It ate mine, anyway.

Another dithery day, here in the blank space between Christmas and New Year. Still not feeling fully well – a vague fluiness. My plan is to gather up accounts stuff and file it in the file I got yeterday, however first I have to be distracted by Shrek which I wasn’t expecting as much as I did. I think I was put off by all those people who insisted on seeing Depth in it, when it’s really just a hokey, gag-packed cartoon. Well animated, but still not as good as Pixar stuff. And, yes, very funny.

Then I distract myself with The Mummy Returns. Both this and its predecessor managed to surprise me with their enjoyability. Again, simply the sum of its parts, with lashings of anachronism (particularly in the dialogue), and the protagonists seem to have managed to have acquired a ten-year-old (-ish) son without them or the world they live in getting any older. But that doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t find a number 12 anywhere near the British Library, but I suppose if one were looking for unbelievabilities it would take a while before one got to that one.

Somewhere in there was a programme about Henry VIII by David Starkey, which was fascinating. We are so familiar with the broad details of the story that when someone like Mr Starkey lays it out for us it can be a surprise.

Eventually I get on with the accounts stuff as there’s a programme about PG Wodehouse on the television, which is followed by another one about Peter Cook (the life of Peter Cook, particularly where it touches with that of Dudley Moore, is also beginning to be a well-worn trope. There was the Derek and Clive thing last week, and the nasty programme about Beyond the Fringe a couple of months ago).

Television eats your head. It ate mine, anyway.