(With grateful thanks to my girlfriend for assistance with the title!)
While I haven't seen a single (live) ant inside my home since Tuesday evening, I thought it best to play it safe and call in a professional, to ensure my home is secure against returning ants. Fortunately, the first result in my Google search for such professionals was a company based in London, in whose catchment area I reside. Furthermore, they were able to fit me in this very afternoon, so I was able to quickly arrange a half-day off work so that I'd be home for the visit.
While it happened later than expected, the visit was fairly brief and preparing for the visit highlighted a few things that could possibly do with repairing - such as the gaping hole in the outside wall where the waste pipes come out.
Supposedly, this dusting with power and squeezing of gel at strategic points in my kitchen and bathroom should be enough to keep ants under control for three months, surely enough to get me through the summer.
I say "to keep ants under control" because the measures do not prevent ants returning, they simply ensure that those which return take poison back to the nest... Which might not even be in my flat. The technician told me that they tend to stay near a water source, rather than a food source, so the invasion might be the sign of a leak. Again, this might not even be in my flat.
Still, this is a load off my mind... Hopefully things will start to get back to normal round here.
For a given value of 'normal'.
Thursday 25 April 2013
Tuesday 23 April 2013
Round 3
Just a quickie update on the ant situation, since having had to use that spray again seems to have given me a headache... Not the best of days, and it was capped off with about a dozen ant corpses littering my kitchen worktop. There are bits of kitchen equipment with are probably no longer entirely safe to use because I had to start spraying before moving them about, and I've just spent quite a while wiping over the worktops in the corner under the cabinets where they first appeared.
They seem to have come in - this time - via some holes in a bit of cosmetic tiling that covers some of the unsightly pipework from my boiler. Thankfully, I was able to aim the spray behind this panel, so I'm hoping that's another entrance they won't want to use again... but I'm still at a loss as to how they're actually getting in... unless it's from another flat.
If I see too many more ants, I may just call in a professional to scout around... As my mother pointed out, it's kind of unusual for ants to be 'visiting' a top floor flat.
Also, while I think of it, following on from my comment at the end of my last post about possibly not getting a good night's sleep, my fears were not realised. I slept well enough, though one of my dreams was a little odd and featured my erstwhile cyberstalker.
They seem to have come in - this time - via some holes in a bit of cosmetic tiling that covers some of the unsightly pipework from my boiler. Thankfully, I was able to aim the spray behind this panel, so I'm hoping that's another entrance they won't want to use again... but I'm still at a loss as to how they're actually getting in... unless it's from another flat.
If I see too many more ants, I may just call in a professional to scout around... As my mother pointed out, it's kind of unusual for ants to be 'visiting' a top floor flat.
Also, while I think of it, following on from my comment at the end of my last post about possibly not getting a good night's sleep, my fears were not realised. I slept well enough, though one of my dreams was a little odd and featured my erstwhile cyberstalker.
Monday 22 April 2013
Round 2
And there was me, ready to get on with other stuff this evening... After work, I popped over to Foyles to pick up a birthday present for my father, with a list of shopping in my pocket for last-minute groceries I need for work this week, to pick up once I got back home...
...Then it all started to go terribly, terribly wrong.
It started innocently enough, with a series of three trains being diverted toward Heathrow on the Piccadilly Line. This meant I was about an hour later getting home than I would have been if I'd just come straight home the normal way. No great shakes there, to be honest.
The shopping was easy enough to accomplish but, naturally, I'd not brought a shopping bag with me, so I had to make use of those proffered at checkout. Even that's not a massive disaster, because I can always reuse shopping bags as bin liners.
Where it actually went terribly, terribly wrong was when I cast my eyes sinkwards in my kitchen, for to consider the eternal question of whether to wash up before or after dinner, and saw moving things.
Specifically, ants.
Now, I've been pretty bloody vigilant of late, possibly bordering on the obsessive - constantly checking the floors, walls, ceilings... little cracks and dark corners - looking to ensure that my ant problem is over and to see if there's any sign of where they all came from.
I may have caught a lucky break this evening.
Several of the little critters were congregating around the overflow of the sink, so that got a whole load of ant spray. In the end, I had to wash the entire sink area before I felt comfortable making dinner (even though I had, coincidentally, picked up something that barely needed cooking) and, as I write, I'm eating the dinner I only prepared a few minutes ago.
