The Sake of Today

On the whole I abhor trite positivity. I have always found it at the very least mildly repellent. Motivational statements that offer broad encouragement. Sound-bites that are all bark. Riffs and arrangements on the phrase You Can Do It. The Best Is Yet To Come. Just Keep Going. Printed on a poster, often adorned with a cute animal. One that is struggling to achieve some kind of ambitious task. Because it is tiny. And adorable. But you feel might just push on through and do that thing, thanks in no small part to it's indomitable spirit. These blasts of synthetic optimism may have a role to play in the world but they leave me cold. We may wish to be the field mouse, valiantly striving to reach that high barley corn but it doesn't change the fact that we are ever on the cusp of becoming a kestrels breakfast.

That being said, it is hard to deny the fact that these 'pearls of positivity' are formed around a gritty grain of truth. There is a reason the placard would read “hope is the wind upon which we soar” as opposed to “you can literally jump off the roof and fly if you believe hard enough.” So here's one for you. “The only time it is too late to start something is tomorrow.” I came up with that this morning. And before you start telling me “hey man, ummmm, I think that might have been said before...” of course it has. I am 100% stealing that. Not directly, I didn't glimpse it on a greeting card whilst walking past Paperchase and reproduce it here for your delectation. I have no doubt absorbed it in all it's various permutations and my mind regurgitated at an opportune moment. I'm not pleased about it, but damn it if it doesn't ring true.

If I didn't believe it, I wouldn't have worried about it. I certainly wouldn't be sitting here right now waxing on the subject. But I couldn't shake it. Every day is the longest we have ever been alive and the further on we pass down the road the road, the more our perspective shifts on the distance we have travelled. If you think you should have started something 10 years ago but the moment has since passed, just remember there is every chance another version of you might come around 10 years later with other opinions on the matter. Presuming you know what future you would consider a worthy investment of time and energy is a good way to fall out with yourself. Something started today may not amaze on the scale of something that has been crafted for a decade but right now it's far more more impressive than anything you are considering starting tomorrow. That's a fact. Can't you just picture the twinkle in my eye as I write this? It's enough to make you ill.

Naturally after dwelling on this statement for a short minute, I slipped it towards the back of mind and went about my days activities. What a good notion to explore at a later date. Maybe some time this week? Can't say when exactly, but I'm sure the right moment will occur organically. When I'm in the mood. If you want to know how well that theory works in practice, just check the date of my last post. See what I mean? I knew deep down that if I postponed action on this principal I would be relegating it to a practical abyss, in to which so many iterations of 'get up' and 'go' have been cast previously. If I was going to work with it, like it or not, it had to be now. So here I am. It may not be much, but it's a start. And that is good enough for today.

Guns N Fn Roses

I would say this image is a fair visual metaphor for the Guns N Roses band dynamic. The presence of Duff added poignancy to proceedings but the inimitable swagger of Slash in all his iconic glory elevated the whole affair to another plane. It has been said that the mark of a well drawn cartoon character is that you can always recognise them by their silhouette alone and with him existing in this age as more myth than man at a ratio of about 70/30, he plays the role as flawlessly as his double guitar.

None the less there was always going to be one presence looming over proceedings from start to finish and love him or loathe him, there is arguably no one still alive that does it like Axel Rose. His all too public persona over the years may have rendered him more human than his axe wielding counterpart but he has a voice that melts all those flaws away. And in case you were wondering if he's still got it, the answer is yes. Yes he does. He is a larger version of the man who was already larger than life, decked out in a rotating array of rock roll accessories reflecting every step of his journey from the gutter to the stars you could never mistake him for anyone else.

You can almost accept his arrogance over the years, his lateness for shows legendary for practically being longer than the actual performances, all the while knowing his fans would forgive him a whole litany of sins when he takes control of a stage. Now it seems he is giving back to the faithful by finally realising that the only thing more important than being Axel Rose is being in Guns N Roses. Or at the very least being Axel Rose in Guns N Roses. You can allow him that when they deliver on the scale that they achieved last night. And boy did they deliver.

It was the performance of a lifetime that most predicted they would never witness it in. Their respective ages may make the band members 'classics' in their own right but their craftsmanship combined on one stage creates something greater than their already talented parts.In the decades that have passed, their appetite for destruction has always seemed to slightly outweigh their appetite for glory so to see them put that aside for one last lap of victory in between the floodlights and the spotlights.

