Dear Diary

Why did I ever start watching that ridiculous Paramount series 'The Affair'?!  I don't know, but now I regret it because it's interminable!  Problem is, Diary, I'm hooked.  Other problem is it never seems to end.

The unendurable stars of 'The Affair'. 

It's one of those annoying series that is all chunked up -- you know, one episode shown from one character's perspective, the same episode shown from another's completely different perspective., so you never know what's really going on.  Sooooo annoying!  

It's also one of those shows that features a lot of those maddening "Three years earlier" scenes, where you have to forget what you just watched and pretend you don't know what's going to happen next.  The whole thing begins with famous author Noah, played by Dominic West, having an affair with a mousy, cheap waitress nobody, Alison, played by Ruth Wilson, but it branches out into a million other side plots and affairs that are mostly irrelevant.

Firstly, Alison does not strike me as someone anyone would have an affair with -- let alone the three or four other characters who throw their entire lives in the toilet because of her "irresistibility".  She's boring and vapid, but happily she's now dead.  The coroner says it was suicide, but we know she was murdered by one of her many lovers.  At least she's gone.  For now.  But who knows?  She may reappear in some future episode -- God forbid!

B hates it because it's stupid, so to spare him, I watch it while he is busy or out.  However, Diary, we are also watching another series, 'Inspector George Gently', starring Martin Shaw as Inspector Gently.  Set in the sixties, I am really enjoying it because I came of age in that era and can relate to so much of it.  It also makes sense, unlike the ludicrous 'The Affair'.

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As an aside, Diary, I wanted to update you on the saga of my erstwhile ex-"friend", Diane, who dropped me 18 months ago because I blogged that I thought she could at least buy me a glass of wine when we went out for lunch, but she never would.  Remember her?  She's the one I drove around, picked up and dropped off because she had had a stroke and could no longer drive.  I guess I just wasn't worth a $10 glass of wine.  Oh well, her loss.   

We usually had a few laughs and shared our very irritated views on the Indians and how they were ripping off the Canadian public.  Other than with B, I can't really express my opinions on the natives and their "leadership" in polite company because everyone, except me, seems to have drunk the Kool Aid on that file.  But Diane shared them, so we'd rave on privately.

One thing that really riled us was their claim of nationhood.  To be a nation, a people has to raise its own capital and protect its own borders.  The Indigenous do neither, so they aren't nations.  All this nation-to-nation bunk is just that:  Bunk.

I guess you could say some of them do raise their own capital -- if you count the millions they get from the criminal smuggling of people, guns and drugs across the St. Lawrence between the US and Canada via the Akwesasne reserve, which straddles both countries.  It's all illegal money, but they claim it's their land, so they do what they want, give the police the finger and pocket the ill-gotten proceeds.

It's not their land, as we know.  I looked it up.  It's Crown Land given to the natives for their exclusive use.  But it's still Crown Land.  I once tried to point this out at a dinner party and was furiously and righteously set upon and attacked by all the bed wetters (as the 'Plank of the Week' gang hilariously calls the hoards of insufferable liberal lefties) at the table.  Never going to try that again, Diary!

 I also brought up the billions we give them -- along with all the illegal migrants -- and have now vowed to never, ever, bring up either topic again while in the company of the great uninformed mob.  

Well, Diary, that's about it for today.  I'll keep you posted on whether Alison rises from the grave to piss us all off once again.

Cheerio!