Thursday, 7 October 2010

National Poetry Day

It gives me great pleasure to say

It’s national poetry day

But Carole Ann Duffy

She always looks scruffy

It goes to show Rhyme doesn’t pay

Wednesday, 26 May 2010

Lost, the Finale, Part 2

Oh right, turns out they were all dead. Brilliant.

Oh, and Lucy was right, by the way.

Tuesday, 25 May 2010

Lost, the Finale, Part 1

So it is finally drawing to a close, at least it is in my house right now.

I am halfway through the penultimate episode.

My prediction stands, as it has for the last series and a half, that the show will end with slo-mo shots of all the cast walking out of the arrivals lounge as if nothing happened, with the stupid annoying major-seventh piano and string chords plonking pointlessly about.

So far everybody is trying to kill everybody, and we have been treated to a lovely montage of Sun and Gin alternately hugging and blowing up, as they have done for the last 32 shows or so.

By an AMAZING turn of luck, two characters paddling a canoe in the middle of an ocean, and on their way to blow up a plane have BY PURE CHANCE bumped into a pilot clinging to some wreckage. So now they can fly home. Or maybe they can't. Or maybe they will and then we'll have a flash forwards and they won't have really. And none of it matters because it will end with them all WALKING OUT OF THE ARRIVALS LOUNGE.

Maybe except Jack.

Watching this show has been like picking a scab once a week. It doesn't get better. It's just a little niggling irritant. But soon it will be over, and my GOD, Abrams, there'd better be a payoff, or I'll be forced to re-evaluate the roughly fours days of human life I have spent waiting patiently for almost any kind of payoff ever.

Desmond is talking all religiously about 'going where the light's brightest', as we race to an unspectacular finale to the ultimate 'In a dark, dark house, there's a dark dark whatever...'

And Jack and Sawyer are playing Wife Swap. I don't think they'll agree about after school activities. Or how often they should shave. Or whatever.

The ever-brilliant Lucy's theory is that it's an elaborate version of, and they've just completed the most gruelling episode of Blind Date ever. Let's see how you two got on. Oh, you punched each other and shagged each other's girlfriends. A lorra lorra borrocks.

The show is rapidly turning into the end of a Big Brother episode, where everybody's being let out of the Big Brother Island-House one by one, and being shown a montage of their Best Bits.

Desmond has spent more time lodged in holes than Dale Winton.

I apologise.