Of all the Star Wars iterations I have seen so far, this one was the weakest. From the very first episode Obi-Wan known as Ben, because, you know, he’s in hiding, was a moaning old fisher woman from start to finish. He. Never. Stopped. Complaining.
Obi-Wan’s failings aside, it was fun to get some of the backstory to Leia, and see her as a plucky 10-year old besting dear ‘Ol Ben and getting them both in and out of trouble. Kudos to the young actress, Vivien Lyra Blair, for nailing the part and making it her own.
But the one character/actress who gave heart to the whole series with her sacrifice has to be Indira Varma playing Tala Durith. I want a limited series with Tala running the underground.
Now that’s a spinoff everyone could get behind!
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
I opened the curtains this morning to find it was not only snowing, and had been for a while, but that the birds (song sparrows) were up and playing in the snow.
I’m not sure if they were looking for food or, from the odd movements they were making, actually taking a Snow Bath.
Last night looking for something to watch on Netflix, I went surfing movie options and came across one simply titled LOU.
The write up wasn’t much to go on, but when I saw that it starred Allison Janney (CJ from the West Wing) I knew I wanted to watch it no matter what it was about. Turns out this was as much an action thriller as it was about retired spies and so much more.
“A young girl is kidnapped during a powerful storm. Her mother joins forces with her mysterious neighbour to set off in pursuit of the kidnapper. Their journey will test their limits and expose the dark secrets of their past.”
What? Allison Janney doing fight scenes? I couldn’t have asked for more. This one delivers on so many levels: viscerally, visually, and subtly.
Amazingly good. A solid 4 bags of popcorn 🍿🍿🍿🍿
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
I jokingly said to the OH last night that I fancied going to see the Nutcracker at the Grand Theatre this season, to kick Christmas off. We use to do it regularly before the dreaded plague came along.
Well, they secretly booked us two tickets for a Sunday evening Dec 11th.
I just discovered how much, including taxes, they paid: $242 for a pair of tickets. That’s up about $100 from the last time we went in 2018. Though it’s true, the Grand Ballet Canadiens is dancing, but still.
Death by Lightning? More like death by boredom, slowly … excruciatingly slowly. I watched the first two episodes expecting it to start off somewhat slowly as they introduce the characters but, by the end of episode 2, I was beginning to wonder just how I would survive not throttling Charles ‘Charlie’ Guiteau or shooting James A. Garfield myself.
Neither a sympathetic character in any way shape or form. Guiteau being portrayed as a manic lunatic who, quite frankly, is so unbelievable as to make me question any historical accuracy. This drama seems more a historical farce borne of the mind of the writer and less nailing down of the who, what, where, when and, more importantly, why.
I’m not sure what I was expecting but what I got was definitely not what I was expecting. Some people have called this clever and quirky. Some have even raved about it. Me? I would say it’s a little far along the weird scale to struggle past the first two introductory episodes.
There was nothing of substance to grab my attention, even for quirky. And I certainly didn’t care for the lead character, the most miserable person on the planet apparently, played by Rhea Seehorn.
Haven’t we had enough of these bleak analogies? I know I have.
It’s funny how we find these kinds of topics sometimes the most fascinating. I mean, who doesn’t love the smell of a good soap? Well, I don’t. I find most soap overly perfumed. Some even make me gag, their scent so strong.
So, just what are my 5 top and bottom smells? Well, I thought you would never ask:
TOP FIVE
No. 4711 — My mother’s favourite cologne, is the original cologne made in Germany more than 228 years ago. As the name implies, this was the 4711th iteration of the scent that made it to market. My mum wore this scent almost exclusively her entire life.
Bronnley Lemon Soap — This lemon shaped soap is another pioneering product that my mother loved, and whose scent I associate with her and a happy childhood of warmth and safety.
Grass — For someone who suffers every year at spring time from tree pollen, I absolutely love the smell of fresh mown grass. I don’t know what memory it evokes but I always stop to breath in that scent whenever I encounter it.
Freshly baked goods — I remember my mum baking nearly every day throughout my childhood. And so, when I catch a whiff of freshly baked goods, whether pie, cake, or other sugary delights, it always reminds me of home, my mum, and those happier moments of childhood.
Jet Fuel — Okay, I know, this is going to sound weird, why would she like the smell of jet fuel? But again, it’s a smell I grew up with, and a smell that has a strong associate for me, of happier memories, and of the places my parents were posted to. The smell brings out a sense of excitement at travel and going places.
