57 Varieties

Some Sundays are quieter than others. You get up more or less on time, ready to face the day but for the persistent sweating (a not uncommon Sunday phenomenon linked, I think, to a quadriplegic Monday). The intention ... perhaps it's a hope ... is to wait for the tap to turn itself off then head for the library to pick up a graphic novel for Spike before or after a trip to Woollies to buy the goods you forgot to purchase yesterday in Coles ... milk, breakfast cereal, fabric softener, maybe some Veg for Monday evening (as much as possible making organic purchases). But the sweating persists so the short trip becomes less appealing. There is a limit to the attractiveness of an overweight, ageing, sweating and hairy man wandering purposefully ... if rather domesticated ... through a shopping mall on the Sabbath.

Dinner, therefore, became a tin of Heinz curried vegetable soup followed by organic sourdough bread and cheese (Amadeus French Brie ... wickedly creamy on the verge of turning, so who cares if it's as nature intended or shot full of chemicals, preservartives and additives because it tastes lovely?) Do I show my age by referring to the Heinz advertising slogan of 57 varieties? Is the Pope a Roman Catholic?

Watched Last Chance Harvey via the web. Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thomson are very sweet, thoroughly believable in this mildly entertaining, soft-centred fairy story about love flourishing later in life. It's neither Brief Encounter nor What's Up Doc but it owes a little something to both (not to mention Love Actually, Notting Hill and The Graduate ... Benjamin could have aged to become Harvey). By any measure, however, it's a more watchable movie than anything by Michael Bay!!!!

I miss Spike as I sup my tinned soup (not bad, you know) but I'm glad she's enjoying a weekend in the country with her parents and the dogs.
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