How can one body create so much fluid? As a somewhat grosser reflection of the rain we're (finally!) getting, I am filling tissue after tissue with ... stuff. But I wear this head cold proudly. It's the first since I quit smoking 7 months ago. I'm whizzing through the stages like greased lightning (or like a phlegm slick greasy pole); sore throat, done, sinus and dripping nose, in progress, congestion and coughing, got it. If I was still smoking I'd be in real trouble. As it is I'll have this sucker licked in a few more days.
Was pleasantly surprised to find yoga helps alleviate symptoms. Maybe it's all the inversions that stir things up. Haven't practiced today as I tackled the weekly verandah clean so feel a bit grungier and gummed up than usual.
Must be easily bored in my old age. Just finished reading a mystery with Oscar Wilde as the detective and found it wanting. Stumbled on it in the library and thought, hey ho! This should be a ripper but it was as dull as the daily bed making. Managed to drag myself to within two pages of the end and then gave up. Expired of boredom.
So why? Why did I find this book so awful? The book is called Oscar Wilde and the Dead Man's Smile and the author is Gyles Brandreth. I think it was awful because I didn't believe it. They were like pawns being moved around the stage (and much of the action took place within the theatre) to advance the story but I didn't care. They didn't elicit empathy or sympathy. There were just there, moving here, moving there, saying this, doing that. Even references to incest, opium, laudanum, hashish, Sarah Bernhardt and self flagellation couldn't whip this dead horse to life.
Just looked up Mr. Brandreth and see he's very well known in the UK as an entertainer, politician, writer, broadcaster and one man show. Well, gee. I'm obviously out of step. The reviews of his Oscar Wilde books are Wildely complimentary. So pay no attention to me and my opinion. I'm in the minority.
As a contrast, I finished Stephen Fry's The Fry Chronicles and loved it. Funny, erudite, painfully honest (who admits publicly to picking their nose?) yet tinged with melancholia that his humour can't quite hide. I am prejudiced of course. I've had a crush on Stephen Fry since his Blackadder days, notwithstanding his homosexuality (he did say in the book he was only 90% gay so there's always hope). Last year the ABC ran Jeeves and Wooster, which predates Blackadder, and Fry as Jeeves was understated perfection. I was fated to love Jeeves and Wooster even without Fry as I discovered Wodehouse years ago. It's a love Fry and I share. Isn't that touching? Of course I'm happily married and he's (90%) gay so it won't happen but I still adored his book.
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