I’m still on the fence about whether I want to see the last Space Battles movie, and that’s a bit sad. I just wasn’t a fan of The Penultimate Dead-Eye, and now they’re trying to entice us back into the theatres with The Lies of My Stalker, which is apparently a tacit depiction of how ordinary, street-level crime exists even in a time of war.
I guess that’s true. Street-level crime exists at all times, like how I was just passing through Melbourne yesterday and someone stole my engine. Probably should’ve led with that, although there are apparently some excellent mechanics near Bentleigh who specialise in…that. Well, general engine trouble, and sympathy for people who’ve had their bonnet pried open with a crowbar and the entire engine lifted out of the car, for reasons unknown. It’s going to cost far too much to replace, the mechanics said, which is reasonable. Cars can be written off simply by the engine being damaged, so it being totally gone is like that, but times a thousand. I guess I’m getting another car.
NOT how I wanted to spend my holiday funds, but here we are. As a result, I’m having to stay at Big Ben’s British Bed n’ Breakfast, and things around here are weird. Budget hotels are supposed to offer fewer services, but a few minutes after I arrived, I was invited to an elaborate tea party on the lawn where four members of staff donned top hats and performed a hip-hop version of Jerusalem, with break-dancing and spinning croquet mallets. All the food was plastic and one of them accidentally let go of their mallet, sending it crashing through a window, but still.
I wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, but at least there are some local specialists in auto electrical. Bentleigh is great for mechanics, and not so great for budget accommodation. Now I must go…the staff are kicking down each door, one by one, and dragging the guests to mandatory darts and pub singalong time.