This does not bode well for a good night's sleep.
...Then it all started to go terribly, terribly wrong.
It started innocently enough, with a series of three trains being diverted toward Heathrow on the Piccadilly Line. This meant I was about an hour later getting home than I would have been if I'd just come straight home the normal way. No great shakes there, to be honest.
The shopping was easy enough to accomplish but, naturally, I'd not brought a shopping bag with me, so I had to make use of those proffered at checkout. Even that's not a massive disaster, because I can always reuse shopping bags as bin liners.
Where it actually went terribly, terribly wrong was when I cast my eyes sinkwards in my kitchen, for to consider the eternal question of whether to wash up before or after dinner, and saw moving things.
Specifically, ants.
Now, I've been pretty bloody vigilant of late, possibly bordering on the obsessive - constantly checking the floors, walls, ceilings... little cracks and dark corners - looking to ensure that my ant problem is over and to see if there's any sign of where they all came from.
I may have caught a lucky break this evening.
Several of the little critters were congregating around the overflow of the sink, so that got a whole load of ant spray. In the end, I had to wash the entire sink area before I felt comfortable making dinner (even though I had, coincidentally, picked up something that barely needed cooking) and, as I write, I'm eating the dinner I only prepared a few minutes ago.
This does not bode well for a good night's sleep.
Saturday 20 April 2013
Ants and Taxes
It's been a funny old week... Well, most of this happened over the last weekend and during the first couple of days of last week, but the rest of the week was only slightly less funny... just significantly less bloggable.
Being a temp, I realised sometime last year that I'd eventually need to file a tax return. It wasn't something I was looking forward to, despite the substantial HMRC advertising campaigns extolling the virtues of filing one's tax return online - supposedly the quicker, easier and surer option versus the old postal system. Nevertheless, the Eternal Procrastinator, I delayed actually signing up till March of this year ("too late!" my subconscious kept squawking).
The first thing to note is that signing up for self-assessment is not a single-stage process. Oh, no. You sign up to the Government Gateway, then have to apply for a Unique Taxpayer Reference, then have to apply for a User ID for the actual self-assessment section of the website. The first stage is quick enough, but the second can take up to six weeks (so say HMRC) and the final stage can take another two weeks or more.
And considering tax returns are meant to be submitted by early April, I had the nagging feeling that my subconscious was right for a change.
So, in a panic, I reached new heights of procrastination. I played around with online Tax Return Calculators, to determine first whether I'd owe them money or if I'd be expecting a nice cheque (the latter seeming most likely as, while only one of my three employers over the 2012-2013 tax year actually paid my tax and National Insurance, it did so at the 'emergency rate' - a flat 20% on everything. Considering they were my biggest earner by far, it seemed reasonable to believe that they'd have effectively paid my tax for the other two jobs, with plenty of excess.
Dearest reader, the reality of filing one's tax return online is not as the advertisements would have you believe. It is full of complex terminology that may well be beyond the ken of mere mortals such as myself. There are also some subtle points of procedure that only become clear once you've finished, meaning that you may well have to undo a large chunk of it and then re-do it differently.
At least, that's what happened with me: I got to the end, and found I owed them £6,000-odd, only to be told by the Helpline that one of my jobs should have been categorised as 'employment' (because they paid my tax/NI) rather than 'self-employment'.
On the upside, it only took three phone calls to the HMRC Self-Assessment Helpline to get me through it*, and one of those was entirely down to my own stupidity in not reading the instructions.
The net result (har har, I just made a tax joke!) is that I am expecting a tax refund cheque of a little over five hundred quid... which neatly pays for this year's BotCon boxed set and leaves me plenty left over for other treats or emergencies... and considering my employment situation from here on is looking a little uncertain, that can only be a good thing.
Having got my first ever tax return out of the way, it slowly began to dawn on me that the April deadline was actually for accounts of the tax year 2011-2012 so, while I'd been panicking about filing mine late, it is in fact almost a full year early.
Suck on that, subconscious!
During the early part of last week, I made a rather alarming discovery in my kitchen.
Ants.
I know it's unreasonable to expect a human dwelling, even a top-floor flat, to be entirely free of insects, but when one opens one's kitchen cupboard, for to make a cup of morning tea, one does not expect to find it teeming with ants.
