General Thoughts

I'm back! From outer space! Not really, and again, I apologise for my extended absence, Uni and all the related shenanigans. Let's kick off some random musings.

I was asked recently why I watch and enjoy BBC's Strictly Come Dancing, while at the same time avoiding, reviling and ridiculing shows like X Factor and Britain's Got Talent. First of all, SCD is a show where people we've come to know from our telebox-o-vision pair up with a certified professional and learn a new skill. It's a journey of discovery that we are privy too week after week. There is no sense of real mean-spiritedness or placing someone on a pedestal just to watch them fail. Also, as a theatrey type, anything with jazzy dance steps, fancy costumes and an all-round sense of showbiz razzmatazz is going to be to my taste. It is not a popularity contest trying to hide behind the thin veil of a show about discovering new talent; a show remarkably similar to the kind put on in Roman Colosseum's a few years ago, but with the one power-mad Caesar replaced by four pompous versions high on their own illusions of talent. They still listen to the crowd when they bay for someone's head (purely metaphorical) and seem to delight in cutting hopeful participants down. That's why.

During the summer, as a challenge to myself, I purchased a copy of Ulysses by James Joyce with the intent to read and understand it on my own merit, not as part of some educational course. Late on evening I settled down and began to read. About a chapter in I had to stop, promising myself that I would come back to it when my brain was less wearied from a full days events. I have yet to return to it. I had almost completely forgotten about the debacle of that evening until I gazed upon the reading list for one of my modules this semester. On it, a few weeks down, was A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, written by, you guessed it, James Joyce. Although initially a little perturbed, I was reasonably confident, since this novel was almost half the size of Ulysses. It took me a week to get through it. Not that it was boring, bad or poorly written, it was just tough to get through. And yet, I enjoyed it immensely. I think, for me at least, reading the unique style of James Joyce is like wading through a swimming pool filled with Golden Syrup. It's tough, takes a lot of work, at some points you almost want to stop and give up. But on the other hand, being immersed in it is just wonderful. It's rich, deep and when you reach the end you're guaranteed to remember the experience in a positive light. It's also delicious when warmed up and drizzled over dessert. I think.

So there you go, a couple of quick thoughts that will hopefully get me back in to the swing of this blog-writing malarkey. Good word, malarkey, not used nearly enough in conversation. That's your homework for this week folks. Use 'malarkey' at least 10 times in conversation. You'll feel good about yourself.

Anyway, I'll try to write more from now on, probably do some kind of movie one next, so watch out for that. As always, a very good day to you, Sir's and Madam's, until we meet again.