Does What It Says On The Tin

After the usual lie in, I take Doggo on the park. I extend it, against Doggo’s wishes, by meeting L who has walked Daughter across the park to a friend’s house.

L goes off to the gym and into town while I settle in for the torment that will be Paul Jewell’s first game in charge. I hope he goes for it at Sunderland, as they did let in 7 last week. If we could go there and win, then possibly I could revise my maximum points estimate up to an impressive 31. I sat down with a friend the other week and worked out that with a lot of luck we could get 29 points by the end of the season. Don't knock it; it's almost twice Sunderland's record lowest score. It doesn’t say much for my confidence in the lads that before the season started I worked out how many points we'd get and I came up with 26 but according to my calculation we should have 11 now and we only have 6. So not promising.

The game is, as usual, a disappointment. Performance wise, we are a lot better and we play two up front. We have enough chances to win but realistically a draw is a fair result between two sides who both have ‘Championship’ written all over them, which looks like how it’s going to finish until they sneak the winner in the third minute of injury time.

At the end of the match I walk into town and meet L at Broadway. We have ‘bite’ but are appalled to find that they have upped their prices and not by a small amount either. I hope their new found fame isn’t going to their heads. I sensibly have a mango juice with it as I know we have a near three-hour marathon ahead of us and want to give myself a fair chance of not dozing off in it. Having eaten we still have an hour until the film is on, so be bravely nip out into the Lace Market, where usually get lost and find the Keanes head, where the Mordue Stout 4.7% is wonderful.

Tonight’s film is long in title and long in length ‘The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford’. Which actually 'does what is says on the tin' and gives away the plot in its title.

I think part of the idea of the film is to get us better acquainted with Jesse James. The legend suggests he was a Robin Hood type character targeting the rich banks and railroads. The film says otherwise and paints him more as a moody ruffian. The story opens with what proved to be his last train robbery at Blue Cut. After the robbery, he attempts to retire. James is sick of being on the run with his family, even his children don't know his real name, for fear of capture.



Most of James's usual gang are no longer with him, all either jailed or dead, so for this job he has recruited a new one. One of which is Robert Ford. Ford idolises James but is also in fear of him as he quickly learns that the murderous train-robbers are no Robin Hood's. After helping James move his family to their latest new safe location, Ford stays on as a house guest.



Meanwhile the rest of the gang grow restless waiting for word of their next job. James begins to fear them turning him in or killing him in exchange for their own safety and the reward money. So he decides to get rid of those that may be conspiring against him. Unfortunately the film doesn't quite let you a feel for who these characters are before they disappear. After a while he seems to give up and begins to act like a man who knows the end is coming but no longer has the will to try and avoid it.

When the Sheriff enlists Ford to help him get James, Ford assumes that this will lead to him becoming a hero. So Ford cowardly shoots James in the back. When it happens, it's all a bit of a surprise because after waiting so long for it to happen, it is all over so quickly.

Ford though is mistaken about becoming a hero instead he is met with disrespect and called the biggest coward in history whilst James's star just grows brighter. Then another man gets the idea that Robert had; to murder someone famous to be remembered and this second murder ends Robert Ford's life too.

I wasn't sure what to make of the film. The word ‘epic’ springs to mind. There's some unforgettable imagery, stunning shots of floating clouds, desolate landscapes, smoke, snow, rain. It’s more art than movie.

The story itself, is a complex tale of betrayal, paranoia, suspicion, and often-disturbing acts of violence. It works in that respect because you do get a sense of the fear that they all feel, knowing that around any corner they could get shot.

Then there are the intense performances, some superb acting. Brad Pitt is excellent as the brooding, tortured mess that is Jessie James. Casey Affleck too is good as Robert Ford.

Unfortunately everything unfolds at a slow, methodical almost snails' pace in what is a very long film. Although apparently the directors original cut was near on four hours but the studio thankfully made him trim it a bit. It is a western without action. An oldish couple in front of us leave early although his wife clearly nagged him into it.

I am tired before we arrive and I rest my eyes a little during the adverts but yes I do doze off at some of the slower parts of the film.

Afterwards we pop into the Dragon but don’t stay. Instead we have a couple of Leffe’s at Ropewalk before heading home.

Back Into The Groove

Ok. Back into the groove today. The fitness groove that is. Other routines were restored in all their glory yesterday in what I may christen Super Sunday but perhaps more about that later.

So I cycle into work. The roads are wonderful for cycling this morning, so quiet, even L might have enjoyed the cycling today. Maybe. I also have my swimming stuff with me and hope to go for a dip after work.

Work though, is all a bit manic; such is the perils of having time off. On the up side we now have coffee; apparently the de-caff ran out so someone had to address the situation. Unfortunately we’re now on standard Nescafe so it’s not particularly pleasant but at least it contains caffeine. We have a very very large tub of it, so it looks like we’re stuck with it for some considerable time.

L sends me an email advertising something called the ‘The Evil Sheriff Off-Road Duathlon’. I question whether she sent it to me by mistake but no she says I was the intended recipient because they put the words ‘evil’ and ‘Duathlon’ in the same sentence and she thought of me. What she forgot to mention was that they also used the words 'off’ and ‘road' in it as well. I don’t do ‘off-road’, not without a £1000+ mountain bike. Are you listening Santa? It’s on the list just after the carbon framed road bike with the full Dura Ace group-set.

The email did mention a few runs as well; the 10K might be appealing. That is if I survive the one I’ve booked for this Friday. I had hatched a cunning plan to get out of it, when work kindly arranged a night out on the same evening. That is until they postponed it for two weeks, so now I’m free to run. Whoopee.

Leeds United have finally been given permission to start the new league season, albeit with a 15 point penalty. It just gets better. So just a simple matter of 105 points needed to win the league according to Dennis Wise. You have to admire his optimism.

I bike straight to the pool for my planned swim. It’s nice and quiet in my lane, just me and a chap with a float between his legs. Absolutely perfect because his float slows him down which means that I can swim at a leisurely pace. That is until one of the regular female psychos arrives fifteen minutes before the end of the session and starts powering up and down, presumably to make up for lost time.

I leave the pool and the sky is grumbling with thunder and exhibiting the odd flash of lightning. Head down, I pedal fast to beat the expected downpour. I don’t quite make it. Then of course the pedestrian crossings over the ring road take an age to change which means I get a right royal soaking. Doggo greets me at the door, briefly, and then goes back in his corner to hide from the storm.

It does, however, fine up very quickly and we do a quick session on the park. Well, it was supposed to be a quick session but some bright spark has shaved thirty minutes off the park opening times, so we got locked in and had to walk the long way around to get out. L, bless her, walks to meet us. She then cooks up a terrific Keema. Bless her again.

I eventually tumble into bed, exhausted but predictably horny. It’s the lyrca you know. L doesn’t take much coercing, if any at all, to indulge an old man in his hour of need. Bliss. Possibly better even that Super Sunday. Although, thinking about it, she’d come to bed in her pulling gear, a sexy black combo, so it obviously wasn’t all my idea and all at past her watershed hour too. In fact that's two watersheds in a row she's broken. Tut tut.