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Dog vs Void
A grab-bag of thoughts
In the middle of 2021, we got a dog. It wasn’t an impulse decision; we’d been talking about it a while, and I’d been the hold-out because then you’ve got a dog. I love dogs but there’s a lot of associated dogmin. But we’d had a pretty apocalyptic year and ultimately I wasn’t going to stand in the way - probably my best non-objection ever. The result is a whiplington named after the velociraptor in that Jurassic Park movie: Blue. Aside from being hilarious, affectionate, anarchic, sock-addicted and utterly co-dependent, Blue is the most existential dog I have ever come across. No amount of reassurance will soothe away her Weltangst. So much that I made an Instagram account for her greatest moments of mood, gloom and panic.
In other news: my appallingly talented brothers are at it again.
You’re looking at the tie-in jacket for the Hindi adaptation of The Night Manager. Among other significant firsts, this appears to be the first time an international bestseller has been redesigned for an Indian TV show. Feels seriously belated, but worth celebrating all the same. It’s also important to say that this is a new adaptation and very much it’s own thing, not a remake of the Laurie/Hiddleston/Debicki/Colman show from 2016.
Elsewhere: I watched Wednesday. She’s as brilliant as everyone says. I thought the central character got so much of the love from the writing that sometimes the dialogue was uneven for the rest of the cast, but tbh I’m just fascinated by a new transformation of the Addams world, which I’ve loved since I found a collection of the cartoons on the coffee table in our living room waaaay back in 1978. Much more fun than Dick & Jane.
I posted on Twitter. The sky didn’t fall, but I can feel its dopamine gravitation and I increasingly regard any interaction with the site as a version of the Kessel Run. There’s value there, but you have to move fast and not get sucked in.
Here’s my view this morning. Task for the day: do something nice for yourself and don’t feel guilty.
Written in my pyjamas. (Faulkner never gave you the straight juice, but I will.)