Olympic Pain
WOOOOO HOOOOO the Olympic flame has made it to China!
So what? Was there any kind of doubt it would make it? Surely if it had gone out they could have just lit it again? Or maybe not. Perhaps there is some kind of international flame embargo I don't know about. Perhaps established by over-zealous firemen. Are there firemen who like putting fires out so much that they start them sometimes, just to put them out? I wonder if you get lots of pyromaniacs in the fire service, who love the fires but are always secretly disappointed to see the flames die?
Anyway, there is clearly no international flame embargo so what were they worried about in ? Have they got some sort of national Chinese match shortage? If so that shows a staggering lack of foresight whether or not they have the Olympics coming up. I'm sure they could have got some by swapping some rice. Or tea. Or plastic crap no-one needs.
The real issue here, of course, is the Chinese human rights record and Tibet. There has been real pressure on the Chinese not to be heavy handed with Tibetan protesters. However in reality it's the Chinese police who need to watch out. They're skating on very thin ice. Sure, they may be heavily armed, they may be trained to the highest standard and enjoy a degree of viciousness (ironically) verging on religious zeal when dealing with those opposing the state but they shouldn't mess with those monks.
You may be thinking "They're monks! What are they going to do? Chant loudly?" That however, would be to significantly underestimate them. If you don't believe me, simply check out any Kung Fu film. It's always the monks you have to watch out for. Sure they're quiet, yeah, they keep themselves to themselves, but provoke them beyond a certain point and you'll be picking bits of your broken self up off the floor with a hand snapped in half, while a monk sits back down in the corner and chuckles.
I imagine the Dalai Lama* is at this very moment, standing in front of a courtyard full of monks, each going through their Kung Fu moves, in unison, while he looks on, pleased but biding his time.
*Not actually a lama
They'll Do Anything
This is my first blog entry. No one knows about it yet. It is a secret like the darkness that lurks within all of us. Well in some people it lurks, in others it is pretty open about running the show, child killers for example.
I was watching 'I'd do Anything' the other night, I'm not proud but I've got a girlfriend and she lets me watch 'Match of the Day' so fair's fair. The appropriately titled show is all about finding the next Nancy for an upcoming production of Oliver Twist. They're looking for an Oliver too. Although some rare epiphany of conscience has informed the TV execs that the shred by shred stripping of confidence and character assassination at the heart of these type shows might be frowned upon when applied to nine year old boys. Not be me but by most people.
We all know the soul destroying nature of these shows is why we like them but there is a more bleak darkness that lies within because it's overseen by Andrew Lloyd Webber. His face looks like someone was sick on it and it's slowly melting. But he can't help that. No, it's the eyes. Cold, dead eyes. It's like looking at a fish. Do you remember the noise Hannibal Lecter made, breathing air through his teeth? That's how I image Lloyd Webber breaths all the time. They call him The Lord, as if that invests him with some sort of respectability. Not in my book. Darth Vader was also a lord and he blew up whole planets.
Something is very wrong with Lloyd Webber, my girlfriend said 'there's something of the night about him' but I don't know, as I remember, when I last watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, the child catcher came out during the day.
The show is called 'I'd Do Anything' and I suspect it's only a matter of (very little) time until that's the true nature of the programme. Prime-time Saturday night TV will see Andrew Lloyd Webber watching one of the girls Tango naked with a shaved wolf, while two others have a toddler corpse eating competition to avoid the sing-off and we'll watch the split screen spectacle with nothing more than a familiar sense of ennui.
And some popcorn.