Once more for emphasis: We’re going to try keeping serious posts to Sundays for the foreseeable future, and making Wednesdays optional. For more information, see the last post.

It might be an undiagnosed mental disorder, pure fascination, or an obsession. I’m not sure. Whichever it is, I spend too much time thinking about magic. I eat, breathe, and have nightmares about the stuff.

Usually it happens in focused bursts toward specific topics. It might be a plot, an effect or a particular magician. Recently it’s been John Bannon; Jerry has converted me into a fan. A couple of weeks ago it was Brainwave, I got my brain all tangled and twisted thinking over methods and presentations.

Overall it’s had a positive impact on my life, it’s driven me to study and practice constantly. However, sometimes it’s overwhelming. That’s partly why I wanted to be a writer in the first place. If I’m going to think all the time, I might as well jot some of it down.

I decided to take a break from thinking about magic for a day. I finally found a day where I was alone. No plans with anyone special, no responsibilities, nothing to do.

I got settled in bed and set up my laptop. I perused Netflix for way longer than I needed to, and decided upon a series to escape into: Peaky Blinders. It’s exactly what I wanted, a story set in a different country and era. I had watched the entire series before, but I wanted to rewatch it because it had been a while since I had seen the early seasons. It was actually quite relaxing, and I was enjoying losing myself in this dark series.

That is… until I saw Winston Churchill.

Look familiar? It’s Andy fucking Nyman. I can’t believe I didn’t realize this the first time watching. All I could do was laugh at myself.

Credit to you Mr. Nyman, for being a brilliant magician and actor and for ruining my peace.