A big d'oh! moment (one of many) this morning as I realise, after spending all weekend working on those necessary filler scenes for the Blue Lagoon montage of Jack et Daniel stranded on the planet bit of the story (very, very Dr Who episode 3) I go and forget me damn disks. So no fic update today. General screwup or something sinister and subconscious? You be the judge.
Oh yes, I did have Friday off despite of all my protestations to the contrary. Yes, by the time I'd hobbled home on Thursday my poor ankle was the size and colour of an egg plant/aubergine, and yes it was raining, and yes I did had a medical certificate covering the whole week, but the kicker was the box of Smallville that arrived. Ooooh, Lex, yes please!
Mmmm, sweet Smallville gooieness. I was having an indecent amount of enjoyment, snuggled in bed, whacked on painkillers and luxuriating in the Lex. The best bit about having the dvds, aside from filling in all those plot holes left by EvilChannelNine, was that it seemed much less Lana-centric, now that everyone else got to have screentime on my tv, too. And, not that the plots ever made a lot of sense on Smallville, but there was a lot less huh? and what the? moments. Happiness.
I also indulged in the peculiar charms of Down With Love. Impoverished tv stations when I was growing up meant that I was deeply immersed and well versed in the Doris Day ouvre, as well as any other films of the era, and dear me, how I love them, and how I love this. I just adore this film to bits and I don't care what anyone else thinks. Just the sets and the fashions are enough to have me squealing in glee, never mind Ewan. Mmmm, Ewan....
On Saturday I followed Dr's orders and stayed off my foot. I did not go to the Granny Smith Day festival and I did not spend $50. Well, okay, I did, and it's amazing who'll give you a seat and who'll knock you'll over when on crutches. Achieved business card of the chap who'd sold me my sadly deceased lavender and a replacement carnelian bracelet. I found a charity stall selling Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and they could have been the Young Liberals for all I cared, so I was sugared up to the max. We also purchased the most maginificent bouganvillia and recieved many an admiring glance as we wrestled getting it home on public trnsport (no meant feat, I assure you).
Saturday afternoon was spent on my arse (and the currawongs were right, it did indeed come onto storm) watching some recent purchases of classic Brit telly: The Saint, The Persuaders and Danger Man.
The Saint featured giant ants, my favourite, and that was enormous fun (though I wish I'd not watched it because now I'm very self conscious about certain scenes in my fic, realising they're lifted from a Saint episode I'd not seen since the 80s). We still don't know why the mad scientist decided the world needed giant ants, and what sort of company funds giant ant research? Never mind. It's a classic episode: mad scientists in castles, misty moors, hostile locals in the pub - what more could you want?
More Moore obviously as one rogering isn't enough, and The Persuaders was next up. Luverly stuff. It was like having Nick at Nite back again - sniff. Completely pointless fluff but I noticed the poodle joke is still getting mileage in George Clooney's latest and that's when it hit me: The Persuaders: The Movie! Starring George Clooney as Danny Wilde and Colin Firth as Lord Brett Sinclair and Sir Ian McKellan as The Judge. Fast cars, casinos, bikini babes - it writes itself!!! (certainly the original did, as it was little else, but who cares, it was fun).
Of course, that's my dream cast. Evil Hollywood would just by the title and cast like, Bruce Willis and Chris Rock in the roles and it'd all be about explosions and cgi monsters. Yawn. I mean, Hollywood entirely fucked up The Saint and The Avengers and I Spy...(need I go on?)
The we finished up with Danger Man, and I can see why Grumpy Pat stormed through the corridors and threw his resignation down on Lew Grade's desk, as DM goes Avengers, big time. Still, we were amused, and I've added to my Bert Kwok collection - grin.
Sunday was spent reading on the seat under the tree, only it was much hotter and windier than Wednesday and being pelted with blossums isn't the same as being gently rained upon, not at all. Some of the buds were ripped off the tree and whipped into my face so hard and fast they stung. Ow. Bird watching included watching one of my favoured currawongs crap on one of my fave magpies. Poor poopy magpie, but so funny, and so done deliberately, wicked, spiteful currawong. Due to water restructions poor poopy magpie had no sprinklers to wash off under, too. Poor poopy magpie.
The Australian featured a three page article on Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin, gushing over the friendship being the greatest in English literature, then being at great pains to point out it's not the least bit homoerotic (but it all depends on whether your definition of slash includes intense homosocial friendships or merely gay porn) and it was a great article but of course it's not online, is it, or I'd post the url. Mmmm, Jack, Stephen....
Sunday was rounded out with umpteen docos on Napoleon and Colin Farrell in Harts War. No, I didn't go protesting George Bush. I was definitely staying off my poor bloopy ankle. Nor could I take up the kind invitation of a dear friend to attend the Brooklyn Fair. Damn and blast, and I was so looking forward to the cow bingo. Pout.
In other news, work just upped the shit factor...
the now imfamous decorative tile featuring a Bacchanalian scene