BOTTOM FIVE
Sewage — There was, for a six month period between my father’s postings where we, as a family, we housed on what was called a Transit Camp, while my dad was off somewhere doing training prior to another trip abroad. The camp sat downwind of a sewage processing planet. And, let me tell you, we all knew about it every time the wind blew in the right direction.
Meat — Specifically, braised liver or kidneys. My father loved to eat them and my mother duly cooked them for him … but the smell? Lingered for days, and days, and always made me feel nauseous.
Rotting Seaweed — Have you ever gone down to the beach for the afternoon on a hot summer day and … there’s a long line of rotting seaweed stretching off into the distance, in either direction? That stuff gives off a hideous stench as bad as raw sewage.
Decomposing Food — One year, when we were younger, my mum took us all up north for two months to visit my aunt, in Scotland, for summer holidays. It was fantastic. One of the most memorable summer breaks I remember. But, when we got home, there had been a power outage while we were away and, everything in the fridge had been slowly decomposing for TWO MONTHS. When my mother open the fridge door …
Dead Skunk — Truly, there is nothing, and I mean, nothing in this world that smells as bad as a decomposing skunk within 100 yards (down wind) of your bedroom window on a succession of long, hot, summer nights, in New England.
And there you have it. My top and bottom 5 memorable smells. And you, what made it onto your list of good and bad smells?
In the spirit of the Mini Book Review, I thought to write my own (rather sarcastic, or it that, scathing?) mini movie reviews.
Be warned, there are spoilers ahead
Murder on the Orient Express — A movie in which twelve suspects of varying social status have three minutes of screen time to convince Kenneth Branagh—er, I mean, Poirot—that they are not the killer of Johnny Depp’s despicable character; the obvious bad guy.
With a waveringly bad accent, the heroic Hercule Poirot confronts the suspects—who are artfully arranged at a table in the mouth of the train tunnel to look like Da Vinci’s Last Super—and recounts a series of events in flashback to solve the mystery.
And … they all did it.
3 Billboards outside Ebbings, Missouri — A foul-mouth red-neck woman hurls abuse at the town’s Sheriff and his inept, racist department for not finding her daughter’s killer. In a last ditch effort to get the dying Sheriff to find a clue, she rents three billboards to get her message across. More swearing and ultra violence ensues before the Sheriff blows his brains out, and a disgraced deputy miraculously over-hears someone bragging in a bar of his rape conquest.
Disgraced deputy and foul-mouthed woman team up, and go on a road-trip to murder the bragging rapist.
Lady Bird — A dull, coming of-age movie in which the two central characters of a mother and daughter hurl derogatory abuse at one another. Where the character of Christine ‘Lady Bird,’ a senior at a Catholic high school about to graduate and go to college, acts like a self-centred spoilt child in a series of lack-lustre vignettes. The two best of which are wasted in the trailer for the movie to make you think this is a comedy. It isn’t.
Dunkirk — A long, slow, and violent look at the evacuation of 400,000 Allied troops from the beaches at Dunkirk, via three interwoven threads, confusingly mixed at random. With a total lack of regard to any continuity, we see disturbing images of men drowning, men being blown up, men running along a beach. Men waiting in long lines out in the open, waiting to be shot at by the enemy. Men screaming and jumping off sinking ships, and drowning in long drawn out sequences to very jarring music.
There is little or no credible dialogue, as there are few speaking parts. One of which is Kenneth Branagh as a Naval Officer stood on a pier looking heroically out to sea, or to the sky, for deliverance. There is none … for him, or for us.
And there you have it, of course, this is all just my opinion.
Note: No popcorn was harm in the writing of these scathing reviews.
Way back when, and I’m talking the mid-60s in Singapore, when my sister, who was ten years older than me, worked part time for an Army liaison officer. She was part of a team who organised rock bands tours, and, as a result, I got to meet with some of the biggest bands of the era.
This included, at the time, over a 3 year period I remember, bands such as The Rolling Stones, The Yardbirds (inc. Jimmy Page), the Walker Brothers, and later, Jimmy Page’s brand new band, Led Zeppelin. Then there was the Kinks, along with Manfred Mann and later, Herman’s Hermits, with Peter Noone.
I can remember being in and around all these young up and coming rock stars of the day, dressed in my Sunday best, following my sister around as, star struck, she got autographs and propositioned to come on tour with them. I remember shaking hands and, at the very grown up age of 8, talking to various members of these bands like they were my older brother, asking about their mothers and family like we were all visiting together.
