It’s hard not to think about Einstein’s theory of relativity when your settling into the fourth hour of Oscar-bait movie Oppenheimer and chick-bait Cillian Murphy still hasn’t dropped the bomb, dated the nuclear physicist or recited the Bhagavad Gita about being Death and incinerating the planet, during sex with Emily Blunt.
I’ve never tried any of these things at home. Then again, like the caricature most men have become these days in the glossy government brochures or pages of Mamamia I struggle at multi-tasking and remembering shopping lists or birthdays. This just adds another disappointing subtext to my suburban dad existence of lawn-mowing and visits to Aldi. Occasionally, something pecks in your head, ‘If only I’d had more ambition.’ And just like that, it goes away, and you turn on Married At First Sight to see man-buns, fake breasts and pretend marriages that only last a week are back in fashion and not the advertising industry affectations your memory tells you they were back in the 1980s. Read more at The Spectator….
Michael Scammell - analysis & opinion 