And precisely what does one do in these situations?
I could feel my fragile reality beginning to fracture, like the ice on a puddle. Could this hole of a flat get any worse? Peeling paper on the ceilings, murky damp stains spreading around, leaks dripping into the fusebox, a hole opening gradually in the seams of the bathroom ceiling... and now an invasion of ants in my kitchen?
Fortunately (or, who could tell, maybe not?) my girlfriend was staying over. Calling her in as reinforcements and moral (not to mention psychological) support, we swiftly emptied out the cupboard in which they seemed to be massing (notably where I keep all the tea and sugar), throwing things into a dustbin bag left, right and centre. A tin of Lyle's Golden Syrup was forced into a sealable sandwich bag before being tossed away, since it was literally crawling with ants. Once the cupboard had been cleared of its intended contents, I realised the futility of trying to squash all the ants one by one...
...So I brought in the hoover.
Thing is, however many I hoovered up, more kept spilling out of the crack between the cupboard frame and the ceiling. It seemed impossible that a nest had sprung up literally overnight - we'd cooked dinner the night before, and not a single ant was seen - but where were they all coming from? A few even turned up in the bathroom, though that would be three or four, versus the teeming masses (probably no more than a hundred, in fact) in the kitchen. Eventually the steady stream of ants slowed to one or two every few minutes, but I still wasn't sure what to do next.
I sent a text message to my boss, telling her why I'd be late, called my folks to ask for advice, and eventually settled on going shopping for ant-killer spray (since it would have been next to impossible to apply any powder or gel to the sliver of a crack between the cupboards and the ceiling). In theory, such sprays should be available quite easily nearby, but I steeled myself to go as far as Harrow if necessary... the idea of getting back home to find the cupboards crawling with ants all over again was very much a waking nightmare.
Weirder still, a quick look around the (visible) outside of my flat, around two windows and the exposed pipework, revealed no sign of the ants point of entry. How they got in is still a mystery.
Thankfully, my local DIY store had exactly what I needed. Getting back home, I cleared the worksurfaces and sprayed generously, trying to aim for the crack they'd been spilling out of, but not really caring about accuracy. A few ants attempted to crawl away... but they didn't get far before the spray got the better of them.
The cleanup operation, once I'd got back home in the evening, after work, was a bit disheartening. I hadn't realised how much stuff I'd thrown away until I started refilling the cupboards. On the upside, that kitchen probably hasn't been cleaner since it was first installed, after I went over so much of it with anti-bacterial wipes to clean away the remnants of the ant spray on the cupboards' interiors and exteriors, and all the nearby work surfaces.
Since then, only a few ants have been seen - several more in the bathroom, crawling (somewhat bizarrely) over the barely-used, second-hand ironing board that I should probably just get rid of, one or two crawling urgently along the floor of the hall, looking for an escape. Now that I've hoovered the rest of the flat, hopefully I won't see any more... But that doesn't stop me scrutinising any of the points of shadow that seem to move in the corner of my eye.
And, hey, my girlfriend didn't decide to ditch me because of the ant infestation, so that's good...
On the subject of work, the latest bit of not-quite-news I've heard is that the maternity cover angle may well be coming to an end... but that doesn't mean I won't be needed. The returning mother is going through the usual 'haggling' over time, and the company needs to decide whether it can accommodate anything less than a full-time return. On paper, it would be hopelessly impractical - on the days she might work from home, someone would have to be in the office anyway, as the systems are not something which can be installed remotely - but it all depends on what level of childcare is deemed appropriate to a newborn second child, and how much is affordable.
(* In a conversation with my sister recently, she expressed a certain amount of surprise (maybe pride as well) in the fact that, having had three employers during the year, I sorted out my own tax return, with only three calls to the helpline, while her husband - with one employer - had to employ the services of an accountant. Naturally, I pointed out that this is the same guy who earns many thousands-per-annum more than me, and yet they never seem to have any money in their account. In circumstances like that, it's no surprise they're calling in an accountant... though I'd question the accountant's effectiveness given that the situation persists...)
Being a temp, I realised sometime last year that I'd eventually need to file a tax return. It wasn't something I was looking forward to, despite the substantial HMRC advertising campaigns extolling the virtues of filing one's tax return online - supposedly the quicker, easier and surer option versus the old postal system. Nevertheless, the Eternal Procrastinator, I delayed actually signing up till March of this year ("too late!" my subconscious kept squawking).
