumor on her liver, for a distraction I Netflixed some Zack Snyder movies. I couldn’t tell you how I got there; I was curious about Rebel Moon?


I’d been in the middle of writing about my visit to the local cineplex for its special Christmas showing of Die Hard, which I’d never seen in full, certainly not on a big screen, and how the ‘merry’ in ‘Merry Christmas’ doesn’t actually mean happy, or at least that’s not its original, far richer meaning—


In 2019 I had the flu. One of those lingering, rolling bouts that seem to be over then return to keep you hovering in a vaguely feverish almost pleasurable state, taking too much decongestant so your nose hurts and your eyes get prickly and dry…


My garden. Let’s define terms; ‘garden’ can be misleading, can lead to unrealistic expectations—and nobody likes that.

So. What we’re talking about here is what’s outside the house; a biggish amount of rock-filled ground hacked from surrounding woodlands…


When the final curtain falls, or the lights go dark, it’s over. 

The play is done; the actors take their calls, leave the stage and scramble to change out of costume. All that’s left for the audience is a confused and fading memory. 

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