Watched The Long Good Friday last night, starring a young Bob Hoskins and Helen Mirren. A british gangster tries to go legit by interesting American investors in a project to turn parts of London into a site for the '88 Olympics. The story and style were hit and miss for me (great late 70s keyboard parts, however) but the acting--especially that of Hoskins--was spot on. Something about watching a British gangster movie makes me want to start calling my phone "the blower." "Get on the blower to Tommy and tell him we need shooters," is the kind of thing one wants to say, having seen a movie like that.
Listening to Jeeves in the Morning on my walk right now. A long-ago gift given by Johannes. The older I get the more I admire PG Wodehouse's prose style. The high tone and convoluted diction is meant as a joke, of course, but that doesn't make accomplishing it any less difficult. Wodehouse gets it right every time; he's a great crafter of sentences, among his many other virtues.
Our tecate tile back patio is currently being cleaned and treated by a workman. How does the Monster feel about this, you might ask? Not good. He is yowling and whimpering vociferously from the other room. It's a hard life, being a small bear. Only you can detect the danger that lurks in the hearts of the people your foolish owners let into your backyard. The price of freedom, as The Binks reminds me often, is eternal vigilance. Also, huge amounts of sleep. And treats. But mostly, eternal vigilance.