The first thing to note is that signing up for self-assessment is not a single-stage process. Oh, no. You sign up to the Government Gateway, then have to apply for a Unique Taxpayer Reference, then have to apply for a User ID for the actual self-assessment section of the website. The first stage is quick enough, but the second can take up to six weeks (so say HMRC) and the final stage can take another two weeks or more.
And considering tax returns are meant to be submitted by early April, I had the nagging feeling that my subconscious was right for a change.
So, in a panic, I reached new heights of procrastination. I played around with online Tax Return Calculators, to determine first whether I'd owe them money or if I'd be expecting a nice cheque (the latter seeming most likely as, while only one of my three employers over the 2012-2013 tax year actually paid my tax and National Insurance, it did so at the 'emergency rate' - a flat 20% on everything. Considering they were my biggest earner by far, it seemed reasonable to believe that they'd have effectively paid my tax for the other two jobs, with plenty of excess.
Dearest reader, the reality of filing one's tax return online is not as the advertisements would have you believe. It is full of complex terminology that may well be beyond the ken of mere mortals such as myself. There are also some subtle points of procedure that only become clear once you've finished, meaning that you may well have to undo a large chunk of it and then re-do it differently.
At least, that's what happened with me: I got to the end, and found I owed them £6,000-odd, only to be told by the Helpline that one of my jobs should have been categorised as 'employment' (because they paid my tax/NI) rather than 'self-employment'.
On the upside, it only took three phone calls to the HMRC Self-Assessment Helpline to get me through it*, and one of those was entirely down to my own stupidity in not reading the instructions.
The net result (har har, I just made a tax joke!) is that I am expecting a tax refund cheque of a little over five hundred quid... which neatly pays for this year's BotCon boxed set and leaves me plenty left over for other treats or emergencies... and considering my employment situation from here on is looking a little uncertain, that can only be a good thing.
Having got my first ever tax return out of the way, it slowly began to dawn on me that the April deadline was actually for accounts of the tax year 2011-2012 so, while I'd been panicking about filing mine late, it is in fact almost a full year early.
Suck on that, subconscious!
During the early part of last week, I made a rather alarming discovery in my kitchen.
Ants.
I know it's unreasonable to expect a human dwelling, even a top-floor flat, to be entirely free of insects, but when one opens one's kitchen cupboard, for to make a cup of morning tea, one does not expect to find it teeming with ants.
And precisely what does one do in these situations?
I could feel my fragile reality beginning to fracture, like the ice on a puddle. Could this hole of a flat get any worse? Peeling paper on the ceilings, murky damp stains spreading around, leaks dripping into the fusebox, a hole opening gradually in the seams of the bathroom ceiling... and now an invasion of ants in my kitchen?
Fortunately (or, who could tell, maybe not?) my girlfriend was staying over. Calling her in as reinforcements and moral (not to mention psychological) support, we swiftly emptied out the cupboard in which they seemed to be massing (notably where I keep all the tea and sugar), throwing things into a dustbin bag left, right and centre. A tin of Lyle's Golden Syrup was forced into a sealable sandwich bag before being tossed away, since it was literally crawling with ants. Once the cupboard had been cleared of its intended contents, I realised the futility of trying to squash all the ants one by one...
...So I brought in the hoover.
Thing is, however many I hoovered up, more kept spilling out of the crack between the cupboard frame and the ceiling. It seemed impossible that a nest had sprung up literally overnight - we'd cooked dinner the night before, and not a single ant was seen - but where were they all coming from? A few even turned up in the bathroom, though that would be three or four, versus the teeming masses (probably no more than a hundred, in fact) in the kitchen. Eventually the steady stream of ants slowed to one or two every few minutes, but I still wasn't sure what to do next.
I sent a text message to my boss, telling her why I'd be late, called my folks to ask for advice, and eventually settled on going shopping for ant-killer spray (since it would have been next to impossible to apply any powder or gel to the sliver of a crack between the cupboards and the ceiling). In theory, such sprays should be available quite easily nearby, but I steeled myself to go as far as Harrow if necessary... the idea of getting back home to find the cupboards crawling with ants all over again was very much a waking nightmare.
