Sunday, 6 November 2011

Why Bruce Forsyth = bonfires and Orlando Bloom is like a toffee apple.

Bonfires are like television.  No, not that they all seem to have Bruce Forsyth on them all the time, or that they are, basically, rubbish, but in the way that people have to watch them.  Last night I saw an enormous crowd of people (OK, probably not that enormous, a few hundred or something, but you have to remember that I don't get out much, and any collection of people that isn't my immediate family looks enormous to me) all staring at a bonfire.  Well, their faces were all pointing in that direction, I have to take it on trust that they were all actually staring at it and not standing with their eyes closed because that would just be a terrible waste.

Which is like television.  When did you last walk into a room where a television was on and not immediately stop to see what it was that was on the screen?  (I'll give you a clue, it had Bruce Forsyth in it). 

Somewhere, Bruce is smouldering...

And I got to wondering... which was nice because basically my brain has been an operational black hole for quite a while, so a bit of wondering was good, I'm really hoping to move up to actual thinking by next week, but not to be too ambitious about it... after all, you can't be too careful with brains, at least you can't with mine, so I'm going to take it slowly.  Anyway.  There I am, wondering... no, not there, you can't see me in the picture.  It's all to do with my natural radiance, which would eclipse the bonfire and prevent the camera from focussing properly.  At least, that's what I was told.... Now I come to think of it, it sounds a bit suspicious, doesn't it?  Hmmm....

So.  Why is it that humans feel the need to stare at fire (and Bruce Forsyth)?  Do we have this primitive urge to watch things burn?  Is it the miracle of primitive power (no, not in Brucie's case...) that makes us cluster around huge piles of flaming objects? 

In my case it's just that I feel the cold really easily.  And there's quite often toffee apples.  These are the Orlando Bloom in the Bruce Forsyth experience, the little piles of yummyness amid the inexplicably eye-catching.






We are not playing the comparison game.  We are NOT.

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