To sing along to Sweet Child of Mine alongside Duff, Slash and Axel but to be in a crowd, in a stadium, in the moment, arms aloft covered in the splatter of warm spilt beer, as opposed to being at some rock night at about 2am as the DJ plays the last easy crowd-pleaser before closing . Albeit still with arms aloft, covered in the splatter of warm spilt beer.

For fans that have waited for as long as these people had to hear such timeless songs played as they were originally intended it's almost hard to know what to do. The riff kicks in and you have 4-5 minutes (or in the case of November Rain 9+) to lose as many of your marbles as you can muster. Then when it's all over you are left thinking, where do we go now? Quite literally. When 80,000 people all pile out of a station at once towards one station, finding a feasible route hope becomes all important.

When all was said an sung, all those fans left satisfied and with a smile on their face. Those who were sober enough to retain full control of their facial features that is. It was a feat of excess and spectacle truly befitting a group of people once dubbed 'the most dangerous band in the world'. Can they keep it together long enough to do another round? Given the ever present ego required to command a stage in the manner of Axel, I would have to question it but if they are only going to manage it once, that is how you want to see it done. The roses were in full bloom but there is still no question who is top gun. I'm sure he wouldn't have it any other way.

Logan

In 1998 I enjoyed a delightful evenings entertainment at the National Theatre. With the company of my family I was taken to see a revival of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Oklahoma! Let me tell you, a grand old time was had by all. My initial youthful scepticism of this southern fried song and dance schtik was thwarted immediately by the promise of a bright golden haze on the meadow and a good old fashioned hoe down. The cast gave us their best Oklahoma hello and we left with a spring in our step and a song in our hearts. When asked if I had enjoyed it afterwards, my enthusiasm was taken in a positive light because, as I was shortly told, the star of the show was about to play a lead role in a Hollywood movie that I wanted to see! “Oh yes?” I asked, “and what would that be?” Well...

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the embodiment of grizzled snark and bezerker rage. If I could go back in time to observe my reaction I would tell my younger self to have a healthy glug of water first because it would have created a spit take for the ages. This prancing cowboy was going to play Wolverine?! Luidcrous. How could anyone have conceived this? You could have marked my words, it would surely never work.

Well that first X-Men film came out in 2000 and here we are, 17 years later with Logan, the concluding chapter to the epic saga of The Wolverine. The James Mangold directed film takes it's inspiration from the comic arcs of Old Man Logan and X-23 and once more finds Hugh Jackman bringing Wolverine, aka Logan, to life, but not in quite the same familiar fighting fettle.

Set in the near future where the world is slightly further along its natural progression towards becoming a dystopic wasteland, the ageing mutant now finds himself as a full time limo driver and part time care assistant to the even more decrepit Professor Charles Xavier, played with crotchety grace as ever by Patrick Stewart. Given the combustible results of aged degeneration on Xavier's dangerous brain, Logan is doing his best to maintain a low profile, but trouble inevitably has a funny way of finding them and when his path is crossed by a battalion of mercenaries, he suddenly finds himself tasked with the care of a mysterious young girl who possesses some uncannily familiar vicious traits. Soon enough the trio find themselves on a road trip to find a safe haven, from the Mexican border in Texas all the way to North Dakota, and along the way traversing the treacherous terrain of... Oklahoma. Yes really.

Logan is a film about legacy. The legacy of a past you can never escape and a thankless future left for the next generation. This is the case both on and off the screen, not simply serving as the conclusion for the character but for the man playing him. You can not overstate the significance of Hugh Jackman's history with this role. Superhero films are so significant in the realms of 21^st century cinema and he was the figurehead of the film that started it all. DC well and truly dropped the baton in the pile of dung that was 1997s Batman and Robin but Marvel picked it back up, polished it down and took off sprinting. Whilst 2002s Spider-Man was the bigger box office hit, the fact that within the same time frame we are now on our third on-screen iteration of that character, speaks volumes. Jackman and Stewart's laudable longevity just goes to show there is something to be said for getting in right the first time.

Thankfully, if this is indeed to be his last outing in the role, he is certainly going out in blaze of gory glory. Unshackled from the restrictions of family friendly film making, thanks in no small part of the success of last years gleefully obscene Deadpool, Logan gives the character free reign of self expression and when he is let loose, well you better hold on to your sideburns because he does not hold back. Whilst the proliferation of profanity and blood splatter is notable, it doesn't feel jarring. It flows so seamlessly in to his aesthetic of hard bitten cynicism that the surprising aspect comes only in remembering that we haven't seen him portrayed like this before.

