Pirates of the Caribbean : On Stranger Tides

A handful of gibbering Anthropoids and the odd cachinnating Cockatoo are of the opinion that the fourth instalment in the Pirates of The Caribbean (POC) franchise is not a patch on the first. Well, d-oh...there’s a reason it’s called an "original"!

As for me, I will always be a fan of the scraggly, irreverent, semi-sozzled, kohl-eyed Captain Jack Sparrow. You don’t need to be a prepubescent tween or a snarky, think-I’ve-seen-it-all teenager or even a high-on-testosterone adult male to enjoy the mad trip. For an armchair traveller like me, Captain Sparrow is the best tour guide. EVER.

So what do we have in this offering?

King George II (Potter fans will recognize a Mr.Dursley under the additional layers of quivering blubber) has forced Capt.Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) to guide an expedition to ‘The Fountain of Youth’. Good ol’Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) has (allegedly) cleaned up his act and is now a well-shod privateer who will head aforementioned expedition. Barbossa has lost his leg and Jack's beloved ship, The Black Pearl. Angered by the loss of the latter, Jack escapes...only to fall into the clutches of the vile and villainous Blackbeard (Ian McShane): scourge of the high-seas, dabbler in dark-arts and father to the luscious Angelica (Penelope Cruz, being delightfully Spanish and shrewish). What ensues is a riotous trip loaded with fang-bearing mermaids, missionaries with six-packs, painfully pierced and tattooed zombies and ol’reliably-unreliable : Captain Jack Sparrow.

The plot may drag in places. The characters may have stilted moments. Old favourite may be absent. New entrants may lack the chutzpah of the veterans. But the Good Pirate holds the movie together with his eccentricities. He cuts a swash buckling, albeit grimy figure as he battles over tumbling barrels....leads doomed mutinies......romances the conniving Angelica....matches wits with the ever reliable Barbossa....and deals with the cool menace of BlackBeard.

In all, not a great flick but a watchable summer one, nevertheless.

The Children at Green Meadows

In and around my building, we now have a golden Labrador with a heart-of-gold, a snappy l’il Poodle, a goose that honks like a Disney villain, an assortment of cats, a Doberman with a mother-fixation, an overweight Pug that manages to project an air of abject hunger, a blink-and-you-miss-it bunch of fat sparrows, hungry crows who always know when it’s lunchtime and an ever graceful soaring eagle. And this is not even counting the regular menagerie I run into when I head off for an evening walk.

I love animals. The above scenario makes me happy. Noah–recruiting-for-his-ark happy. And it reminded me of a childhood book that I used to love and want to live in: The Children at Green Meadows.

I dug it out. The front cover had vanished (which made me a little mad since I really loved the artwork), the pages were dog-eared and it brought back memories of summer holidays and pepper chips.

I could never critique this book. I love it.

A family living in a sprawling house called Green Meadows. A family that has a handicapped ex-army man for a father, a granny that jingles along angrily, a mother whose work never seems to end and a trio of children trying to be patient and wiser beyond their years. A family that loves animals but can’t afford to keep any.

So what happens when the children: Francis, Clare and Sam find themselves looking after the pets of people who can’t look after them for a variety of reasons?

The transformation of moods, surroundings and fate is a beautiful tale for children who love animals. It’s a simplistic story with heart. It doesn’t claim to change your life but it does leave you with a knot in your throat.

I repeat. I love it.