World War Z

She may look worried...they are headed to Wales

From the get-go WORLD WAR Z  looked promising.
Seconds after we meet Brad Pitt, his surprisingly vapid and rather plain wife and their  two Hollywood kiddies, a galloping zombie hoard overwhelms the city of Boston ( well its stand in of Glasgow) in a tidal wave of the undead reminiscent of  chilling initial chase sequence in 28 Weeks Later.
Unfortunately things go all tits up after this, as this global " Walking Dead"  disaster movie doesn't really get off the ground., despite its 190 million dollar production costs, which is a bleeding shame, as some of the set pieces ( zombies running amok on a passenger plane ) are really quite good.

Pitt plays a UN trouble shooter who is given the remit to find a cure for the pandemic. He is smuggled into various " hotspots" around the world ( From New York, the Mid Atlantic, then Jerusalem via South Korea) in search for clues that may stop the infection and ends up bizarrely surviving a plane crash with a one armed female Israeli soldier in the middle of the Welsh Countryside!
( Chris was laughing hysterically at this point)

I was hoping that World War Z was going to be a big screen Walking Dead.
It isn't.
It is in fact a bloated, drama-less, and rather uninteresting CGI laden mess.
5/10
I had to eat a Marks & Spencer Scotch egg to cheer myself up.

Guilty Pleasure

It's a late pointless sort of entry today.
By the time I got home after work, locked the animals up safely for the night , walked the dogs, washed the dishes and collected a fish and chip supper ( I know I know!)I KNOW....!
It was ( and IS) a quarter to ten.

Time for some cultured relaxation with Jane Austin and Classic FM?
Nawwww....
I have settled down to watch a crappy tv documentary entitled Finding Bigfoot
Well my usual pleasure that is CHOPPER COPPERS isnt on tonight

What's your guilty pleasure?

" Back Away From The Scotch Egg..You Fat Bastard"

I stopped in at Sainsbury's last week and surprisingly got heckled by the church organist as I walked across the car park

" going in for a scotch egg?" She cackled loudly 

She is the third person to question my supermarket visits recently

She reads the blog!

Yesterday I counted 14 scotch egg wrappers hidden away around the Berlingo....this morning I took my old weightwatchers point counter to Marks & Spencer to check the calorific total of their luxury Lincolnshire Range . ( which is pure heaven  ambrosia in breadcrumbs I must say)

12 points! 12 friggin points! 

That's nearly half a day's points in two eggs!

It's no wonder I am starting to waddle again

Seeing my shock a middle aged bored shelf stacker came over and asked if I needed any help

" I need to put the scotch eggs down....and I need to walk away from the scotch eggs that's what I bloody well need to do" I told her

She laughed and tapped her arse with her hand

" don't we all love" .

So I rang the " Scotch egg abuse help line " and now have formulated a controlled scotch egg eating plan in conjunction  with weightwatchers, (an organisation I shall be rejoining  next week)

From today I will  allow myself just two ( non luxury) scotch eggs a week.

No more.

And I was proud of myself when I walked out of the supermarket this morning without picking up a packet!

Mind you I did linger just a tad too long next to a rather attractive display of Melton Mowbray miniature pork pies..............

To add insult to injury..this coupon arrived is morning in the post......why God? Why?

Titty

Titty and me ( two tits together)

It never fails to surprise me when an animal exhibits an abnormal behaviour, out of the blue so to speak. Most actions that may seem bizarre ( Bingley's obsession with my crocs for instance) can usually be explained away as an exaggeration of the norm( in his case an over abundance of hormones) but sometimes a behaviour just cannot be explained away as natural.
One of the hens that arrived after a fox attack in Prestatyn a month or so ago has developed an overwhelming need to be cuddled. Every time I kneel down to feed the chicks or collect the eggs, over she will come and without pause, hesitation or fanfare she will climb up onto my lap to be stroked.
She is not after any  food. She is not hiding from bullies . It is plain and simple that she wants and actively seeks out a physical contact that is pleasurable to her.
Not a normal behaviour for a constantly foraging animal at all.
And of course I am flattered by her attentions
Every morning I will break the routine of feeding and watering and will now sit on the grass and call her . Eagerly she will bound over and scramble up into my lap with her eyes half closed in silly poultry type rapture, and we will sit together for a few minutes, like a pair of right old sad bastards.
Her neediness is all rather touching.
I have named her, Titty
Bugger alone knows just why.