This is definitely striving to be regarded as a grown up film, and it largely succeeds. Much has been made of this 'new direction' for a superhero movie but it achieves this largely by not limiting itself to simply being a superhero movie in the first place. Whilst the archetypes of a superpowered individual coming to the aid of someone in need are still in place, this film is far more interested in reflecting on a blood soaked past. The classic 1953 western Shane is used a repeated touchstone, from the hero's moniker serving as the title right down to the closing speech. If the film has a weakness, it can be that it almost leans too heavily on this at times. It gains so much heft from the evident burden of the violent legacy of bodies in his wake and this is given an extra dimension through the investment of the audience in to the history of Wolverine over all these years. The balance between the styles of film making is handled with commendable delicacy on the whole but occasionally feels like in its quest to be taken seriously it slips slightly too far from its roots in the Western territory and this can occasionally leave it feeling close to earnestly mawkish.

Overall though the film feels like a great achievement by being a great film. X-Men showed all those years ago what a superhero film could be and now Logan shows what it doesn't have to be. Whilst the version of the character he is playing may be weakening after years of toil, the hold that Hugh Jackman has over him is only getting stronger. It is a bittersweet farewell as this only goes to further demonstrate his capacity to break ground and this would never work if the audience believe in him so fully. The film serves a testament to the legacy of the character and the overall body of work serves as testament to the legacy of the performer. It is naïve in this day and age to think that film studios would consider any character portrayal untouchable so there will inevitably be a reboot in time. That said no matter how many times we get a fresh take on the role, you can sure as hell bet your adamantium claws that his will always be the definitive one. 

The Founder

On more than one occasion whilst mentioning the imminent release of The Founder, the biopic of the man who brought fast food to the world, the same joke was cracked. “So it's a film about Ronald McDonald then?” Oh how we chuckled. Whilst you can argue there may have been a great missed opportunity in not telling the fictional tale of the custard coloured clown's ascent from clown college to the pinnacle of an obesity empire, that question does hit on a deeper point. Who is this is Mr. McDonald then? The man who brought us the Happy Meal toy, the Fillet-O-Fish and the McRib. Everyone knows the name, but the only face they know is crimson cropped and pallid with an ever so slightly homicidal glint in his mirthful eyes.

The Founder, directed by John Lee Hancock, is in fact the story of one Ray Kroc. I can't say for certain whether or not his descendants ever leant their name to a line of rubber sandals whose comfort and practicality are outweighed only by their abhorrent aesthetic but I can say for certain that the man did not lend his name to a fast food chain. Instead, when we meet him he is a professional salesman trying to flog milkshake makers. When he one day receives a bewilderingly large order for these devices from a restaurant in California he is lead to the door of the McDonald brothers revolutionary burger stand. The film then follows his journey from inspiration to success with just a pinch of persistence, a dollop of determination and a liberal sprinkling of skulduggery.

The tale itself is certainly intriguing. Whilst the outcome is never in question, this is a film about the journey more than the destination. The brothers themselves were happy just running an efficient and successful restaurant with little concern for the bigger picture when all of a sudden their lives are turned around by a man with capitalism coursing through his veins. What starts off as a rose tinted paean to a company founded on family values and a quality product gradually gets warped in to something far less nourishing. Kroc sells them on a yarn about how the grand golden arches can be the symbol of the new American church. The film acknowledges this moment safe in the certainty that history would eventually prove him right and knowing just what kind of a god complex it would take to pull it off.

Whilst production line delivery is key to McDonalds success, it unfortunately proves to be a slight downfall for the film. Tales of devious capitalism have proven strong cinematic fodder in the past with everything from oil in There Will Be Blood to cocaine in Blow, but this film relies too much on being an easily consumable product. You have the early struggle, the flash of inspiration, the initial adversity and the eventual glory that comes at a cost. It ticks all the boxes but loses a bit of the flavor in the process. It may be a bit much to expect this particular story to deal in subtlety but as you see the man being lead to betray both his wife and his business partners through the medium of a seductively stirred milkshake, you can't help but feel they are laying it on a bit thick.

