Bad Sunday: Nurses, Sleuth & Kelly Clarkson
Yes. I know. It’s Tuesday, but I’m a busy lady, and I missed the Sunday. So what? You have something to say about that? There’s a comment box. Use it. Either way, I have some things to say. Oh yes, I do.
Kelly Clarkson’s “My December”
I don’t rush out and get things when they are first released. I’ll come across them when I am good and ready; you know, if they just so happen to cross my narrow path. Such a meeting occurred on Saturday between this tuneless album and I. Breakaway was alright, wasn’t it? She seemed to have found a niche there, or something. I’m not sure where she was going with this, though. I mean… maybe you can play it as a game? Spot the Melody? It’s for adults only; it’s a very difficult game. One thing is for sure, you can’t play it as music.
Okay, okay. You think I would have learned by now. If a film has been adapted from a bloody play that it’s instantly a bad film. I know this. So why, oh why, did I try Sleuth? It’s a mystery. Well, it’s not actually, it was directed by Kenneth Branagh. Patrick Doyle scored the tripe. That’s why I gave it a try. But even these two masterminds could not save this pile of cow shit. Trite and self-conscious, the dialogue came off as disjointed, one off sentences that were aimed at nowhere in particular. I didn’t for one second believe Michael Caine or Jude Law. If anything, they both seemed to get some kind of warped pleasure from acting out lofty lines, an impossible plot and unconceivable characters. Badness oozes out of the television set, and I cannot be sure, but I think my PS2 seemed to have hit boiling point and couldn’t wait to get the disc out.
So, I avoid hospitals like the plague. I visit nobody if I can help it, but for some bizarre reason, I decided to see my grandmother today. That’s nice of me, isn’t it? Yes, I surprised myself. Regardless, whilst I spent my time trying to keep my hands within my sleeves and relegating my mother to the role of pushing doors and pressing buttons as I did not want to touch anything, I found myself in the departure lounge (where they transfer patients to other hospitals). My grandmother was to be moved. That was all fine and dandy. There was one OAP waiting to be transferred that could barely move and was still very ill; snot et al. One of the nurses noted how dirty she was making the room (fair enough, considering how I behaved trying to get to the room). The nurse spoke as if the lady was not there in a detached manner. She called for the lady to be taken back to the ward. Another nurse came to take her. He said ‘So I’m taking her to the Janitor Ward?’ The original nurse replies: ‘Yes, yes, just get rid of it!’
The nurse called the lady ‘it’.
I’m not the nicest human being in the world, but I was appalled.