I should know better

Daniel Craig - something fishy about this 007

Took myself and my bad chest off to see the new Bond film because everyone was raving about it. I think the fresh air on the way did me good....and that would be about it.

The essence of the Bond films was action with a sexy hero, all very tongue in cheek. Through all the avatars of Bond himself, the basic formula was adhered to, and there was never any suggesion that this was some kind of social realism.

Now here we have Serious Bond. No humour - and alas, the new Bond has all the sexual allure of a rather dour haddock. (Nice bod though - there is a nude torture scene.)

So what are we left with? Good stuntwork (as in dozens of other films), the rather hokey plot, the Girl, whose aloof charms don`t strike any visible sparks from our hero (possibly because it`s hard to strike sparks from wood) - oh yes, and Judi Dench, whose presence constantly reminds the rest of the cast that they would benefit from acting lessons.

Whither Bond Now?

Probably right down the toilet.

Recovering from the first show of the year. And it had to take place on the day of the Geat Storm.

Dog people don`t notice little things like that. The Great White Bus chugged on through the wild night, swaying wildly past overurned lorries, while the inhabitants dozed through iit all, dreaming fitfully of grooming aids and whitening gels and mythical creatures like the Easter Bunny and the Honest Judge. It was a wet rush in to the hall, but after that the weather was the last thing on our minds....

Florian didn`t oblige. Marcus told the lady standing next to us that he
adored her and wanted to go home
with her. She looked at him. "I have two bitches in season at home," she said. I explained that he knew that. He always knows. He is a dog with a mission. So many girls, so little time.....

I had to rush across the hall with Shelby, then back just in time to take Allegra in. She had been confined altogether too long by that time.

Have you seen the film "Flubber"? Imagine that on a lead. (But not green...) She twirled, she spun, she jumped - and amazingly she won.

When we trailed out into the rain, reality hit. Motorways blocked by fallen trees and lorries. Side roads commandeered for emergency overnight parking. Services jammed. All rail networks down....

But we were Dog People. We boldly went.

We crawled up the M6. It took hours to get to Charnock Richard which was packed with those who had given up, and was due to run out of what passes for food at moorway services in 20 minutes. During those hours our driver had mysterious long conversations on his mobile with the driver of the other bus.

I didn`t work out the significance of that till later. It seems that he had suggested to this lad that it might be better to try the side roads. The result was that a coachload of tired exhibitors and fretful dogs wandered off on a zig-zag tour of storm-tossed rural England, hopelessly lost, with no access to basic facilities (well, at least there were trees for the dogs), doomed like the Flying Dutchman to roam the B roads for ever......well actually for twelve hours. They pooled what food and water they had, and looked thoughtfully at the bags of dog biscuit...

But Dog People rise above that sort of setback....

Cannibalism was never even considered.....

Let alone Pom Frite

A huge outcry in the garden, and I rushed out to see a cluster of screaming Papillons round the base of a conifer. Diagnosis - cat up the tree sneering at them as usual.

I moved in to stop it. Parting the outer branches I could see Eloise the tabby parked on a branch about six feet up - and opposite her another strange cat, which seemed to be mostly white. We don`t see too many visiting cats round here - in terms of holiday fun it would be the equivalent of a day trip to Iraq.

I pushed back the branches to see how to manage a rescue...

And revealed Florian, sitting happily on a branch opposite Eloise, staring fixedly at her.

The old cat was....well, the word that comes to mind is catatonic. Talk about a paradigm shift! The whole traditional cat-dog interface had collapsed. In Eloise`s glazed eyes I could read the full horror of the realization that now Dogs Climbed Trees.

Florian, meanwhile, had realised by now that the main fault in his strategy was that he had arrived on a branch on the opposite side of the trunk to the cat. I waited to see if wood-boring abilities were part of his new superpowers as well, but instead he sedately climbed down. The others watched him in awe.

Eloise quietly legged it, no doubt to spread the word that the old order had passed for ever, and that in this new changed and unfriendly universe no moggie was safe up a tree.

I`ve been watching mild-mannered Florian closely ever since, but so far he has not appeared in tights or a cape.

......and that`ll teach me to joke about storms. I thought the roof would come off. And I stood watching branches fly off trees waiting for my cousin to come and collect me in a distinctly high-sided vehicle, waiting for the message that they had overturned on the motorway.

Nevertheless, he made it, and we did party hard.

Catching upon some blogs, I learned from Doctorvee (don`t shoot the messenger) that Radio Footie - sorry, Radio Scotland is bewailing the lack of Scottish political blogs - evidently the only kind that matter . It seems they would make a great difference in the run up to the next election....

Oh really? Political blogs, unless they have some great relevant secret to reveal, are simply cirulators of hot air. They are always preaching to the converted - I don`t make a habit of searching out BNP or Tory ones, for instance. So the hot air is familiar and comforting, and goes round and round, warming the faithful.

You want to influence the vote in the coming election?

You won`t do it by blogging.

You could become a prominent policymaker in the party of your choice....

But the guy who really makes a difference to the vote in your area is probably the little party worker who starts his aged Astra early on polling day and runs around ferrying the old and infirm to the polling station, actually getting the votes in.

Politics means action.