House

I’ve been watching House – the medical drama with Hugh Laurie – in odd spare moments.

Are hospital beds really that amazing? They seem to be able to switch at a moment’s notice and do all sorts of things. Not only can they tilt and raise up (I could do with that. Eight years into my GERD diagnosis I’ve still to raise the head of my bed like I’m supposed to) and hold many different positions, they also have many cool attachments. Places to hang your catheter bag too.

Suddenly feel bugs crawling out of your arms? No problem, there’s slots where velcro restraints can be attached so they can tie you down. Suddenly start a seizure? “Give me suction!” (Why?!) And all those tubes – oxygen readily on tap.

The rooms around the beds all seem really well stocked, with hypodermic needles stocked with epinephrine in every drawer, and ready access to exactly the right drug the doctors needed in the middle of the emergency.

The wider hospital is staggeringly well equipped too. Dr House’s patients get access to the MRI scanner more easily than a bloody lift! I’m sure it’s the ultimate diagnostic tool but is it really that easy to get into an MRI scanner in the US? And do they really make that strange banging noise?

The MRI scanner’s the tip of the iceberg, but there are some other sweet features too that I’ve seen in just the first episodes. The Clean Room for severely immunocompromised patients. An ice bath for a fever of 105 F (bloody hell – that’s 40 deg C, no wonder she needed to get cool). And probably more things, but it’s getting late, and I should stop watching House now and go to bed.

David Caruso is a Ham

A brilliant satire for everyone who thinks David Caruso, the actor who plays Horatio Caine in CSI: Miami, erm, occasionally, from time to time… overeggs the pudding.

CSI: Pie Ami

An evening wasted with David Lynch

Hmm. Just schlepped out to the Broadway to catch the last but one opportunity to see Inland Empire before it’s taken off in Nottingham.

Not entirely sure that was a good use of my time.

It’s hardly as if I’m a stranger to Lynch films – ever since a rather splendid cinema in Paris ran a Lynch retrospective during my time there.  I can’t remember where it was, except it was clearly a building converted to a cinema from a church or theatre.  A huge auditorium, with architectural features like mouldings, and most of the seats on the flat.  I trekked out there on several occasions to watch a whole series of Lynch films, including Eraserhead, Blue Velvet and Dune.

Indeed, that was probably the first time I came across the word “retrospective”.

Years later, a video rental accident later, and an incredulous group of us sat and shouted at Lost Highway – remember the coffee table scene? Years before Mark Oaten…  We even went to see Mullholland Drive – can it really be six years ago now?

So it wasn’t as if we didn’t know what to expect.  And yet still it feels like I’ve been robbed of three hours of my time.  The story didn’t hang together any better than expected.  At least in previous projects, you got the impression that Lynch knows how the tools of cinematography work, even if he has a conscientious objection to narrative coherence.  In this one, it seemed like he forgot key skills like exposure, with the film often (painfully!) too bright or too dark.  Pixellation was a problem at several points.  This wasn’t a beautiful piece of film work, like some other films of his have been.

Still, always nice to ogle that nice Justin Theroux. So much more to him than Kyle MacLachlan.

Bap bada, bap bada

Well, quite by chance we settled down in front of the end of Make Your Mind Up, the new name for “A Song for Europe”
We called the voting totally wrong, thinking two other bands would make it through, but in the end, the one I voted for made it all the way.

Yay!  This is the sort of camp-as-tits OTT shit that Eurovision needs!

Now a dilemma!  Do we go to big gay camping on Shell Island on the 12th May weekend… or do we stay home and watch Eurovision?

And blimey – the guys out of Scooch have not aged well.  All their publicity photos are about 7 years old.  They’re all about the same age as me, born between 1977 and 1980.

Claim to fame axed

I have just heard that the £20 note is to be replaced, removing my claim to fame.

I once stayed in the house on the back of the Elgar £20 note, which pictures the back of Worcester Cathedral and the huge, gorgeous house next door to it. In 1999, I volunteered at the Three Choirs Festival there in return for board and lodgings and free access to all concerts and events, and they put me up in the famous house, which had just been renovated to a fabulous standard.

It was there that I met Kit and the Widow, who had also been billeted there. Well, I say “met,” more meant, “sat on a sofa listening to them for hours.”

Elgar must have been in circulation for ten years, I suppose. Instead he’ll have to make do with the statue of him in Hereford.