Indiana Jones: Raiders March by John Williams

 

Every year, the radio station Classic FM asks its listeners to vote for their top three favourite pieces of classical music and compiles a top 300 Hall of Fame chart from the votes cast, which they count down over the Easter weekend. This year, my favourite piece of music is this…

 

I was recently asked what my favourite film was. This was a tough question, but not for the reasons one might think – there’s not a lot for me to choose from.

Unlike most people – who somehow seem to be able watch a whole movie in one go at least once a week, or maybe, astonishingly, even more frequently than that – I usually manage a whole movie in (almost) one sitting about once a year, if that. That’s it. One film a year.

I’ll maybe watch ten minutes of many films throughout the year though, little snippets here and there whilst channel hopping. So I might actually end up watching a whole film, but over the course of about ten years.

Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence by Ryuichi Sakamoto

 

Every year, the radio station Classic FM asks its listeners to vote for their top three favourite pieces of classical music and compiles a top 300 Hall of Fame chart from the votes cast, which they count down over the Easter weekend. This year, for my second favourite piece of music, I voted for this…

 

To some, retirement is a horrific thought. It sends them into a mild panic that I can only compare to the thought of running out of tea bags – you know it will happen if you let it, and unless you take some avoiding action, life will not be quite as enjoyable.

So to avoid an unthinkable tea-less situation from occurring in my life, what I do is to write the word tea bags on a piece of paper and the next time I’m in a supermarket, I look at this piece of paper. Consequently, it reminds me to purchase more tea bags and thus avert a dangerous situation from occurring.

Likewise, a person horrified at the thought of retirement could carry on working until they are physically unable to move, or perhaps they might retire but immediately take up a volunteering position to keep their mind active and day fulfilled satisfactorily. Because otherwise they would most likely go loopy from repeatedly counting how many tea bags they currently own.

In the Steppes of Central Asia by Alexander Borodin

 

Every year, the radio station Classic FM asks its listeners to vote for their top three favourite pieces of classical music and compiles a top 300 Hall of Fame chart from the votes cast, which they count down over the Easter weekend. This year, for my third favourite piece of music, I voted for this…

 

When is a fish not a fish? When it’s a catfish apparently.

Up until a week or so ago, I had lived my life in full confidence that I knew exactly what a catfish was. When I was asked by a colleague recently what a catfish was, I replied with all the self-assurance and coolness of someone who knows a great deal of impressive knowledge that a catfish was a fish.

When my questioner finally got over the amusement and then dismay that I had unreasonably thought a catfish was a fish, they patiently explained to Captain Caveman here that a catfish is not just an aquatic animal, but a person who assumes the online identity of someone else for nefarious reasons.

They then went on to explain the various details of these cheats and how to avoid them, which interestingly included reverse image searches – another thing I knew nothing about.

So thanks to my thoughtful and considerate workmate, I now know to avoid anyone who claims to have had a car crash in Atlanta. Or something. (I can now hear the deep and exasperated sigh as my educator repeatedly thumps their head on the desk in complete disappointment and utter despair.)