Further to last night’s post, tonight I decided to give Ghost Whisperer a second chance by
watching the second episode. I didn’t make it. Same story, same formula, same
grinding shallowness. Half way through I turned it off, and next week it can go
back to the charity shop where I bought it. Maybe there’s somebody out there
with a different temperament.
* * *
And then I sought out some files of work I did – both the ‘arty’ stuff and the commercial – from my days behind a camera. They were good days and I was reminded of the song In the Rare Old Times, so I looked out a Dubliners live version on YouTube and took a listen.
It struck me that much of my temperament – the resigned sentimentalism with a hard edge, the short temper, the love of words for their own sake, and the love of barley juice to soften the hard knocks – owes a lot to my Irish antecedents. I wonder whether the universe might arrange for me to die over there. Seems like it might be a good place to move on.
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