There was no ironing. I mean, I know I slobbed into work last week wearing choices from my extensive t-shirt collection and my very fave multipocketed faux cammo skirt that's about to surpass those legendary jeans in that Magic Dirt song, but it wasn't until the laundry contained no ironing did I realise how truly wicked and slovenly I'd been.
I wish I could have more weeks like it.
Friday was quite good. I finished up those pesky new year updates, discovered the new footer code duly clicked over onto 2004 (yay!) and settled down to catch up on some fic I'd paperbagged in for just such emergencies as running out of work and being not of a mind to chase up more. Some of it was actually readable. Some of it was very readable (but alas it came with a no linking caveat so I shan't rec the fic of that precious little petal).
After work I had a chai latte with a friend, who actually remembered my birthday, which was amusing because I'd completely forgotten about it.
Then I worked through Stargate, but it was the evil Sam & Jack and dead Martouf one so who cares (I did pause for the only decent bit of Jack & Daniel), then I curled up for Dalziel & Pascoe, which was very, very Department S or Avengers, with upper class twats being offed by being sprayed with fox scent and then mauled by their pack of hounds. Say hello to the ghost of Dennis Spooner. They're repeating the best D&P episodes and, having been dipping into Dept. S more than is prudent, I noticed how Spoonerish the plot was. Smashing!
Then it was Jamie Bamber in Peak Practice and Robson in Touching Evil.
Oh, yeah, that Sean Connery ad with the singing rabbit at Japander.com needs to be seen to be believed.
Saturday was also a good day, despite crampy hormones. Got up early, froot looped (my annual indulgence, now with blue loops), washed and shot out the door on an epic journey to a friend's local megaplex where I was treated to my annual birthday LOTR screening. The journey was okay, too, as I saw an enormous tree festooned in bright purple bouganvillia, and another tall tree hosted pale blue butterflies. Delightful. Naturally, she lives somwhere posh, with trees.
Another short chai latte, remembering the film length, and off we went. Big screen, comfy seats, good sound, popcorn. I think I need to see all adapations of beloved books twice. Once to see and wince at what they've done to it, twice to just appreciate the film for what it is. So I enjoyed it much better this time around. Lotsa hobbit love, not enough elf.
He ain't heavy, sings poor Sam. You eat the last of the bread, Mr Frodo, says poor Sam, I'll just live off my fat reserves (note that the fat hobbit was the hero - never trust tricksie skinny folk). It's okay, Mr Frodo, you drink the last of the water, I'll just drink my own urine. Poor Sam, he needs to get out of that relationship. Fortunately Frodo agrees and takes himself off with Gandalf, unable to see poor Sam torn between two lovers, feelin' like a fool...
Meanwhile Merry and Pippin redefine the term confirmed bachelors. Legolas seems to have swapped Aragorn for Gimli. Maybe Gimli knows how to hold onto Legolas just right, as Gimli always seems to be riding with Legolas, clutching him tightly from behind. Hold me tight, not quite that tight.
Aragorn drops Eowyn like a stone. Welcolme to Dumpsville, population you. Still, she quickly moves onto Diver Dan, the man with the mega Daddy issues (Daddy never loved me and tried to bbq me when I was all fetching and feverish).
Poor Elrond now has a man about the house. Cue Bewitched style sitcom.
Saturday rounded off with Smallville, playing in the spinster timeslot. Less cut now, possibly, because it actually sort of made sense. I loved it, anyway, as I'd been pining a bit for the boys. The little boy Clark had adopted in a manner to raise the odd eyebrow had insisted that Clark look after Lex, but I don't think Clark was paying due attention to his pint sized yenta. Pity.
Then there was Law & Order all night.
Woke up to a Meet the Ancestors special on Viking blood in the UK, which was fun, then switched over to some classic Hawaii 5-0.
Then I watched Enigma twice, because it's my fave fillum du jour. Plus I'm still spotting clues I'd missed, so that's way cool. I like the plot, as well as the lovely Brit boys and the John Barry soundtrack. My idea of a perfect film. It's definitely on the list of favourites, displacing lesser unworthy films.
Yes, not a lot of movement from me on Sunday, as I was ill. Ill enough to be treated to a tiny icecream. Did a circuit round the garden a couple of times (I've found it helps) and read a bit, just a series of short essays I'm afraid, in a book called British Greats. Fab read. It also boldly waves the flag for the mavericks and weirdos at Bletchley who won the war, ditto all the other mavericks who've made great contributions.
This is what's wrong with the world today. Britain needed its mavericks in its darkest hour, and they saw them through (cf Battle of Britain). So why do we insist on rigid conformity today? The greatest minds at Bletchley not only belonged to some screaming queens, but also to some chaps who were really out there. Now America sacked most of their Arabic speaking chaps because they were gay, so there was no one to translate code before September 2001. Well, tough, that's what you get for being so blandly conformist and red necked.
I noticed in Enigma they made it about a girl, not a guy, but that was probably because they wanted American sales. Oh well. I've been reading up on the history of Bletchley and it's a hoot. Absolutely barking boys and girls of Bletchley, I salute you.
Followed up with Robson in Wire in the Blood, less grisley this time so we could indulge in snacks - I needed another sugar fix.
Sunday rounded off with the usual L&O marathon. Slept through QAF, darn.
Slept in this morning. I really, really wanted to stay home so I forgot to set my alarm in one of those acts of subconscious rebellion. So I had to squeak in late. Not that there was anybody there to notice.
Saw a pidgeon commit suicide. It stood out there in the middle of the road, just waiting. A car bowled it over but it picked itself up and kept waiting until our bus squished it. What would make a pidgeon want to kill itself? Though when you think about it, scratching in the dirt all day, everyday, being picked on and pecked on by everybody else, day in, day out, with no end in sight. Yeah, I get why a pidgeon would stand there until something squished it. Poor pidgeon.
Drat. Folks is in. Now more fun for moi, no writing, reading and no scanning of Jude pics for folks, either. Sorry about that, Chief.