newspapers

I would never poach a quail egg. Quail eggs are OK. Nothing special. Small eggs. You eat them and think “hmm. That’s OK”. I won’t eat hem unless someone else is buying them and someone else is cooking it. This isn’t an issue of snobbery. I feel the same way about black pudding. And beer. And newspapers. You don’t have to prepare beer unless you are opening a can or pouring it yourself. That’s preparation of a sort.

You can prepare newspapers by finding discarded newspapers on the train, scrunching the pages into loose balls, and putting them in a big pile in your back garden. Then joyfully spunk methanol all over them (from a spare lens cleaning kit), and set fire to them. Shouting “I’m burning the media, man – and I didn’t even pay for it”. (I have no respect for people who burn flags because, often, they’ve bought the flag. It’s mental). Then read the websites of the newspapers you have burnt without ever, ever, clicking on the advertising links.

Even if they’ve got a potentially good deal on a camera advertised or a featured book written by the sub-editor’s wife’s nephew. Then, much later, when the awful realisation dawns on you that you’ve made a Jeremy Clarkson/K Foundation-like statement (I suspect they’re one and the same). Hang your head in shame and drink Ribena. To wash down a fish-finger sandwich. And have a good hard think.

There are qualities that exist in all great film-drama characters that are hard to pin down. It is too simplistic to say that the characters have depth or complexity because some great film characters aren’t complex and don’t have depth. An element may be that while a part of a narrative, at some point in the film, (or even all of it) a great character’s motivations are not obvious to the viewer. So elements of the character are open to interpretation and the character is interesting as a result. Another factor may be the freshness of a role. As defined by the script and/or director and/or acting skills. A memorable character - because they’re novel and a benchmark by which others will be judged. And, I suppose, the pathos or revulsion the character can elicit from an audience.

All in varying proportions. Of course. One day a twat will paid peanuts to put together a shoddy equation for the benefit of a cinema chain. Who’ll pump out press releases on the unsuspecting public like bukkake. Mopped up by the news.

I don’t give a flying fuck about David Cameron flaunting the rules of the road on a bicycle. The thing with Cameron is; he started off OK, but got pulled in all kinds of directions by the interests surrounding him, and when elected he’ll swing further to the right and will tolerate/exploit stuff he knows to be wrong. He’ll excuse it by deferring to ‘people being concerned about N‘ and he’ll ride them like a donkey rather than tell anybody they’re wrong, like a grown-up, with a grown-up face. See Broken Britain. In The Sun. As PM he”ll paint his bike black, get mudguards , and go out hunting peasants with his fox-gun. Probably.

If I were David Cameron post-bike scoop I’d market myself as a maverick prepared to bend the rules to get the job done. Dr House MD, on a bicycle. Minus the Vicodin. With legs that work. David Cameron with a Vicodin habit would break Broken Britain’s broken back. The Vicodin straw. The kids look up to Cameron - the street youth. Hipsters, fidget godivas, and Vicodin, all being David Cameron’s fault. Prompting apocalyptic headlines in The Daily Mail, Armageddon in The Sun, and wanky, serious discussion, with mostly idiots, in The Broadsheets. Fuck them! What does David Cameron want with them anyway? Dr House MD wouldn’t give a fuck. Oh, and The Mirror are a bunch of twats too. Just to be even handed and all. The newspapers are crap by-and-large because a great deal of the people that read them are idiots.