There is a lot to be said though for Michael Keaton's lead turn as the eponymous 'founder'. His re-emergence in recent years as an actor synonymous with performances of prestige is a story almost worthy of a film in its own right. He perfectly captures the megalomanical glint of a man who when presented with his break ultimately chooses to break bad and hits all the right notes of empathy and villainy to keep the audience with him. It is a performance big enough that all other characters are very much relegated to the minor supporting category. Nick Offerman and John Carroll Lynch are very effective in capturing the tragedy of the hard done by McDonald brothers where as Laura Dern has little to do but suffer on the sidelines as Kroc's forgotten wife. You can't help but feel there was a better performance in there that for a story which film wasn't particularly interested in telling.

Overall there is a lot of entertainment to be had in the most nefarious tale of name branded meat this side of a Trump steak. The film benefits from a feeling of fortuitous timeliness; the slice of sepia tinged Americana corrupted through an avaricious figurehead. As a piece of film making though it settles for being good when it could have been great. Hollywood loves stories of desperate men willing to succeed at any cost and this one came coupled with the strongest brand recognition you could possibly ask for. It's just a shame it was assembled with efficiency when it could have used just a little more inspiration.

xXx: Return of Xander Cage

Ever want to see what $1.5 Billion dollars buys you? Look no further than xXx: Return of Xander Cage. Return of who? You may well ask. This film is the second sequel (yes really) to the successful, if not exactly lauded action/spy film from 15 years ago. So why now, a decade and a half later, are we getting a sequel to a film people didn't remember heralding the return of a character people didn't care about? Who is this film for? Well the answer starts with one person. Mr Vin Diesel.

Whilst people were hardly expecting the last Fast and Furious film to flop, even its most ardent fans, myself included among them, were likely a little surprised when its box office gross veered headlong in to the billion dollar stratosphere. With that financial clout and the support of over 100 million facebook followers, It can't come as too much of a surprise that a film studio was willing to finance him to relive his glory days onscreen. Ladies and gentlemen, please allow him to present The Great Vin Diesel Vanity Project.

Directed by DJ Caruso, the little plot there is revolves around our eponymous hero being coerced out of self imposed retirement after an anonymous villain uses a mysterious device to, and stick with me here, pull discarded satellites out of orbit and crash them in to earth, with one hitting a little too close to home. This amounts to scenes of a 49 year old man (look it up, its true) escaping armed guards on a skateboard, I repeat, a skateboard, to bring a digital tv box to impoverished villagers to they can watch the football. The children praise him! The ladies love him him! The audience remembers he actually produced the film himself. You get the sense that he believed he was making James Bond for a modern generation. It actually reminded me more of this:

Booourns indeed.

That reference may seem dated but that fits with the overall feel. If they were aiming to make a film that was 'down with the kids' I guess he succeeded in a way. A scene which features a mass of scantily clad women apparently unable to keep their hands off him feels akin to a teenage boy bragging about all the girls he totally made out with. Jay from the Inbetweeners would likely reject it as too self-aggrandizing.

As for the climactic action sequence, well that has all the dramatic gravitas of a bunch a 5 year olds in a playground making machine guns noises and explosion sounds with their mouths. If that sounds like a criticism, well that's because it is, but with one minor caveat. I have been told that watching kids play is moderately more endearing if they are your kids, and sure enough this films aims squarely for global box office domination by stocking its supporting cast to an almost cynical degree with an action star to appeal to any affection. From Bollywood actress Deepika Padukone and Thai marshal arts star Tony Jaa all the way to small screen standouts such as Orange is The New Black's Ruby Rose and Game of Thrones Rory McCann aka The Hound, all tastes are catered for.

I can't deny that I got a certain thrill from watching England's own UFC middleweight champion Michael Bisping just about hold his own on screen, albeit in a role that wasn't exactly a stretch. The stand out though has to be Hong Kongs Donnie Yen, fresh from a rightly attention grabbing turn in Rogue One. His presence and charisma only served to show that he is the kind of star studios should be building franchises around and let Vin get back to playing with his cars.

Now I know there is an argument that films like this are almost beyond criticism because they are designed to be brainless fun but I disagree. They can be fun without being bad. I adore action cinema and there is plenty to love out there. From John Wick to the Fast and the Furious franchise itself, there are a wealth of films that shown repeatedly over recent years that you can be both genuinely entertaining and hugely entertaining without them have to coast on a wave of derision. Those films delivered set pieces that felt fresh and inventive, where as this feels like it conceived by a focus group of parents who were asked what their kids were in to.