I often wonder what, if any, impression I left on any of them after our brief and sometimes, lengthy encounters. Especially as I had my photograph taken with any number of them. It would be fun to think that somewhere down the line, in a book, or museum, or on someone’s mantle piece, there’s me lurking in the background of a photo of a famous mega rock band who even now, are still rocking the world.
I also wonder if my sister still has her collection of photos and autographs, along with her memories? Probably or, maybe not. Who knows.
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
You have to be careful screaming into the void once too often … it has a tendency to scream back. And believe me when I say, no one wants that!
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
Went to see the vampire again, this morning. Had to give enough to fill 3 vials this time.
I’m always fascinated by the different colour coding on the tubes they fill. This one has a yellow stripe tape, this one red, another is green. I know one is to be tested for my magnesium levels, the other two? Cancer markers.
I now know my blood will scream, Red Alert! Red Alert! to the doctor to let them know if there’s any pesky aliens in my blood work. Thereby alerting us early enough (I hope) to take action.
So very thankful for modern medicine.
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
When I need a humour boost there’s nowhere on the planet that delivers better than over on McSweeny’s. Today I discovered the veritable laugh out loud list: Oxymorons for 2025. A list that will have you wetting your pants or, at the very least, shedding a tear or two, or even, a dull snigger.
I casually mentioned online the other day to Scott that my alter ego, 8 year old Alex, loves to pull pranks on people. This particular, some would say, unsavoury trait started early on in my life. And for good reason. It was more about revenge on my older brothers who, themselves, love to prank me, their younger sweet innocent sister. Was I ever sweet and innocent? Who knows.
The thing is, when we lived abroad, which was pretty much all my young life, we lived in countries prone to hosting a lot of creepy crawly insects and really BIG bugs. Never mind lizards, snakes, spiders, scorpions, and a million weird ass looking beetles … no, silly, not those Beetle.
The things is, they loved to collect said bugs and beasties and, well, hide them in my bedroom and worse, in my bed especially. So much so, it got to the point I stopped screaming and started insisting that I would not go to bed till my dad had cleared the room as if sweeping for mines and other explosive ordinance. It became a nightly ritual.
As a result, of course, I slowly became desensitised to said creepy crawlies to the point I could even handle them myself and, took to boxing bugs for release into my brother’s beds and worse, into their clothes draws and wardrobe.
Well, of course both parents took exception to the mini war of attrition taking place under their roof every time my dad was posted somewhere exotic. We were, at one point, all lined up like the Von Trapp children, lectured by both parents, and threatened to be grounded till we were all thirty!
Needless to say, I think I secretly had the last word in that war as I moved from bugs and creepy crawlies, which I then collected and stuck pins in (don’t @ me) to more nefarious and devious tricks and pranks. Like adding salt to the sugar bowl, sticking dead ants into strawberry tarts, or swapping out the raisins in those mini raising boxes for rabbit droppings. A friend had taught me that one.
Of course, I took this approach with every bully I’ve ever encountered over the years, in finding a way to prank them. In the military this extended to putting boot polish on the black toilet seats so that when guys sat down they got booted as we called it. We also did cling film over the toilet bowl and urinals.
Some of the best fun was filling condoms and medical gloves with, eh, solutions, and then placing (balancing) them in strategic places to cause the most damage to peoples dignity and self respect, never mind, clothes.
We, meaning me and my cohorts, could be ruthless. So, be warned, don’t cross me as I will figure out a way to prank you good and proper, and usually, in public.
More good news from the doctor this morning. Well, good in that he reaffirmed that my surgery seems to have gotten all the nasty stuff, and that blood tests and scans show no signs of any lingering cells anywhere.
That said. Every 4 months for the next 2 years I have to do a blood test to check my markers to see if they’re still good. Plus, every year for the next 2 I have to have a yearly colonoscopy. Then, the following 3 years, twice a year blood tests, plus the colonoscopies.
Five years seems to be the point at which they say your are less likely to have another occurrence but still, I will be doing blood tests and colonoscopies probably for the rest of my life. Something I’m more than happy to do if it means I never ever have cancer again!
So dear Ladies and Germs, listen to your friendly Alexandra and, for the love of life and your families, please, please, go get tested every other year. Get scoped top and bottom and make sure you too stay healthy and on the right side of cancer.
This post is brought to you by the letters A and W.
Tomorrow I have to get up at the ungodly hour of 6 am because of a doctor’s appointment at 8:15. It’s my follow up with my cancer surgeon and, because he starts surgery at 8:45, he literally squeezes in patient follow-ups beforehand.