( note my new "scotch Egg" T shirt in the above photo....it is a slightly belated Birthday gift from J at
http://octoberfarm.blogspot.co.uk/. I am thrilled with it........)

In The House

I have not been to the cinema since Star Trek

Too long

Too long

So tonight I went to Theatre Clwyd and saw something with subtitles!

Umhauer &Luchine

The black comic/ thriller  In The House has an interesting premise. 

What would happen when a bored teacher , Germain ( Woody Allen look-a-like Fabrice Luchine) becomes obsessed with the writings of a talented pupil? Personal stories which are apparently based on meetings the pupil , Claude ( Ernst Umhauer) constructs with the family of a fellow pupil.

Initially the stories hint at the sexual obsession Claude has for Esther, the lonely mother of the family, but then  things take an odd turn of events when Germain tries to manipulate the reality of the situation in order to help Claude write a better story.

This is a witty film that has a lot to say about the blurring the lines of reality, voyeurism and the pain of being sixteen, but I couldn't help feeling that it would have made a better thriller rather than a slightly confusing but clever comic satire.

7/10

Making Ends Meet

In the nineties,for a while,  I used to take in " theatrical types" as a way of supplementing my nursing income. At that time Sheffield had a buoyant theatrical scene, ( I think it still does)  and so there was always a number of eclectic odd bods that wanted a bed for the night for a week or two.

The life of a jobbing actor who has secured a, " supporting role" in a production is not quite as glamorous or as lucrative as one may think, and so I learnt very quickly that the likes of Kenneth Branagh or James McAvoy were not going to queue up at my mid Victorian terraced house in Hillsborough.

So who did turn up?

Well I had a very elderly pantomime dame who demanded a big wardrobe for all of his frocks

A tiny 75 years old Indian actor with a prostate problem

A very mature flame haired actress with an eating disorder who said she was only 32( yeah right !)

And an Opera singing Londoner who ended up stealing all of my toilet paper and two cans of mandarin oranges.

Yes... All very glamorous 

Dirty Little Buggers

Hold your duckling in a vice like grip at all times..it minimises shit splatters

 When it comes to dirty hands Chris and I couldn't be more different. He has perfectly manicured hands that would be the envy of any tv chef (poor darling Nigella) whilst my stubby, nail bitten pigs trotters are invariably covered in one bodily secretion or another that stinks to high heaven.

Now before this little snippet of information has everyone running to the phone to report me to our local nhs infection control sister, I have to say that at work my hands are scrubbed within an inch of their stubby little lives......at home.......however the reality is somewhat different.

Last night, I went to the community Council Meeting, so Chris had been asked to put the ducks and the geese to bed. A job he does under a tiny bit of sufferance. I returned home just as he was finishing the job and out of devilment I passed him the two ducklings, asking him to return them to the shed for the night.

Now ducklings may look fluffy, sweet and totally adorable

But in real life  they are hysterical, squirming shit bundles from hell.

To control them safely, you have to hold them very firmly indeed with their arses pointed away from any decent clothing. Their feet ( which they always seem to poo on) are constanly in motion, so moving them can be a somewhat messy and smelly operation.

I know it was a little naughty of me, but I told Chris non of this before I handed the little shit magnets over to him last night.......tee hee

Pissed off ...but not depressed.

There are several things that irritate me in this big old world.

Bad manners,

people that say one thing but do another,

Meanness of spirit

I could go on, and on... and on

But there is one thing that has consistantly " bugged me" over the years and that is the

Overuse of the statement 

" I am depressed"

I heard it again this morning when in conversation with someone

And be it right or wrong.. I  had the overwhelming urge to say

When the dreaded D word was uttered

"Depression is an illness

And a devastating one at that"

You may be despondant, 

You may be pissed off,

You may be unhappy

You may be a sour faced old fart

You may be just a crabby old bastard with problems

No friends and a wife who hates your guts

But don't just jump on the helpless bandwagon and say that

You're depressed

Because invariably you're not!

OK?