Friday, 31 December 2010
Poleaxed in the wasteland. That's me dosed with paracetamol, fed up with pretentious Andrew O Hagan novel about a talking dog, in my fluffy bathrobe sipping hot whisky watching Carry On Doctor (a profound piece) yesterday afternoon. The wasteland is of course that time between Christmas and New Year, the time between realizing fully what a awful world we live in and the realization that my better version of it will never happen. It is a wasteland many of us have to endure permanently, which makes this symbolic time period more profound, for it is specially for us. All those New Year resolutions are so profoundly depressing. So you find yourself dipping into the Quality Street tin of pop-culture pleasures served up so conveniently on TV for this discrete period of utter internal misery (on purpose of course) and with luck out pops Tom and Jerry, St Bilko, or Carry On Doctor. I woke up this morning, Lazarus style, to the realization that there was a whole day of Carry-On's scheduled on Gold.