Lately, whenever something bad happens (which is quite often, sadly), I’ve been getting this mental image of someone in a suit being thrown. He gets straight up again, brushes the dust off his suit with his hands. And then he’s off again. Unstoppable.

Way to go.

This morning in the shower I realized where the image was from. Remember the big guy with the metal teeth in the James Bond movies? What was his name? Jaws, that’s it.

Is that us? I ask myself. Big lumbering baddies. Part ridiculous, part pathetic, mainly menacing. Oh, well.

At least I hope we get that smoothie Roger Moore in the end.

Later: No no no. This won't do at all. We're not the baddies. What's wrong with me? We're the ones who brush off the dust and continue. This is a good thing. They got it all wrong in James Bond. Silly movies anyway.

I remember when, as a child, I realized that the guy who played Jaws was actually a real person and probably wasn't a baddie at all in real life.