Squeal! Adam and Will are kicking it to LOTR, particularly poor Sam, who they complain of still being a fat prick after spending 14 months in country crashing through the bush. The decided that elven bread must be like Krispy Kremes, straight to the thighs. "Oh, Mr Frodo, I've found a chicken that lays doughnuts." Heh heh heh. They're soooo cruel.
Tinkerbell. Well, you know how Tinkerbell fades if she doesn't get enough applause in the old pantos, well, sometimes it's a bit like that, sometimes I'm a huge slut of a feedback slug. Sometimes when you're tired and cranky and the muse has stomped off over the hill, well, sometimes, these times, it really helps to know there are a few folks out there who read my stuff, who 'get it', and who even, bless me, enjoy it. Sometimes I really need to know I'm not just talking to myself. Sometimes I need a pat on the head to get me to pull my finger out and to get on with the business of writing, even those early mornings or late nights when it's just hard work and not divine pleasure. Especially then. So thank you.
Ack, it's raining. Uber raining. Yay for the garden, but today is the day I'll get my calendar. You see, I won something. I actually won something. Sure, it was just a TV1 calendar and they must have made thousands, but I won it and I'd been checking the letterbox all week, to no joy. Of course now that it'll be 10cm deep in water, today my calendar will arrive and by the time I get home it'll be porridge. I just know it. Whimper. Pout. Stamp.
Speaking of the post, big, big wave to stranger and the rest for the silver goodies that arrived this week. Love ya.
At least because of the rain it's cooler at last. I was able to sleep for the first time since before Xmas. Unfortunately I slept through Without a Trace, Farscape and Hornblower, but I really didn't have any choice in the matter. Crawled to my room, put the tv on and Without A Trace started. I settled back and...the next thing I knew it was some lurid tv movie on EC9 and Hornblower had just finished. Damn and blast.
Oh dear, I just did a happy chair dance upon reading they've found a lost Dalek episode. Hello to the nerd credentials. Oh well. Last night I damn nearly dropped the remote when they said Heath was going to be in a gay cowboy film. If I liked the other guy I'd be buying tickets already. Whatever happened to that proposed Brideshead fillum?
Ack, karma. They just played Single Bed on the radio. Damn. There's an old earworm that's gonna stick for days.
Today's spam haiku: gallows seltzer longevity
Lord of the dance
Playing a miserable, decrepit old soul with a fear of the dark in August Strindberg's play The Dance of Death can't be easy for Sir Ian McKellen.
Since he arrived for the Sydney Festival, the White Wizard has hit the town, showing off his Lord of the Rings tattoo, hosting parties at his hotel suite and dancing to local bands. "I guess it's because he is here for five weeks," a festival spokeswoman told Spike. Other performers in the festival are here for five or six shows and then take off."
But we suspect it's more to do with McKellen's character, after reading what he said about sometime hobbit Sean Astin in US Rolling Stone magazine this week: "Sean was the odd one out in the hobbits. He'd take me aside for what he hoped would be earnest conversations about the meaning of acting, but I like hanging out with young people because I don't have to think about those matters. I think I rather let him down."
Let us know if you spot the wizard whooping it up after hours.