Ground rules

I’ve resisted blogging so far because frankly I don’t give a crab-eating macaque's backside (it's a species of monkey if you're wondering) what you had for breakfast or where you're going for your holidays, so here’s the deal. If I turn into one of those “sadly our beloved cat Alfie died today” blog-bores, I swear I'll plead with a friend or loved one to kill me, much like Romero’s zombies do when they become infected. (see below, if you have a copper or SWAT officer for a friend, he'll do the job very efficiently)

Plus my missives will be like the gunfire in the film Full Metal Jacket; short and controlled. This is because I know from 'da kidz' on my well-'ard working class estate that we live in a new 3-second attention span world order, but you know that’s a not altogether a bad thing. At least as far as American theatrical imports are concerned. Anyone agree with me that we should have a moratorium on all state-of-the-nation or anti-American Dream plays lasting over 2 hours? Arthur Miller wouldn’t have liked this. My friend and I went to see Death of a Salesman a couple of years ago, and it went on for so bleedin' long we missed last orders and understandbly were furious. So furious that I decided there and then that I’d never see another Miller play. See how counter-productive interminable American Dream plays are? Let the audience have a drink for chrissakes Arthur! That's the dream for some of us!