Last evening, The Horse and I were watching The Hours on DVD. Made in 2002, it stars Julianne Moore, Meryl Streep and Nicole Kidman and depicts three women whose lives are interconnected by the Virginia Woolf novel Mrs Dalloway. The performances are stunning (particularly Ed Harris as an author dying of AIDS), the plot intelligent and the direction sensitive.

But, dear God, it's the most miserable, maudlin, moribund thing I've ever seen in my life, and I had to retire for an early bath.

As I was lying among the suds, my extremities pink and softening in the warm water, the words of American renaissance punk Henry Rollins came back to me. In order to report them faithfully, I searched all over the net this morning (and have subsequently posted them at eye level on my office wall). Responding to the Smiths, particularly Morissey, Rollins opined:

Get a girlfriend. Get a James Brown CD. Get some vitamin C, get some fucking clean air and some sunlight. Go for a walk. Get over it.

Henry Rollins. He means business, you know.

While I absolutely concur with the sentiment, I, personally, would change 'James Brown' to 'Ethiopians'. Anyone who can listen to Engine 54 without a huge and spontaneous grin spreading all over their face is a far stronger (wo)man than me.

Respect