Last night, I started to watch the TV series 11.22.63. The title is not a set of random numbers – it is, in fact, a date which has been written incorrectly, in American format. What it should really read, is 22.11.63 – aka 22nd November 1963.
The series is based upon a Stephen King novel of the same name (yes, even Stephen King writes his dates wrong). Before watching, I was a tad sceptical. Some King films are great, some are rubbish. I’ll give you some examples. The Shining – great. The Mist – rubbish. Misery – great. Pet Semetery – rubbish. OK, I know that Pet Semetary one is a little controversial, as it does have some avid fans (heaven knows why).
11.22.63 isn’t your typical Stephen King horror movie. There are no axe-wielding maniacs, crazed nurses, rabid dogs or creatures from another planet. This is more of a thriller/sci-fi. I have only seen the first episode of the series, and have not read the book, but from what I understand of the plot so far, a man from the modern day discovers a portal, which takes him back to 1960. He must then stay in the swinging 1960’s to try and prevent the assassination of President Kennedy, on 22nd November 1963 – or 22.11.63 if you’re a Yank.
Of course, as anyone who has read a book or watched a movie about time travel will know, you shouldn’t mess with the past; and this is something the lead role discovers when trying to make changes, to try and alter the future.
The series did remind me the BBC sitcom, Goodnight Sweetheart, from the 1990’s; where Gary Sparrow travelled back to war-torn London to have an affair with a barmaid. I am sure Mr. King would love my comparison. Despite the similarities, there are less laughs and more blood than Goodnight Sweetheart.
This morning there was a massive storm. Sheets of rain fell from the sky, followed by hailstones, thunder and lightning. I was so glad that I was indoors, during the immense weather experience. It was almost as if the storm had been sent by God, who had been angered by something – Dodgy Dave, I’m looking at you…
In my life, Saturday afternoons are generally reserved for football. I will most likely be found on a terrace at Twerton Park or deepest, darkest Essex. If I am not watching a live game of football – swearing as Bath City lose – I’ll probably be at home, on the sofa, watching the updates come through on the television, while swearing as Leeds United lose.
This Saturday was different. I gave up the rough and tumble of the national game, for something a little more refined – a trip to the theatre.
We had decided to go to the Theatre Royal, to watch a production of a murder mystery called Rehersal For Murder.
While I am sure I went to the theatre in Bath as a child, I can’t remember any trips from my youth. I did, however, go last year to see the musical, Joseph. Surprisingly, I really enjoyed it, and even bought the CD at the end of the show.
I was expecting Rehearsal For Murder to be somewhat different. It was. Obviously.
Despite the lack of singing, camels and multicoloured dreamcoats, I thought the production was pretty good. It was your typical murder mystery story. Woman dies under suspicious circumstances, a big who-did-it unravels, before the killer is exposed, with the mandatory plot twist. I actually guessed the killer in the show’s interval, although didn’t predict the twist.
The show promised “an all star cast”, and there were some faces I recognised. Although, it wasn’t until we had left the theatre and arrived back home, that I realised one of the lead roles was played by the man who was Max in Brookside. Granted, it wasn’t Dean Sullivan – AKA Jimmy Corkhill – although he’s no doubt on Broadway.
Oh, Brookside. The only soap I ever truly enjoyed. Why did you have to get cancelled? Oh yea, the original producer left and the thing became shit.
Two years ago, I started to collect World Cup 2014 stickers. After spending lots of time and far too much money, I completed the collection. I owed never to do it again.
However, I accidentally managed to get hold of this today. Bye bye, money. Bye bye, life.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
