And Then There Were None

I recall reading the book when it had a very unPC title. It was the only thing that ever interested me among all that Agatha Christie wrote. Maybe I should try again with Poirot.

I recall the cute-not-cute of the rhyme, the little figures, the matching deaths (except Blore's. That bear-shaped clock struck me as hilarious and faintly desperate). It wasn't great writing but it was a fun story. The Beeb's series is a bit hmm, with some stuff pointlessly left out, some stuff pointlessly put in, and much power lost. My particular moment of mourning was the cutting of General MacArthur's crime; in the book, on learning that one of his officers is having an affair with his wife, he acts as though nothing has happened then sends the young man on a risky mission which sure enough turns out to be fatal. Here General MacArthur gets the news and just shoots the young man in the back of the head, all a bit trite. The spectral figure in the gas mask approaching him does not help. Something here just isn't working.

However, Charles Dance is Charles Dance in it, and that's got to be a plus. Was ever an actor so well graced by old age as this man? He was considered a sorta-hottie back in the day but I couldn't quite get that; I saw him on stage in Coriolanus and it left me with the conviction that while he had presence, I still didn't know if he could act or not. Coriolanus is a difficult play. The trouble with young Charles Dance was that his hair just sat lankly in custard coloured demi-curls on his head. Old Charles Dance doesn't have this issue. Now he's a wraith-king of balefully elegant malevolence. He wore Tywin Lannister like a well-fitting coat and is perfect for Wargrave, but whether that's enough to keep me watching is a different matter.

Eckhart Tolle's Experiment, also the Garden

This is the one where you ask yourself "I wonder what my next thought is going to be?"

I tried it yesterday and watched, as the experiment recommends. It worked the first time. There was silence as I waited and then, most peculiar notes of music began to rise, long and slow. But of course, the moment I observed them marked the end of the quiet mind!

Today I tried again, and this time, almost instantly I could taste something in my mouth as images began to move in my head, but I can't recall exactly what the taste or the images were, only my mind instantly announcing that thoughts have tastes. Very odd.

Anyway, out of the head and into the real. Letting the grass grow until these are all spent; the self heal has been slow to emerge this year, but the roses are utterly magnificent. I don't get it; they've all got black spot but their blooms are profuse with bewitching scent.