Atonement

My previous visit to the cinema was to see Harry Potter and whilst it was an enjoyable enough way to pass the time it was good to finally watch something that had me thinking long after the film had ended. Atonement is such a film.

Reading any review is a dangerous undertaking when planning to see something you hope may turn out to be a classic. Those few I read were split in praising the film for it's dream-like first half followed by a more traditional (weaker?) narrative in the second part, or a strong finish to a slow and confused beginning. But it seems to me this mix in style is deliberate and represents the situation and state of mind of the characters, or perhaps the central character of Briony, at particular points in time.

Perhaps the film was a little unbalanced with too much of the story focusing on the people sinned against when, personally, it was Briony's attempt at redemption that held the interest. This is not a love story though it contains a love story as a backdrop. It is a story of how lives are destroyed by the imagination of a 13 year old child and it says much for the quality of the film that we come to care as much for the perpetrator as we do the victims of the crime. It was thoroughly depressing and I loved it.

Pride comes before a.... whoaaaaaaa

When younger I was occasionally witness to parents of obviously unsound minds praise their offspring for completing the most mundane of tasks. It was I suppose inevitable, the moment I became a parent, that I would one day join this assortment of crackpots. Last weekend my daughter unexpectedly swam the width of the pool, and in doing so achieved her five metres swimming badge. I am so lacking in any sense of proportion I'm going to include a picture...

It's strange and wonderful that something like this could make me so happy. I've replayed the moment over and over in my mind and it still hasn't lost it's impact. I'll be wearing V-neck jumpers before you know it...

Soap, cop, cook

I once heard Germaine Greer describe the Australian soap Neighbours as crypto-fascist - at least I think that was the description. At the time I dismissed it as another barking mad comment from one of those not-quite-in-touch-with-reality lefties that used to give me so much enjoyment. Subsequently I've realised there was some validity to this point which suggests the possibility that I'm an idiot. I'd like to think it takes a big man to admit he was wrong though it's more likely an indication that it's me who is not-quite-in-touch-with-reality – assuming I ever was?

Anyway, in the words of the song, it's my blog and I'll write rubbish if I want to. I've not watched Neighbours since I was a student (what is it about students and crap television?) but I do believe Ms Greer's comment could now be applied to the detective drama CSI:Miami. This is another in a long line of American cop shows with impossibly good looking (in a suspicious way) detectives and an almost religious regard for the possibilities of science; which as portrayed in the show is more fantasy than reality. I'd condemn the show outright were it not for the comic turn of David Caruso as Horatio Caine. Once you twig it's a comedy it's a lot of fun.

Though I've a new-found, albeit misplaced, enjoyment for said show it has already been supplanted by the all-new Nigella Lawson cookery program in which Nigella continues to be impossibly good looking (but in a good way), wears outfits wholly unsuitable for the kitchen (not that I'm complaining) whilst travelling to the supermarket by taxi (I particularly liked that bit). I know what you're thinking. The link from Neighbours to CSI:Miami was pretty tenuous but from CSI:Miami to Nigella Lawson it's frankly unbelievable. Is this just a flimsy excuse to plug (if you'll forgive the expression) Nigella?

Probably.

Drying out

Due to circumstances beyond my control I found myself travelling by train into work this morning. Thankfully I actually like travelling by train; until recently it was my regular mode of transport for many years. The journey may have taken twice as long compared to my car but somehow it was more… civilised. It might also have proven cheaper had I learnt to resist my early morning coffee (£1.75) and danish (£1.40ish) - the breakfast of kings. It was certainly safer than driving since concentrating first thing in the morning isn't one of my stronger points. So despite a heavy work load ahead, which truth be told I prefer, I enjoyed the journey in; I even managed a smile when I saw my train was running late – it was like old times.

I've come back from a weekend break in Center Parcs. It's hugely overpriced and the antithesis of thinking for yourself. However there were two aspects that appealed to me; it wasn't too far to drive and... I didn't have to think for myself. But I digress; I had a really good time and since I hadn't been looking forward to it at all it was a pleasant surprise. I'm still drying out from the endless time I spent in the pool with my six year old daughter, and I must be getting soft because when she told me she'd really enjoyed her holiday I couldn't stop myself from grinning.

Smiling after holiday and smiling on the way to work… now there’s a puzzle.

Nadia

If I can set my expectation at the appropriate level, or to be safe just a little lower, I always enjoy a film more. Of course the best experience you can have with any film is to come to it with no preconceptions at all. Such was the case the first time I saw Memento. Never having read a review everything about this film, even the premise and the way in which the story was told, was new. I have since seen several reviews of this film that have only confirmed a long held belief that there should be a special kind of hell reserved for some film reviewers.

You would think that setting expectations for life, that mundane thing that exists outside the world of film, would be easy in comparison. Somehow however I always end up disappointed.I can't pinpoint an exact moment where it all went wrong but I do believe the fault lies with Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci. When you're nine years old the simplest of things, such as a smile, can have the most unexpected impact. I didn't have the slightest interest in gymnastics but I was so captivated I made a point of watching Nadia just to catch a glimpse of that smile. Wow!

And from that point onwards it was all downhill.

Thursday is the new Friday

It's my last day of work this week. Tomorrow is my daughter's sixth birthday and I'm taking the day off. I've managed to avoid any large scale event and instead we will be visited by my in-laws during the day, when we'll walk to the local park, and then a meal with my own parents in the evening. This is about as much socialising as I can manage nowadays before suffering a meltdown - in my defence I do at least recognise this flaw in my character though whether I'll ever do anything about it is doubtful.

Despite the disappointments during this time - not the least of which is TWO World Cup failures - my daughter has never failed to put a smile on my face, which after that Ronaldhino fluke is no mean feat! God only knows what I'll do with myself when she leaves home or comes to realise what a boring old fart her father is, so I'm determined to make the most of it.

Worry about tomorrow when it happens.

Stealing from the poor

I've had to endure a proud tale of fraud more often than I'd like; the 'clever' thing to do is claim for much more than has been lost. One of the more famous stories was that of Ernest Saunders of Guinness, the only person in medical history to recover from Alzheimer's – presumably as a result of being let out of jail. In his instance it was insider dealing.

In both cases the excuse offered for these actions was that they were 'victimless crimes'. In both cases this was bollocks.

Insurance fraud raises the cost of insurance for everyone. Insider dealing results in pensions of a lower value than they otherwise would be. In both circumstances the people who are hurt the most aren't the rich or even the middle classes; they just stump up the extra cash. The people who really get burnt are the poor, those who can barely afford insurance as it is and end up getting less cover then they should, who contribute a bare minimum (if anything) into a pension fund that leaves them destitute when they reach old age.

So why do we tolerate it? I can think of only three possibilities:

• There are many more anarchists in this country determined to bring down the system than previously thought.

• People are stupid.

• People don't give a shit.

I've only ever met one true anarchist; he lived in London and somewhat annoyingly didn't conform to the stereotype. He was also one of the most polite people I've ever met - bear in mind this was London! So that leaves either "people are stupid" or "people don't give a shit"; which one gives you the most comfort?