Unspectacular spectacular
I watched Moulin Rouge yesterday evening. I'd sum it up as visually spectacular, and slightly deficient in plot. It was interesting hearing Mr McGregor and Ms Kidman sing, and there were some clever cultural references. I also enjoyed the use of the Shakespearean idea of the play-within-the-play reflecting the play itself (and for a moment I felt that they'd managed to carry it further, to push the film out into the real world somehow... it was only a fleeting sensation though, and I can't remember why it struck me).
It's been an uneventful weekend otherwise. I put a new cover on my motorbike, replacing the one that was stolen; I visited the warehouse-sized ASDA supermarket at the end of the D6 bus route; and I read a little further through Bleak House. It's finally become cold enough that I've unlimbered the heavy artillery of winter clothing: the possum/merino gloves. The Met Office has taken back their earlier misprediction of snow; now they're mispredicting mere overcast days. Summer's just a fading memory.