Weirder still, a quick look around the (visible) outside of my flat, around two windows and the exposed pipework, revealed no sign of the ants point of entry. How they got in is still a mystery.
Thankfully, my local DIY store had exactly what I needed. Getting back home, I cleared the worksurfaces and sprayed generously, trying to aim for the crack they'd been spilling out of, but not really caring about accuracy. A few ants attempted to crawl away... but they didn't get far before the spray got the better of them.
The cleanup operation, once I'd got back home in the evening, after work, was a bit disheartening. I hadn't realised how much stuff I'd thrown away until I started refilling the cupboards. On the upside, that kitchen probably hasn't been cleaner since it was first installed, after I went over so much of it with anti-bacterial wipes to clean away the remnants of the ant spray on the cupboards' interiors and exteriors, and all the nearby work surfaces.
Since then, only a few ants have been seen - several more in the bathroom, crawling (somewhat bizarrely) over the barely-used, second-hand ironing board that I should probably just get rid of, one or two crawling urgently along the floor of the hall, looking for an escape. Now that I've hoovered the rest of the flat, hopefully I won't see any more... But that doesn't stop me scrutinising any of the points of shadow that seem to move in the corner of my eye.
And, hey, my girlfriend didn't decide to ditch me because of the ant infestation, so that's good...
On the subject of work, the latest bit of not-quite-news I've heard is that the maternity cover angle may well be coming to an end... but that doesn't mean I won't be needed. The returning mother is going through the usual 'haggling' over time, and the company needs to decide whether it can accommodate anything less than a full-time return. On paper, it would be hopelessly impractical - on the days she might work from home, someone would have to be in the office anyway, as the systems are not something which can be installed remotely - but it all depends on what level of childcare is deemed appropriate to a newborn second child, and how much is affordable.
(* In a conversation with my sister recently, she expressed a certain amount of surprise (maybe pride as well) in the fact that, having had three employers during the year, I sorted out my own tax return, with only three calls to the helpline, while her husband - with one employer - had to employ the services of an accountant. Naturally, I pointed out that this is the same guy who earns many thousands-per-annum more than me, and yet they never seem to have any money in their account. In circumstances like that, it's no surprise they're calling in an accountant... though I'd question the accountant's effectiveness given that the situation persists...)
Sunday 7 April 2013
Hosting Issues
Of course, I pun. This isn't 'hosting issues' in the internet sense, it's a little bit about the movie of Stephanie Meyer's 'other' story... that one that doesn't feature sparkly, abusive vampires and werewolves that imprint on infants.
When I read The Host, it didn't exactly come with a glowing recommendation but, taking it at face value, one page at a time, I actually kinda enjoyed it (yes - this is a thirtysomething male admitting that he rather enjoyed a piece of writing by Ms. Meyer, polluter of millions of teenage minds with the execrable Twilight series), right up until the final chapter, where it went all typically Meyer creepy.
The reason I liked it can be summed up thusly: It's Invasion of the Body Snatchers, but from the point of view of one of the Body Snatchers.
To elaborate... Aliens have invaded and subjugated almost the entire human race, and one of these many-tentacled sparkly worm things (because, come on, it's a Stephanie Meyer book, so something's gonna sparkle!) has been implanted into a recent human detainee in an effort to track down any pockets of resistance she may be aware of. So far, so blah... but these aliens - or 'Souls', as they like to refer to themselves (thus throwing the audience into a great theological debate about the soullessness of humans in this day and age) - have brought the world together. War, famine, disease, greed and advertising - all the great plagues - are gone. People are polite to each other, cooperative, honest... but that's just the thing - they're not human any more.
Frankly, the book barely touched on the burning issues - that of the aliens' naivete, for example, in not understanding that humans, unlike all the other animals they've occupied in their travels across the universe, are fully sentient and, supposedly therefore, fully aware of our self-destructive ways, choosing to continue down that path because of our inherent self-loathing and distrust of others. Instead, it preferred to tread somewhat familiar Meyer territory of a girl in love with two guys... only she's not 'a girl' she's a subjugated human and the parasite that invaded her.
The film, meanwhile, takes us even further from anything genuinely interesting as Science Fiction/Speculative Fiction, preferring to tell us one minute that the aliens didn't change anything, they just 'fixed' it, only to show us little fragments of a world very much changed by their intervention... not least the aliens' fixation on pristine white clothing and mirror-chrome vehicles.
