The "son I never wanted" has taken issue with me over my last blog entry.
Lee insists I should point out that we never discussed the possibility of a fox with a sub-machine gun.
"That's a ludicrous concept," he chided. "It was a fox with a handgun - and we decided that each weapon would be specially adapted because the animals concerned did not possess opposable thumbs. You should make these things clear."
He was, however, delighted to acknowledge that he was becoming something of a regular in the blog. A sort of Ando to my Hiro, I observed with another Heroes' reference.
He did not approve of that either...
Monday, March 07, 2011
Friday, March 04, 2011
A heroic vision
I’ve had BT Vision for 10 days now – and it has worked more than it hasn’t, which I’m reliably informed is probably as good as it gets with BT Vision.
I have managed, via its on-demand service, to watch the entire series three of Heroes, with which I have become obsessed.
So obsessed in fact that every day when I come into work my young colleague Lee – remember him? The son I never wanted? – asks me where I’m up to. He saw the series when it was broadcast on BBC2 and is, therefore, familiar with the story.
We were having a discussion during lunch the other day about super-powers and I – completely lost in the world of fiction – claimed I felt I had a super-power.
“I realised last night,” I said, in an earnest tone which might well have sent him scurrying for the exit calling for men in white coats, “that my super-power is the ability to eat lots without actually suffering a heart attack.”
“That’s not really a super-power,” countered Lee, shaking his head contemptuously, “it just means you’re a fat bastard with a death wish.”
“But just look at it. It COULD be a super-power…” I insisted optimistically.
“How would it be useful? It’s hardly likely to help you save the world. If anything it’s going to necessitate a whole new wardrobe. You’re no Hero; just a greedy, idle git…”
In print this may seem quite harsh. True, but harsh. In fact the whole conversation was carried out in an atmosphere of jocularity, as are many of our discussions. In the past we have discussed such obscure subjects as the potential outcome of a fight between a badger with a flick-knife and a fox with a sub-machine gun.
We hardly rank alongside the great philosophers, but our stream-of-consciousness conversations have passed many a slow hour on the road to an exhibition or other, or a lunchtime when our planned walk around the nearby heath (yeah right!) has been rained off.
What’s more, this time something really positive came out of the discussion. Having realised that I would not give up until I became acknowledged as a genuine super-hero, my young sidekick suggested a name - having dismissed my attempt of Pieman as too obvious. He came up with 'Calorifo'.
At this point I realised my other super-power was to laugh so much I can almost wet myself…
I have managed, via its on-demand service, to watch the entire series three of Heroes, with which I have become obsessed.
So obsessed in fact that every day when I come into work my young colleague Lee – remember him? The son I never wanted? – asks me where I’m up to. He saw the series when it was broadcast on BBC2 and is, therefore, familiar with the story.
We were having a discussion during lunch the other day about super-powers and I – completely lost in the world of fiction – claimed I felt I had a super-power.
“I realised last night,” I said, in an earnest tone which might well have sent him scurrying for the exit calling for men in white coats, “that my super-power is the ability to eat lots without actually suffering a heart attack.”
“That’s not really a super-power,” countered Lee, shaking his head contemptuously, “it just means you’re a fat bastard with a death wish.”
“But just look at it. It COULD be a super-power…” I insisted optimistically.
“How would it be useful? It’s hardly likely to help you save the world. If anything it’s going to necessitate a whole new wardrobe. You’re no Hero; just a greedy, idle git…”
In print this may seem quite harsh. True, but harsh. In fact the whole conversation was carried out in an atmosphere of jocularity, as are many of our discussions. In the past we have discussed such obscure subjects as the potential outcome of a fight between a badger with a flick-knife and a fox with a sub-machine gun.
We hardly rank alongside the great philosophers, but our stream-of-consciousness conversations have passed many a slow hour on the road to an exhibition or other, or a lunchtime when our planned walk around the nearby heath (yeah right!) has been rained off.
What’s more, this time something really positive came out of the discussion. Having realised that I would not give up until I became acknowledged as a genuine super-hero, my young sidekick suggested a name - having dismissed my attempt of Pieman as too obvious. He came up with 'Calorifo'.
At this point I realised my other super-power was to laugh so much I can almost wet myself…
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