In mournful ritual the two of us put on Galaxy Quest, rollicking blissfully through all its joyous spoofs (and I am a first-generation Star Trek watcher, AD 1969 or so). Quest could never have been in the same league with a different Dr Lazarus. Can one imagine it minus the world weary air, the curling lip, the voice fit for Shakespeare emerging from among rubber gills? And priceless: Alex / Lazarus encased in blue slime. When the credits rolled, we said goodbye, and hugged each other consolingly, sharing the sadness.
So now I’m alone I’ll run Truly Madly, and perhaps if I iron the sheets at the same time I won’t snivel very much.