As a novel, The Host was an interesting idea that wasn't fully explored because Meyer doesn't 'get' Sci-Fi and probably has little genuine interest in it, even as a source of income. As a film it was a reasonably entertaining excuse for scoffing popcorn, and a decent enough date movie. William Hurt tried to bring some gravitas to one of Meyer's Mary-Sue (or whatever the male equivalent is) tertiary characters, and Diane Kruger had next to nothing to work with in portraying the Seeker whose host is fighting back (and nothing was said of the host after the removal of the Soul, so the Seeker wasn't quite so sympathetic in the end). Neither were explored in any depth... but then, this is just an adaptation of romantic fluff...
I may as well give honourable mentions to G.I. Joe: Retaliation, long-delayed sequel to 2009's Rise of Cobra, and Oz, The Great and Powerful, prequel to The Wizard of Oz, presenting an alternative to the musical Wicked. The former kills off one of the very few original cast members within the first half hour or so, yet still manages to be a more convincing movie-of-its-subject-matter than either of the first two TransFormers movies. It doesn't feature quite so much high-tech weaponry - which must surely be a blow for Hasbro's movie tie-in toyline... except that the toyline would always be extended beyond what appeared in the movie anyway - but, to be honest, the only real fault was the lack of returning characters, particularly the Baroness, whose tight leather armour is the only reason to get truly excited about a G.I. Joe movie.
The latter movie was basically the usual schmaltz about self-belief being the key to unlocking one's true potential and, in many ways, it came across more like a Tim Burton movie than a Sam Raimi movie. Sure, it had the cameos by the director's brother and Bruce Campbell, but the technicolour wackiness reminded me of Burton's take on Alice in Wonderland. All it was missing was Johnny Depp as Oz.
That said, James Franco did an excellent job, switching convincingly between the brash, blustering showman and the self-doubting con-artist with barely a twitch of his moustache, and Mila Kunis did equally well as the naive 'good' witch, only going overboard after her Snow White moment.
On balance, I think I prefer Wicked as a prequel, if only because it was a tighter story and featured some brilliant songs (this prequel, perhaps criminally, has no musical numbers at all), but I guess the two stories are aimed at rather different audiences.
Spent a while yesterday larking about with my niece, and getting a little frustrated with her attention-seeking ("Stop reading the newspaper!") until being introduced to Chokie, a glove puppet Koala. In the way of all such things, Chokie developed a personality all his own, perched on the end of my arm. Each time Kate tried to tell a joke (invariably ending with a completely bizarre non sequitur), Chokie responded with increasing sarcasm and a whole stream of jokes with actual punchlines, most so far beyond a nearly-four-year-old's diminutive ken, but easily cracking up her mother and our folks. According to my sister, this was the first time Chokie has spoken with an Australian accent (seriously? He's a goddamn Koala!), and she and her husband will now have to work extra hard to bring back Chokie's charming, loveable personality, now that Kate has been introduced to my interpretation.
My work here is done.
Finally caught up with BBC3's In The Flesh this morning, and was absolutely not surprised by how it went. It perhaps didn't go as far as I might have wanted/expected, and some of its metaphorising was, if predictable, not predicted. Plenty of ground was left unexplored, so I suspect another series has been planned... though whether it actually happens in anyone's guess... This is the company that canned The Fades, after all.
When I read The Host, it didn't exactly come with a glowing recommendation but, taking it at face value, one page at a time, I actually kinda enjoyed it (yes - this is a thirtysomething male admitting that he rather enjoyed a piece of writing by Ms. Meyer, polluter of millions of teenage minds with the execrable Twilight series), right up until the final chapter, where it went all typically Meyer creepy.
The reason I liked it can be summed up thusly: It's Invasion of the Body Snatchers, but from the point of view of one of the Body Snatchers.
To elaborate... Aliens have invaded and subjugated almost the entire human race, and one of these many-tentacled sparkly worm things (because, come on, it's a Stephanie Meyer book, so something's gonna sparkle!) has been implanted into a recent human detainee in an effort to track down any pockets of resistance she may be aware of. So far, so blah... but these aliens - or 'Souls', as they like to refer to themselves (thus throwing the audience into a great theological debate about the soullessness of humans in this day and age) - have brought the world together. War, famine, disease, greed and advertising - all the great plagues - are gone. People are polite to each other, cooperative, honest... but that's just the thing - they're not human any more.
