On TV last night I saw a man with a cigarette in his mouth bend down and dismantle a roadside bomb in Ukraine. The road was grey and the trees dismantled by winter. On world cinema I watched Mads Mikkelsen put a hunting knife through one of the two men who raped his wife and cut the throat of their son. I was hoping Mads would – and he did. A satisfaction like warmth passed through me. Revenge. How sweet it is. A motorbike accelerates up the road. The camellias. The poor camellias in their trembling pink.
