Horsey, horsy, horsie
The first stirrings of Fall can be felt on Planet Marylebone. It’s okay though because that word is older than you might think and I’m reclaiming it for the Engs. It’s also a fine thing because you can actually dress for the season, unlike summer or winter; jackets, scarfs and gloves all get their proud and considered airing for the casual catwalk.
I guess spring is okay but for one thing, we don’t get those nice crunchy, golden leaves in March/April that tend to carpet one’s waltz in September/October. Also, no-one wears gloves in spring. It’s either still snowing, still winter and very acceptable or it’s time for bunnies and eggs and only the most friolerish of us would dare to saunter anywhere with hand garments for fear of social exclusion. And I like gloves. So much so that I beat the usual rush for sizes this year and nabbed myself a nice pair of Hestra from the good people at Trunk. Now I just have to put off wearing them until it’s actually cold.
The new season - the fifth of its name, in case I might have your attention - of Bojack Horseman has been up on the Northflux for just long enough, should you love to both laugh and cry simultaneously. I maintain that everything about this show is gold for the reflective manic depressive and that is exactly what I require. This season has some great stand-outs and fantastic character development across the cast. There weren’t really any episodes that were not to my liking, as has been the pattern on previous outings to Hollywoo and ‘the one with the funeral’ is right up there with some of the best TV of all time. While it begins as a ‘are they really doing this’ sort of question, it develops rapidly into the kind of overstayed joke that Peter Griffin popularised, then transcends that whole thing in breathtaking fashion. In fact, you’ll never see it coming.
We have shelves. Shelves! While not that exciting in and of themselves [themshelves?], these new contraptions do enable me to display many wonderful delicacies with maximum, full-frontal vigour. You may even spot one or two whose virtues I have espoused in the not so distant past and that, arguably could be the entire point. There are some newer ones too - most notably, ‘Goodbye Baby & Amen’ by David Bailey and Peter Evans which is the perfect closing note on the Sixties and all it had to say - so that’s nice.
And If you don’t believe it…Honey, you know where to find me.
JD - TACOCAT