You’ll know when it’s your time

My brain and my body both knew I would be racing tonight, and conspired to make sure I slept in late this morning to get enough rest. It was a shame I had to get up before this sleep was complete; I shambled off to work, so dazed that I couldn’t see straight, and for the first few hours at the office my eyes weren’t pointing in the same direction.

Eventually this wore off, and luckily not many people were at their desks this morning, so there were no witnesses to my discombobulation. By mid afternoon I was approaching competence or at least some semblance of it, just in time to go home and have a pre-race nap.
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Thinking of things

Today I wrote half a script for a shoot on Saturday. At lunchtime today, I had been walking through Hong Lim Park, a small square of grass near my office, worried that we had no new ideas to shoot this weekend, and then I returned to the office, checked my emails and found one of my collaborators had sent me the skeleton of a script. It turns out it can be easier to fill in the gaps on somebody else’s idea.

Now all we need is a crutch, an eye patch, a musket, an old wooden telescope, a parakeet and the uniform of a British admiral. And there I was thinking that we didn’t need to invest in many things to make a video.
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Ante-natal #4

After the scissors and forceps horror of last week, this week’s class was all about breast milk, which was much calmer and relaxing.

Babies like warm milk; possibly that’s how Starbucks have made their billions, by pandering to the infantile tendencies in their customers. You never see babies with a doppio espresso and a unfiltered Gitane for breakfast, do you? They’re just too young to understand the more mature pleasures in life.
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Sweet dreams are made of cheese

My wife and I had a 90 minute massage today. I’d had a trying day where everything was twice as difficult as necessary, and she’s pregnant, so we needed some respite. I didn’t realise how potent an hour and a half’s massage, followed up by a pizza, could be.

I’m not so much relaxed now as narcoleptic. I made the mistake when we for home of trying to work. (Quite wisely, the wife went straight to bed.) I spent a pointless hour on the computer, being less productive than when I’m drunk, and when I realised this it quite spoiled the relaxed mood the massage had conferred on me.

And so to bed. I’d write more if my brain worked, but forcing myself to stay awake when I’ve spent good money on getting ready to sleep seems beyond perverse, and nothing of note happened to me today anyway, so today will be cut short…

Things aren’t what you’d expect: Fast & Furious 6 and The Milkweed Triptych

Yesterday we went to see Fast & Furious 6 (it’s been so long since the definite article was dropped that I hardly miss it now). This franchise has gone from a pleasingly mindless cops and robbers yarn, to an embarrassment, to a guilty pleasure and finally has morphed into something halfway decent. More than a decade has passed, from a time when Vin Diesel was going to be the new action hero, until Xxx tanked and the Chronicles Of Riddick vanished without trace, and the Fast & Furious films were somewhere between the punch line and the gravestone of both his and Paul Walker’s careers. And now they’re good again.
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