Frankly, the book barely touched on the burning issues - that of the aliens' naivete, for example, in not understanding that humans, unlike all the other animals they've occupied in their travels across the universe, are fully sentient and, supposedly therefore, fully aware of our self-destructive ways, choosing to continue down that path because of our inherent self-loathing and distrust of others. Instead, it preferred to tread somewhat familiar Meyer territory of a girl in love with two guys... only she's not 'a girl' she's a subjugated human and the parasite that invaded her.
The film, meanwhile, takes us even further from anything genuinely interesting as Science Fiction/Speculative Fiction, preferring to tell us one minute that the aliens didn't change anything, they just 'fixed' it, only to show us little fragments of a world very much changed by their intervention... not least the aliens' fixation on pristine white clothing and mirror-chrome vehicles.
As a novel, The Host was an interesting idea that wasn't fully explored because Meyer doesn't 'get' Sci-Fi and probably has little genuine interest in it, even as a source of income. As a film it was a reasonably entertaining excuse for scoffing popcorn, and a decent enough date movie. William Hurt tried to bring some gravitas to one of Meyer's Mary-Sue (or whatever the male equivalent is) tertiary characters, and Diane Kruger had next to nothing to work with in portraying the Seeker whose host is fighting back (and nothing was said of the host after the removal of the Soul, so the Seeker wasn't quite so sympathetic in the end). Neither were explored in any depth... but then, this is just an adaptation of romantic fluff...
I may as well give honourable mentions to G.I. Joe: Retaliation, long-delayed sequel to 2009's Rise of Cobra, and Oz, The Great and Powerful, prequel to The Wizard of Oz, presenting an alternative to the musical Wicked. The former kills off one of the very few original cast members within the first half hour or so, yet still manages to be a more convincing movie-of-its-subject-matter than either of the first two TransFormers movies. It doesn't feature quite so much high-tech weaponry - which must surely be a blow for Hasbro's movie tie-in toyline... except that the toyline would always be extended beyond what appeared in the movie anyway - but, to be honest, the only real fault was the lack of returning characters, particularly the Baroness, whose tight leather armour is the only reason to get truly excited about a G.I. Joe movie.
The latter movie was basically the usual schmaltz about self-belief being the key to unlocking one's true potential and, in many ways, it came across more like a Tim Burton movie than a Sam Raimi movie. Sure, it had the cameos by the director's brother and Bruce Campbell, but the technicolour wackiness reminded me of Burton's take on Alice in Wonderland. All it was missing was Johnny Depp as Oz.
That said, James Franco did an excellent job, switching convincingly between the brash, blustering showman and the self-doubting con-artist with barely a twitch of his moustache, and Mila Kunis did equally well as the naive 'good' witch, only going overboard after her Snow White moment.
On balance, I think I prefer Wicked as a prequel, if only because it was a tighter story and featured some brilliant songs (this prequel, perhaps criminally, has no musical numbers at all), but I guess the two stories are aimed at rather different audiences.
Spent a while yesterday larking about with my niece, and getting a little frustrated with her attention-seeking ("Stop reading the newspaper!") until being introduced to Chokie, a glove puppet Koala. In the way of all such things, Chokie developed a personality all his own, perched on the end of my arm. Each time Kate tried to tell a joke (invariably ending with a completely bizarre non sequitur), Chokie responded with increasing sarcasm and a whole stream of jokes with actual punchlines, most so far beyond a nearly-four-year-old's diminutive ken, but easily cracking up her mother and our folks. According to my sister, this was the first time Chokie has spoken with an Australian accent (seriously? He's a goddamn Koala!), and she and her husband will now have to work extra hard to bring back Chokie's charming, loveable personality, now that Kate has been introduced to my interpretation.
My work here is done.
Finally caught up with BBC3's In The Flesh this morning, and was absolutely not surprised by how it went. It perhaps didn't go as far as I might have wanted/expected, and some of its metaphorising was, if predictable, not predicted. Plenty of ground was left unexplored, so I suspect another series has been planned... though whether it actually happens in anyone's guess... This is the company that canned The Fades, after all.
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