There is no denying that in an age where the traditional action star has long since been on the decline, there is still some fair currency in the Vin Diesel brand but this project does him no favours. You are never going to appeal to the widest audience if you are your own biggest fan and in the case of this film, he may well be the only one.  

The People's Panto

With another festive period now firmly in the non-corporeal grip of the Ghost of Christmas past and all eyes focused on the wealth of dazzling promise and opportunity lying just over the horizon, I am going to start the New Year off in the most pertinent manner possible. By looking backwards. Yes whilst everyone else is sitting comfortably with their feet up having wiped the last trodden in remains of the previous annual cycle on the doormat of NYE, I am lagging behind and have a few bits of catching up to do. The first of which is to reflect back on one of the highlights of my Christmas, a trip to the Panto, an experience that was by parts joyous, hilarious and mildly traumatic.

Theatre Royal Stratford East

In a culture rife with curious yuletide traditions, Pantomime is up there with the best of them. It is as quintessential a part of the British Christmas as mincing your pies and mulling your alcohol with a weirdness factor pitched somewhere between satsumas in stockings and wassailing. The general basis is that of an all singing, all dancing rendition of a classic fairytale being brought to spectacular life in a lively theatre production featuring a healthy dose of universal humour, audience interaction and gender swapping.

 Done poorly it resembles the Les Dennis episode of Ricky Gervais' Extras; a minor celebrity death rattle of antiquated innuendo as former entertainers try to keep the lights on by laughing to save from crying in front of audience whose desire to be there is only marginally less than that of the performers themselves. Done well it is a gloriously unifying laugh-along for all generations of a family to experience together without anyone secretly wishing to be somewhere else. Thankfully for all, The Theatre Royal Stratford East's production of Sinbad the Sailor falls firmly in to the latter category.

With a format so steeped in tradition, trying something new can always be a risk. The sheer fact that they did not opt to go for the millionth rehash of Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk or Dick Whittington was already an encouraging sign. Indeed Sinbad the Sailor is a fresh production without a hint of dust on its cover. With a mixture of comfortably familiar tropes; the deliciously corny humour, the daring adventure, the larger than life dame; fleshing out a slightly less familiar story with surprisingly relevant messages that couldn't be more appropriate for the age we are living in, the show hits a laudable balance of the timeless and the timely.

Whilst it is all well and good having your heart in the right place, it certainly helps to be backed by a strong creative team and there is no doubt that people behind Sinbad have sound sea legs. Paul Sirett has written a script generous on battle tested gags without seeming tired and with a positive message that never becomes preachy. Likewise director Kerry Michael keeps the energy high and the show sailing along at a rate of knots to keep the kids from fidgeting in their seats, the parents from checking their watches and the grandparents from falling asleep. 

The ensemble cast are uniformly impressive, with a mixture of new talents and seasoned veterans all delivering accomplished performances. Special mention must go to Michael Bertenshaw whose villainous Prince Naw-zee Uss is a serving of gourmet ham, earning and clearly relishing every boo drawn from the audience. Another standout is Johnny Amobi whose grand dame Nurse is a highlight as a devourer of both men and scenery.

All in all, from a singing monkey to a tap dancing sultan by way of a Genie-of-the-ketchup-bottle, there is amusement in abundance for all facets of the audience. As for interaction, well just because Panto is normally about being warned over what's behind you, also be sure to keep an eye out for whats in front of you. I don't want to spoil the surprise but if, like myself, you find yourself sitting on the end of a row then keep your game face on because you may find yourself involved in a very public man hunt. My advice, just go along with it. Trying desperately to hide yourself and avoid eye contact is futile, you can't fight the tide! In spite of the lingering psychological scars, it only added to the overall experience. This is family entertainment done right, from a venue that calls itself “A Peoples Theatre”, this is very much a Peoples Panto.

Whilst Christmas may be over, the show is still running until January 21^st so go and catch it whilst you can!

Reflections On A Grey Wednesday

**Disclaimer – This post is in no way a political rant, diatribe, ramble or other equivalent form of opinion venting. I am in no way educated or informed enough to offer any relevant insight to any political situation, especially one abroad. At best it would be embarrassing, at worst ignorant and offensive. This is simply about us. And me. Mainly about me. It's always about me.**

When I woke up this morning, I had that groggy ache in my head and clumsy sense of nausea you get when you drank too much red wine the night before.

It probably had something to do with the fact that I drank too much red wine the night before.

