I enjoy over thinking the latest (or latest I can be bothered with catching up with) in genre fiction from Hollywood as much as anyone. So Star Trek Beyond was a good time, and across a couple of days I enjoyed Matt Damon sciencing the sh*t out of stuff in The Martian. I only just saw 2014’s Edge of Tomorrow the other week. Featuring Tom Cruise being militarised into an alien killing machine there was stuff to commend it. Much of related to the transformation of Cruise’s smarmy character in a more bruised, less smarmy character. I’m not sure humanity got the ending it deserved though. Hey ho.

Any who, what I haven’t mentioned very often is the local entertainment. I mean Australian made. I review the aforementioned big Hollywood movies, yet there are oodles of movies and programs and books by Australians or set in Australia that are worthy of recognition. I don’t watch or read oodles so much any more. I don’t have the attention span, energy or time or disposable income.

Nothing on back with ye olde TV Guide, nothing on now.

Nothing on with ye olde TV Guide, nothing on now.

With Australian fiction, I’m slowly making my way through Charlotte Wood’s much lauded The Natural Way of Things. I want to love it. I understand what it’s doing and the points being made. The book feels important and zeitgeisty and yet….I keep dropping it. Instead I savoured every word and startling image of The Paper House.

Regarding settings beyond Australia, I’m finally reading Bring up the Bodies by Hilary Mantel. As a sequel to Wolf Hall the pacing is quicker and its easier to follow, due to less Thomases. I know the broad history of the era, but the details are keeping me going.

Any who, in the Doctor Who interminably long off-season, I recommend The Katering Show. If you haven’t heard of TKS, which began on the YouTube and thence to iView and is now on ABC TV, you’re missing out. I binge watched the second series in one sitting. Granted they were 10 minute episodes, but they were good, painful fun. The Kates behind the genius of this, McCartney and McLennan, are basically, hilarious. It’s the only faux or real cooking show I can stomach these days. I even prefer their mock-awkward Facebook ads to the tiresome manufactured overwroughtness of MasterChef.


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