The first Kingman film, Kingman:The Secret Service was unusual, funny and rather charming. Impossible special effects with some wry British acting. The second film Kingman The Golden Circle is a train wreck and a tragedy.
In this film the 300 executive producers decided that being too British was a liability and so they needed to fill the cast with Americans, supermodels and sexy older actresses to appeal to the older males audience (like me) and then bring in (dreadful) cameo performances from the likes of Elton John.
The result was that this elite British spy network, Kingsman, relies (yet again) on the Yanks to save their arses. It was very sad and lacked that suave quality of the original. Julianne Moore as the evil baddie was phoning it in and Colin Firth was counting the money live on screen to me. Also I stopped thinking the word “fuck” was shocking or avant garden when I was 14 so why does every character have to say it 15 times in the movie. Finally, why does the lead Taron Everton have to pretend to be a Chicago home-boy, he was from South London and sounds like a dick.
I love animals but you can have too much of a good thing. Take our Christmas lunch at Stanwell House, a lovely boutique hotel in Lymington.
We booked a table in the conservatory hoping to enjoy the last of the pale December light over a Christmas lunch. What we hadn’t bargained for were the dogs. Out of ten tables, five had dogs ranging from the small quail sized Yorkshire terrier to the more meaty Cockerpoo. The problem initially wasn’t the dogs but their owners.
The humans had dressed their dogs up in everything from a stout Christmas lead to a frankly insulting Santa hat for the Yorkshire terrier. It was the behaviour of the owners that was the most revolting. They all seemed to think they had brought human grandchildren to lunch so they spoke baby talk to the dogs and fussed over them constantly.
Things came to a head; or should I say bottom, when one of the dogs took a dump on the restaurant floor. The smell of dog poo is bad enough but mixed with Brussel sprouts simply indescribable.
Thankfully, a waiter saved us and moved us to another room in the restaurant where adults were enjoying lunch, free of dogs.
My home town of Lymington has a Facebook group called Lymington Rumour Control. This was set up to be the village pump, a place where wit and humour could flourish as local residents share useful and humourous news about our town.
Sadly, it degenerated into a playground for the terminally sanctimonious and the meeting ground for the staggeringly self-opinionated.
It was also the home of lazy sods asking the same questions like “can any one recommend a dentist/hairdresser/vet/tyre repair shop within 200 miles of Lymington “. There is a service on the Internet called Google you lazy bastards.
Lymington Rumour Control is now filled with tragic locals whinging on about parking, cyclist, litter, donkeys, parking, and puddles or pot holes…… and parking.
I began to hate the town I love.
It was like a never ending chorus of that Internet trope “what about the little children”; a self-righteous maelstrom of poorly spelled and inarticulate spleen-venting.
So I unsubscribed from the toxic hellstew that is Lymington Rumour Control and I now I love my town again.
Somewhere in the Eighties the National Health Service was partially privatised. By which I mean dentists and opticians. Neither of the changes are welcomed as a trip to the dentist now costs three figures and anything above the most basic scale and polish means selling a kidney.
By my rant today isn’t about dentists but rather opticians. In my hometown, Lymington there is an opticians that we shall call Grovel and Snobs. A stylish shop run by a man who clearly wanted to be a brain surgeon but had to settle for investing in some clever machines and selling overpriced Danish glasses to the socially climbing,townsfolk of Lymington.
My view is that the Opticians are as relevant as Saddle Makers and Milliners. Their job can and will be done by computers within ten years. Milliners will remain as long as weddings need hats. Once opticians have disappeared, then I’ll be spared stupid questions like “Do you do any hobbies where your sight is important”. Just think for a minute of a hobby where your sight isn’t important.
To cap it all off, I was quoted three weeks to make a pair of sunglasses for my wife. Boots in the High Street quoted one week but the kicker was trying to get a copy of my wife’s prescription. Rather than hitting Ctr+P and printing it from a computer, Grovel and Snobs insist on handwriting a copy of the 18 numbers and then charging you £17.50 ($24) for the privilege.
Unbelievable. Complete and utter nonsense. So they lost two customers in ten seconds.
The 2017 Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta was a fantastic experience. In many ways it all that is best about the United States. Impressive, friendly and well organised.
I arrived at Dawn on the first day for the Dawn Patrol which has a smaller number of balloons permitted to take off in darkness. The burners and colourful canopies roaring to life in the darkness is a spectacular sight. I described it as watching baby dragons wake up all snorting fire and noise.
Then the mass assent takes place as the sun rises with six or seven hundred balloons taking off and you can wander through them lending a hand when asked. It is so good natured and friendly without a hint of health and safety nonsense just sensible people having a good time.
Two things, apart from the balloons, spring to mind. At one point a grandmother had lost her grand-daughter in the crowd of 50,000. She was in a panic but a marshall got on the radio to the police who had her. A kindly visitor had handed her in. It was done so effortlessly it was a joy to watch.
The whole balloon festival is spectacularly well run from courtesy buggies to get you from the massive car parks to the gates. A lack of parking charges (normally $15 but I was never charged) to plenty of places to sit.
I had never been to a balloon event and this was the ultimate experience being among these giants in the New Mexico dawn.
I’m happy to report that I have left Las Vegas with more money than I arrived with. I planned to gamble $500 and left with $$640. So financially it was a success. However, I hated it. It bills itself as a place where you let your hair down and enjoy yourself and you can certainly do that. From guys selling beers out of suitcases on the street to mobile billboards for hookers, it’s all there.
However, at the heart of it all is a sad desperation. People willing themselves to have a good time to the soundtrack of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. If I had my way it would be illegal to play anything by those Gods within the city limits.