My shower took too long to warm up and my house felt so cold it almost made me dislike my bed because it appeared to be taunting me with warmth and comfort that I knew I couldn't embrace. For the record, I love my bed. In leaving my house I was greeted by the kind of quintessential cold English rain that I hadn't felt since leaving for South East Asia almost 3 years ago. My umbrella got turned inside out at least twice during the roughly 3 minute walk to the bus stop, during which period the bus itself rushed past me and pulled away in an amount of time that could have been scientifically calculated to cause the maximum degree of frustration. The followup bus was stuck behind the recycling truck as it inched it's way towards completion of its suburban civic duty. At this moment, it struck me. I had also forgotten to put out the recycling.

Oh yeah, and whilst I was cleaning my teeth, Donald Trump was declared as the next president of the United States of America.

It is safe to say that I felt like it was going to be “one of those days”.

Now I am not a believer in 'those days', things happen randomly and sometimes an unfortunate series of events all fall within one rotation of the planet. In my opinion there is no greater significance to this than the simple fact we are more inclined to notice it. None the less it is a hard feeling to shake. I get the impression I was not alone in my funk.

If Facebook serves as the modern town square where people bare their opinions and their souls, the general consensus surrounding today was somewhat, shall we say, gloomy. The news feed is an insight in to the wider mood, you lay witness to the mirror held up against responses on cultural events, the passing of public figures, global tragedies, humanitarian crises as well as the eternal struggle between heroic iguanas and demon Medusa-looking hell snakes on remote tropical islands. That reference may well date quickly but there is never a bad time to re-watch Planet Earth.

I have never witnessed a wave of negativity akin to the one that greeted me today. Sad, angry bewilderment. I can hardly blame people. As far as this year goes, the camels back was one straw away from being broken and a 107kg man* with an extra 3kg of hair and fake tan** just jumped on it to catch a ride to the oval office.

I don't know what this means for the world but when I told a friend of mine that I was feeling ill, he wisely told me to relax, the sky is not falling. I was actually referring to the after effect of the wine but he had a good point.

I totally understand why people are feeling so awful. I feel like a large part of it has to do with how helpless we all feel. The bad thing has happened and our role is relegated to that of powerless spectator. It is just one of those days. It is just one of those years. And you are right, we can't change it, we can't stop it, the Hall of Presidents at Disneyland will be forever tainted.

There is one thing we can control though, and that is us. It is a trite cliché to say that if you let them get you down, they have already won. Especially in this case as he has literally won. There is inevitably some truth in that sentiment though. This year has thrown up countless demonstrations that we can't rely on public figures to save us. Our heroes may eventually die, our leaders may badly under-serve us and our society may not represent us in a manner that we believe is true to our spirits. Howevere, without meaning to sound overly dramatic, we can still save ourselves.

Now is the perfect time to rediscover your joy. Remember that joke or that stupid thing you did which made your friend laugh so hard that the result seemed like it would be death or defecation? Phone them up and remind them of it again.

If you have a favourite song that makes you giddy even under threat of being disowned by your loved ones, play it loud. Better yet sing it loud. Now is the time to take singing lessons if you want to sing. Now is the time do dance and if you don't know how then learn. Get back in to that sport you lost time for. Watch that box set you have been putting off. Bake a massive cake. And save me a slice. Seriously. I love cake.

If you don't have a hobby, take one up. If you don't have a passion, take the time to discover one. If you don't like your country right now, start saving tomorrow for your round the world ticket. I have been putting off writing my blog for over two years. My mind boggles just stating that. I was always going to start it up again tomorrow. But the dates don't lie. Positivity is rarely my strong suit but the events of this morning have made me realise that I am responsible for how my day goes. One minor victory at a time is all it takes. The lifeline may have been severed and the hand-basket may be freely floating to hell but the journey doesn't have to be wasted.

Far more enlightened people than myself have stated for a long time that the surefire path to misery is to focus your happiness on the thing you can't control. You don't have to bury your head in the sand but that doesn't you can't look towards something better. The world may look different but it's still the same and we can deal with it the same way we would yesterday. With laughter and nature documentaries. And wine. Maybe less of that. Maybe. The sky is not falling, even if our spirits are.

Be funny. Be stupid. Be thoughtful. Be creative. Be passionate. Be weird. Be active. Be productive. Be absolutely ridiculous. But don't be defeated.

Do remember to put out your recycling though. The world still needs that.

Stay positive y'all!

*Body weight verified by Google

**Hair and make up weight in no way verified by anything. I just made that up