I wholeheartedly apologise for being such a bad blogger last week. I was feeling empty of words and had a lot of work on. This week doesn’t look much better, but since I love my work, it’s not a bad thing.
But there is another reason for my absence, I’m afraid. It involves a series of books and a programme I have accidently got myself involved with.
Here’s a parody video to get you in the mood. I can’t apologise for the number of times the singer says ‘tits’ because it’s just about as many times as it happens in the series.
I promise you, if you watch the series, you won’t hear the opening the same way again.
I’ve already read all the books that are out. I confess I have two thoughts. One is that the writing is sometimes pretty dreadful. It makes up for bad prose by good plot. And when I say ‘good plot’, I mean a Mervyn-Peake-meets-Charles-Dickens of a plot in that it is absolutely convoluted and epic. The second thought is that I am mortally terrified that George Martin might pop his clogs before he finishes the last one and I’ll never know who gets to rule over the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.
I feel a bit like Sheldon does about the cancellation of Alphas. He rings the writer and then he ends up disappointed by the ending.
I feel like I’d have to go rummaging through George Martin’s rubbish to see if he jotted any ideas down before he snuffed it. Let’s face it: he’s not a young man and he doesn’t look to be in good health.
The best thing about Game of Thrones started off being Sean Bean in all his Seany-Yorkshirey magnificence. He plays Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell.
It’s like the role was made for him. It doesn’t hurt that Jon Snow, Seany’s fictional son, is quite handsome too.
Basically, the novels give you several great people who you hope will rule the Seven Kingdoms, and then puts all the terrible people in charge for them to get past. Charles Dance plays the very evil Tywin Lannister, and he is just great. Diana Rigg plays the very cunning queen mother of House Tyrell. It’s just littered with great actors.
My favourite by far, though, is Peter Dinklage, who plays ‘The Imp’, Tyrion Lannister. Scratch that. I think it might be Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons. Maybe. Or Ayra Stark, Seany’s fictional daughter.
Heads roll; hands get chopped off. I’m pretty sure Alfie Allen gets castrated off-screen. There’s raping and pillaging and battles.
But I made the mistake of beginning to re-read the first book again, having found myself in bed early on account of the cold weather. Shame on me. It’s like getting involved with an old flame and then realising you’re addicted again. Now I know I can’t stop until I’ve gone through once more. And with some of the books stretching to over 1,000 pages, that’s a tall order, time-wise. Silly me. I don’t have the time for a love affair of this epic passion right now.
Besides going to bed early to get some quality time with a bit of sword and sorcery fiction, I have been trying to catch up on the consequences of two weeks of rain. Nobody tells my garden to stop growing. Much Love to the potatoes that are going to be epic this year. Not Much Love to the fact we had a frost – yes, goddamn it! – a frost! – last night. Luckily, it was very light and mostly on the hills around here. My tomatoes don’t seem to have suffered.
What else have I much love for? The long days, I guess. I can actually get out in the garden from seven and fit an hour or so of gardening in before I need to do anything else. Same in the evenings. Mostly, my appointments are finished by 8pm and I can do a bit of planting. I’m sure my neighbours think it very bizarre behaviour. Mind you, I’m definitely not the only one who gardens around a work day out here.
Not much love for Sylvia Pinel, the woman in charge of artisans in France. She’s made some kind of cagey declaration that auto-entrepreneur will cease to exist as it does now. That means I’ll have to switch regimes and pay even mpre tax. Bah. I’m convinced she operates like a Moroccan souk owner, starting with an objective in mind, announcing something WAY out of proportion with what she wants and then once the public have had their grumble (after all, as AE, we have no union and no voice) she announces something less painful but still unpalatable. Like last year’s tax raise of ‘25%’ which turned out to be 3%. She still hasn’t got her head around the fact that taxing people who earn less than the national minimum wage isn’t going to fill the coffers. Neither is it going to help businesses. AE is the nursery of bigger businesses. If you take it away, you end up with a France that is like pre-Sarkozy France in a world that has faced a five-year recession. According to the Economist, France are going to have a finger wagged at them by the IMF for being unproductive. Damn right. Not that it will make a difference. Having experienced life in Castro’s Cuba, where he’d just given permission for solo enterprises to start up, to drag Cuba out of the Special Period, France seems like it’s way behind. Its attitude is like pre-Special Period Cuba. And that’s saying something.
Anyway, bah to politics. That’s no way to share a little Monday Love. I’m off down the garden to get some corn, beans and pumpkins in, and then I’m off on my rounds with the new edition of Living. Not a bad way to spend a Monday.