Slumdog Millionaire

The story is traditional fairytale- a carcass on which to hang a slap-bang-whallop impression of modern India. The characters are types- he's the widow's son, she's the princess in the castle. Alternatively he's Nicholas Nickleby and she's Madeline Bray; neither of them  particularly interesting in themselves. The character who does interest me is the older brother- who plays both good and evil angel- alternately thwarting and rescuing the lovers.  If they were always destined to find one another, then he's the agent of destiny- and his final words- as he dies in a bathtub full of rupees having saved them one last time- more than hint at something metaphysical going on.

It's a feelgood movie that never glosses over the horrors it goes streaking through. I love the energy- and the colour. And what a stroke of brilliance to regognise- and use- the mythic structure of the TV gameshow.

Another Weather Report

There's a steady drip outside my window. I just shovelled the snow from our front path- and it came up- surprisingly easily-  in big icy slabs. There's was a snow fall yesterday- but we were on the edge of it and only got a sprinkling.  Cars are moving down the worn channel in the centre of our road with confidence. Today is refuse collection day, but it looks as if the binmen aren't risking it- again.
 

Waking Up

I was wrong about the binmen. They came, they saw, they emptied.  I take this as a sign that things are getting back to normal.
 
Now I've got to get myself back to normal too. I feel like I'm waking from a long sleep. I've been very lazy, very sluggish since the snow set in. To speed the process I made myself make a cake. It was a lemon drizzle cake.