Despite some incapacity, I met lidocafe downtown this afternoon to catch the Coen Brothers latest, Burn After Reading, which was not up to the standard of some of their work but still very funny in places, and worth it entirely to see Brad Pitt, who was wonderful. I disagreed with Ms Lido's assessment of Frances McDormand. She thought she was brilliant; I thought she was a bit mannered. Maybe I've just seen her doing something of the same schtick in Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day fairly recently, and was a bit tired of her. She's always good, but I didn't think she was great in this movie. Brad Pitt was, though.
And now it's a good evening to be indisposed. There's a storm blowing - high winds whistling in my eaves and bending my sunflowers all out of shape, and intermittent gusty showers. I have a pot of chili simmering on the stove, and may light a fire in my fireplace (in the second to last weekend I shall have it before having a gas one installed). I'm hoping my neighbour's dog won't howl and whimper all night as he did last and that I'm able to get a decent night's sleep. Sleep and some brandy and echinacea and hopefully the plague will touch me only lightly.