On the plane from Denpasar to Singapore, I read The Martian, a sci-fi update of Robinson Crusoe, where an astronaut on a mission to Mars is stranded and has to find a way to survive for years, utterly alone.
It involves lots of human waste, and potatoes.
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Tonight we put the baby to bed and drove out to Dartmouth Crossing, a soulless collection of factory outlet shops, where there’s also a multiplex cinema with Guardians Of The Galaxy playing in 3D. We returned home just as our child woke up and started howling, so I have to admire some powers of synchronicity there.
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The dehumidifier has been running in the spare room for almost a week, and every night there’s a full bucket of water to empty. I’m hoping that eventually it slurps less water from the air because the room dries out, but without being able to hermetically seal the spare room, that may be a forlorn hope.
Speaking of things that could be hermetically sealed, this evening, feeling intellectually weak and unable to start on my Spanish homework, we watched Red Dwarf: Return To Earth instead. This is a mini-series of three episodes, made 9 years after the previous series.
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My wife gave me two books for my birthday; Kraken, a paen to the wondrous cephalopod, and Cowboy Feng’s Bar And Grill. After finishing Kraken, we’ve been reading the latter to our daughter as her bedtime story. We finished two nights ago, and moved on to something ghastlier, of which more later.
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This week I read Tim Powers’ Declare, a book Charles Stross avoided reading lest it warp The Atrocity Archives when he wrote it. It’s my favourite book of 2014 so far (even though that’s less than 2 weeks in) and here are some reasons why:
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Tonight we watched Star Trek into darkness, a film so laden with cheese it probably doubled the amount of cholesterol in my bloodstream. From beginning to end it was a mess of lens-flared guff.
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