On Horses, Canaries and Flattened Laundries

It is with much regret that the subject of my earlier post has now ceased to be. Or at least is in the process of it. Sadly, The Old Laundry at Penylan is being demolished as I speak. Or type, rather.

A bit melodramatic perhaps as this was to be expected; I never really thought the campaign to save the building was strong enough to take on the might of the developers, and that is a real pity. But it is sad to see such a quirky building disappear to be replaced by what I imagine to be a dull residential block of flats, no matter how "architecturally sensitive" to the area the developers may claim them to be. But then that's the direction I imagine our society to be heading anyway - the all the quirkiness ironed out to be replaced by reliably dull, bland homogenisation. I fully expect to be bulldozed any day now.

But it's been a pretty good week; as I mentioned in an earlier post, Stu and I went to see Spielberg's adaptation of Michael Morpurgo's 1982 children's novel War Horse at the Cineworld in Newport on Tuesday. It was pretty much as I expected; a solid Hollywood movie but one that is old-fashioned in nature. There's little flash but a lot of drama, the dialogue veering on the side of cheesy (Hollywood-cheesy that is), great leaps in logic and cinematography by Spielberg's regular DOP Janusz Kaminski that gives the film a bizarre artificial aspect, especially in the early scenes which look like they have been filmed in the studio even though the actors are on location. But I have to say, it was never less than entertaining and kept me enthralled for the two and a half hours. But I didn't cry as some said I would - dammit, I am not letting that guy manipulate my emotions like he did with E.T.!

Finally, a little something about a book I have just finished reading. My fabulous sister Marcia bought me Sandi Toksvig's wonderful Hitler's Canary for Christmas, a book based on the experiences of Toksvig's father during the Nazi occupation of Denmark during World War II. It's written simply (from a young boy's point of view) but is intelligent, thoroughly gripping and, of course, Toksvig's fabulous humour permeates the proceedings. And I learned a lot about a side of World War II I never even knew - so much is made about the UK, France and Germany during this time but what about the smaller countries? They have tales to tell too. A brilliant book, thoroughly recommended.

Thus ends Lance's reviews of the week. I'm off now to knock some vodka down my throat and heat up a rather fine home-made chilli while practising my tap-dance steps in the kitchen. Sans tap shoes though. Last time I did that the landlord's red kitchen tiles were peppered with silver streaks. He was not happy.