back in the saddle

I have no good reason for fiddling with what the blog looks like. I mean to make it look better in a more complete way at some point, and I will.

Since last: I am married (it is brilliant, and it was brilliant); I have got all the proofs and notes for The Dazzle off the desk and I'm really pleased with it; we have recorded series two of Warhorses of Letters (I think the cast was even better than they were the first time, if you can imagine such a thing) and watched 3/4 of the Ring Cycle at Covent Garden. I am not going to review it, but some of my thoughts are over on the right in a match report. (Because of all the weddings, etc., I am in and out of hockey until the end of November, so reports are a group effort this season.)

This is the most boring blog post of all-time.

In film news: Sneakers is a movie about Cold War espionage and paranoia that I really liked when I watched in an attic in 1993 or 4 but which, it transpires, doesn't really stand the test of time. Unlike, I am almost certain, WarGames, whose maguffin is much more sensible. I caught half an hour of WarGames the other month and I was very annoyed to have to leave the house.

In other news of computers which might or might not be sentient: I enjoy the thought of a movie called The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes, especially since it's about quizzing.

In other news of sentient computers, have I mentioned Giles Goat-Boy by John Barth? I have never read anything by him, including it, but I have read the start of it and think it might be amazing. This was on holiday. I can only half-remember what was going on, because it was just a few pages, but it seems to be about a novel which purports to be the autobiography of a computer who has a child by a virgin, and the book's preface is a series of opinions by the editorial team as to whether it should be published. What is not to like about this? I will report back in The Future. (I only realised a few days ago that John Barth wrote The Sot-Weed Factor which is quite high on the list of books I have most often nearly bought in shops only to, in the end, not quite buy for some reason).

This is too long, like the match report. Blame Wagner.