Don’t feel sorry for me getting up at that silly time to shower and eat, he get’s up even earlier, because that’s his life of a surgeon these days. Get into work, do prep, see patients and then, go off to do several surgeries throughout the day.
Thinking about it, when I realised what long hours he does, I was glad that, on the day of my surgery, I was his first patient rather than his last. I wouldn’t want to be that last one on a difficult day especially when said surgeries, without complications, can take 3 hours each.
So, I’ll be there at 8 am, ready to see him at 8:15 sharp and, even though it’s only for a five minute consult while he looks at my scars and asks me a few questions to see how I’m doing and maybe, schedule further follow-ups. I’ll be grateful because, once again, I’m seeing him at the start of his day and not at the end, when he might have been through hell and back.
Just to let you know our flood of yesterday afternoon lasted about 15 minutes. However, it took maintenance over an hour to respond to our frantic call to the front desk. An hour! And then, when he knocked, he arrived with nothing. Not so much as a torch, helpful towel, or maintenance trolly.
He spent exactly a minute inspecting both bathrooms, pronounced he needed to go and … came back 30 minutes later with … his phone!
That was it. His phone. Which he then proceeded to use the flashlight feature to inspect the overhead fan in the guest bathroom. By this time all the dripping had stopped.
I should point out that this guy was happy to stand on all our wet towels and then, tramp big muddy footprints throughout on his way in and out.
To ask if I was furious is an understatement. I was nuclear.
The main reason? The flood was the supposed result of the person in the apartment above ours pouring a large bucket of dirty water into their toilet! Seriously? All bathrooms are tiled up to 3 inches up the wall. How did this idiot manage to cause so much trouble with a single bucket of water?
That aside. We got no apologies from the neighbour and, as far as the maintenance guy was concerned, it was our problem to clean up the mess never mind be left with peeling wallpaper.
Naturally the OH not only called the building manager’s office and left a message but also wrote an official complaint and emailed them. Not that I’m sure we’ll get any response.
As to the clean up? It took us over an hour dressed in our HazMat Suits — what? Oh, okay, in our masks and rubber gloves — to clean from the ceiling to floor. Thanks to the chemical gods for bleach and lysol.
We’re right in the middle of a flood happening right now in our guest bathroom. Water is literally cascading through the fan on the ceiling onto the toilet and floor below, pooling.
Oh, the OH just shouted through that it’s now coming into the main bathroom through the adjoining wall …
We phoned the front desk here, in the main building and, they told us the plumbing crew is on another job we’ll have to wait.
We’ll have to wait? Are they fucking kidding me? I’m sorely tempted to phone 911 and call the fire brigade in.
That’s another week done and dusted and, to be honest, I cannot for the life of me remembered anything exciting happening. The highlight of the week, Saturday, we were supposed to go to see Sarah McLachlan in concert and, barely 2 hours before we were supposed to leave the house, we got an email to say the concert was cancelled and would be rescheduled at some point, next year.
Well, of course we were both crushed but then, a lightbulb went off and we went onloine to check why. And, sure enough, saw posts on Insta and Facebook from Sarah apologising to all her fans about the cancellations. She has laryngitis and, of course, has to take care of her voice.
So, fingers crossed they managed to find a date for the concert, for next year and, preferably, not in the middle of winter please, thank you.
I had a blood test last Wednesday and, had to wait till Friday to get news that my magnesium levels were finally up in the normal level. Fantastic new, of course, but just to be on the safe side, the pharmacist issued another RX for a further blood test in two weeks to check everything again. And I’m more than happy to give the blood to keep a check on what’s happening.
And … Halloween came and went with a huge gale and rain storm here so I don’t know if any of the kids were out and about. But no one knocked on our door either Friday night or throughout the day Saturday. People usually put a pumpkin outside their door to tell kids where they can come to get candy. So now, the OH has a lot of candy they can eat. I might have to ration them to two pieces a night.
Saturday night, overnight, the clocks went back here, in Canada, to GMT (standard time) and I slept like a baby to wake at my normal hour but, having had an extra hours sleep. Lucky me. Yay!
TV & Film Watched
Down Cemetery Road on Apple TV ⭐️⭐️
Foundation S3 on Apple TV ⭐️⭐️
See S1 on Apple TV ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Slow Horses S5 on Apple TV ⭐️⭐️⭐️
And this week? More doctor’s appointments and possible tests, but other than that, if the weather holds, a few more walks out to the park.
