The story runs on; and runs, and runs. I realise I’m going to have to do a love scene in the next couple of weeks, and start brooding about this. I find love scenes pretty tricky going. How is one to find that perfect line, between embarrassing low-grade porn and dripping Tyrian purple? – how is one to avoid every tinge of sugariness, yet still show that there is more than mere bathetic lust involved? There’s no point in worrying about it, since I’ll have to write it whether I worry about it or not; but thinking it through in advance may help. I hope.
I am helped a bit by a growing additional head of steam. Having proclaimed myself to have a new hero, largely on the grounds of some electrifying acting, I’ve subsequently been registering the fact that the man in question is also undeniably hot in, ahem, the other sense of the word, too. Dear, dear, I must be getting slow on the uptake. Well, the Muse seems to like hanging around with me when I get steamed up, so a bit more heat can’t hurt, I guess.
This dawning of the light has occurred largely through the purchase and enjoyment of the Dvd of “Mission Impossible 4: Ghost Protocol” (for £4, in a sale – I’m a cheap date, me). As well as revealing said hotness to my poor flabbergasted eyes, it’s very enjoyable in its own right; probably the best of the “Mission Impossible” movies, with just the right balance of daffiness and excitement, great gadgets, some corking set pieces, even a good tough heroine who isn’t really a pool of mush waiting for Ethan Hunt to fall for her (which he doesn’t, being, rather pleasingly, still thoroughly attached to his wife). And, oh dear oh dear; let’s just say I’ll never hear the word “lunge” with quite the same mental picture again...
After writing a very kinky email to someone about exactly how this realisation dawned on me I have pledged myself to a penance of helping some friends decorate tomorrow evening. Nothing like the smell of gloss paint and the noise of hammering to clear the head. The only thing is, isn’t a penance supposed to be difficult and uncomfortable? I like decorating. I must be not only kinky and slow to realise I’m in lust, but weird as well.
Cape Town Opera’s “Porgy and Bess” last night knocked my socks off. Okay, some of the acting is of the “sincere” rather than the subtle variety; but with a strong production and a cast who can sing like this, one can forgive the odd mild shortcoming. Otto Maidi’s Porgy was simply breathtaking; what a voice! This bloke ought to be at the Royal Opera... While Victor Ryan Robertson, the guy singing Sportin’ Life, should be on Broadway; and Arline Japhtha’s Serena had me in tears. It runs (at the Coliseum) for a couple more nights - go if you possibly can; you won’t regret it.