I was walking through the Casino at the Bellagio when I heard a woman doing a rendition of ‘that’ scene in When Harry met Sally. Full bore organism, I kid you not. I looked over and she was screaming “I won thirty, I won thirty”. I thought thirty grand was excellent until I discover she meant $30. Seriously, how small must your life be to get that excited over thirty dollars? I saw a man pouring chips onto a roulette table to try and impress his bored wife. He won something every spin, just less than he’d bet.
I was there to catch a flight home so watched the Bellagio fountains at sunset, did a small amount of successful gambling to pass the time between sunset and dinner but the highlight was probably the shower in my room which was first class. I think my problem is that I assumed that Bellagio would be glamorous. It is in the same way that Dubai is, namely, it isn’t.
Like Bulgari jewellery, it is all style and no substance. The croupiers are not all resting Victoria Secrets models. In all likelihood, they are cleaners for the Philippines who can count. Zero personality. Your fellow gamblers are divided between the seriously addicted to the clueless morons like me trying to fill time.
The whole thing is artificial; from the shows to the gambling, from the phoney bellhops to the waitresses, the whole thing reeks of insincerity. This was summed up by a slot machine I played. It had no rules or table of winnings. So I pumped in $20 with no clue of the odds or what I was supposed to do. I gave into the machine which spat out $160 dollars. I have no idea how but that was probably the idea. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.
As I climbed into my cab for the airport I spotted the Trump hotel and casino. That summed up Las Vegas to me. Tasteless, noisy and stupid. Give me Albuquerque any day.
I have been in the US for four days now and I’m finding it very hard to eat anything. Let me explain. I arrived in Las Vegas on 2nd October and stayed at the Double Tree by the airport ready for a quick trip to the Grand Canyon the next day. I decided on room service (a hideous error I know) and had a chicken Caesar wrap so vast and revolting I was dumbfounded. The chicken tasted like a gel bra insert that had been briefly grilled.
Then I hit the road and every single stop was Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, McDonald’s, Burger King, or Subway. Nothing else. I would stop every hundred miles across Arizona and almost resorted to beef jerky but thought I’d wait for my nice hotel.
Sadly, the Bright Angel Lodge was a disaster as I couldn’t eat there as every time I tried I was told it was a 45-minute wait. Next morning I left for Monument Valley and sustained with a Snickers I avoided the endless Egg McMuffins on offer and made it to The View Hotel where I feasted on very good Quesadillas for supper. Huge, rather sickly but actual food. So far I’d eaten two meals in three days so pressed on to Albuquerque and ended up in a sushi bar for supper. Bliss. Fresh crunchy ginger, salad and green tea. At last, I’d had a good meal, in America, albeit a Japanese one.
The next day I had an astonishingly good and messy pork and bean burrito at the Balloon Fiesta but as I felt it congeal in my insides I thought about the other food on offer. Most of it fried and huge. I watched people eating deep fried turkey drumsticks, churros with powdered sugar and chocolate sauce not to mention varieties of fried cheese served on crisps (chips to Americans). The smallest drink size was a pint the largest about the capacity of a hot air balloon at 100,000 cu ft.
On Sunday I explored the Railyards Market and had a Vegan Tamale for breakfast hitch was fresh and delicious and in the evening another sushi restaurant, desperate to avoid anything fried. For lunch I went to the Church Street Cafe in Albuquerque hoping for new, Mexican cuisine what I got was old New Mexican cuisine. Cheese beans, beans, cheese plus suspect meat. Tasty but as satisfying as Benny Hill. Good for a few minutes but you’d rather not make a night of it.
On the way back to Vegas I stopped in Flagstaff and stayed in the Weatherford hotel that was built in 1896 which they thought was historic. No, just a fairly old hotel and nothing special. I ate at a southern BBQ place and asked for the smallest amount food I could get. Six brontosaurus ribs arrived surrounded by a couple of pounds of fried okra. Why fried !!!!! Still delicious but two ribs would have been enough. I asked for a beer and was presented with a Kilner jar full of beer. I know Flagstaff is trying to be achingly hipster but why? In fact, the whole town thinks it is a junior Seattle as I discovered when I tried to buy a coffee and was asked if I wanted a cold pressed, aerochinno, steel press infusion or a slow drip, mountain water, deep steep or some equally stupid offering. All I wanted was an espresso with hot milk. No chance and no Starbucks either. Still, Flagstaff is a pleasant place to break a 700-mile drive.
Eventually, I made it to Vegas and checked into the Bellagio. That will be the subject of another post but I went to Cafe Bellagio for a sandwich. I had a Bloody Mary which was excellent and a turkey club with Parmesan fries that wasn’t. The food tasted like room service food served at a table. Is it just me but does room service food tastes like the air in an aeroplane lavatory, slightly recycled and containing dubious ingredients? The sandwich was so dull even the hickory smoked bacon was drowned out by the blandness of the turkey. Everything was just limp. I didn’t care but at $23 it wasn’t worth it.
For dinner, I went to Yellowtail and had a well-grilled aubergine with miso paste and a good-ish sushi. Not up to Albuquerque standards but what is.
So, in conclusion, the food in America was a huge disappointment. The Mexican and Native American food suffered from a belief that there is no such thing as too much cheese or too many beans. That is true in the depths of winter but when the thermometer is touching 90 degrees it isn’t. The traditional American food was just revolting either poorly prepared or fried. We make jokes about deep fried Mars bars but in the South West, they would deep fry anything from auto parts to roadkill.
So I’m flying home dreaming of fresh vegetables, salad and a simple roast chicken. It’s a sad day when a Brit dreams about good fresh vegetables. So farewell USA, I won a few dollars in Vegas and lost a few pounds along the way.