Why was I having French champagne to begin with? Well, it was the morning after the royal wedding (who knew it would be subversive? The only one I’ve ever watched, but I was up all night being untidy and unwell, and so) and I’d booked tickets to the 10am session of Deadpool 2, and gold class, baby, because I thought I’d earned it. Well, not actually earned it as in those MFs haven’t paid me a cent of overtime, but metaphorically speaking. I needed a treat. They even throw in a breakfast menu, but I was all queasy. But at the last minute I decided on a champagne breakfast, and this, me with my very fine glass of very fine bubby, kicking back and sipping liquid gold as body parts flew past on screen. Best Sunday Ever.
So that’s how I learnt after being violently ill for weeks now the only thing that doesn’t bother me is French champagne. Which is another tick in the column for the universe being one twisted MF.
And don’t judge me for going to see Deadpool. The last films I saw were filmed productions of Macbeth (RSC, with Eccleston) and Cat On a Hot Tin Roof (Old Vic), both of which make Deadpool look like the Disney film it is in comparison. Ok, so the film I saw before those was the Avengers. Ah, what a time to be alive if you’re a Josh Brolin fan – and yes, you can judge me for that (I had a major thing for the boy back in his Young Riders days and I’ve never quite gotten over it, clearly, despite my best efforts).
Even seeing The Avengers was a major effort, it was one of those weekends I had to work all weekend, and, as is now tradition (tradition, I tell you), I decided I’d go and catch me some Captain America when it was all done. Well, it wasn’t quite done. Here I will regale you with the slightly humorous story of why I didn’t log on Sunday night, even though I knew there must be (and there were) more urgent emails of stuff to be done.
By 3pm on Sunday I’d had enough of waiting around for the stuff (that came in after 5pm) so I found a seat still available in Gold Class for the Avengers 16:30 session, as it is now tradition to go see Captain America after working on a Sunday, and off I went. Jogged up to the cinema and asked for a G&T from the youth behind the counter.
Me: A gin and tonic.
Me: A. GIN. AND. TONIC.
Me, gives up, pays in a hurry, running late and I’d ordered a snack as well (because shut up in empty office all day. Peckish).
So, fillum starts, all pretty, pretty boys, and everyone else in the cinema gets their orders but me. I sigh and shrug (I’ve already missed writers festival talks I wanted to see so whatever by this stage, right?)
Then this tray wobbles towards me. A whole tray of drinks. Three gin and tonics.
Well, it would have been a shame to let them go to waste, and by that stage, you know, necessary for my emotional well-being.
So that’s why I didn’t get back online when I got home that Sunday night (even though I knew I still had work to do).
I did it first thing Monday, before 7am, because I am a legend – grin.
I like to think of it as one of the three things my grandmother gave me. One, a blue knitted beanie, which I loved – and wore, back in the days when the windows used to frost in winter, I’ve not seen that since I was a child. Two, a Scottish children’s book, this ensuring that I read and my UK leaning tastes in reading material, even now. Three, my ability to consume numerous G&Ts without too much incapacitation (I totally could have logged on if I really wanted to) and never a hangover.
So what did I think of these cultural pursuits? Well, Deadpool 2 I did find hilariously funny, I think I got most of the jokes and cameos, and the ultra-violence, that once used to bother me so much, this time, I was like, yeah, bring it on (life has been kicking me hard lately and I’m not sure I can pull my socks up any more without snapping something). Leave Hawkeye alone, though. I don’t know why I ended up Team Hawkeye, but I did, so hmph.
Avengers: Infinity War was more like the penultimate episode of a specifically Whedonesque show wrapping up against the Big Bad, which, essentially, it is, in every way. I read a New Yorker review that described Benedict Cumberbatch, with his cape collar and snark as getting his Agnes Moorehead on, and, well, that’s pretty much it, for me. Thor was pretty and actually had more of a character arc here than in three movies, and Hemsworth actually emoted enough for me to feel for the big, gorgeous, muscly…I’m back. Could have done with a bit more Cap and Bucky (the greatest love story ever committed to screen, imo) so shrug. I’m just going to have to settle for the minor squee of Cap appearing so heroically at Waverly Station (which is a bit of a hole, at the best of times).
Macbeth was pretty good. The countdown clock was a cool idea. It starts when Duncan is murdered (no one was Scots so we never, ever get the proper pronunciation of murrrderrred) and ends when Macbeth ends. Does it say something that the MacBeths are the happiest, most together married couple in Shakespeare’s canon? At least until they start keeping secrets. Eccleston was, eerily, evoking of the Doctor far more than other roles (sometimes he vanishes into the part, other times not, this was one of those). It was pretty good, but pretty bloodless.
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof was, weirdly, far more violent, and bloody, if words could wound, and these certainly cut and bled. I still don’t think Sienna can act, but Jack was a revelation (very much so, hello full frontal) and Colm Meany totally (and necessarily) redeemed himself for DS9. I really liked it, and it’s not of the past at all, especially for where it’s set (if anything, it sounded far too progressive).
I saw both those plays on the same weekend. Good grief, imagine if they were combined, what a dinner party that would be.
This of course led up to feverishly imaging the Real Housewives of Shakespeare: ‘Lady Macbeth is planning a dinner party and you won’t guess who shows up, and keep an eye out for what Regan does next.’ You know, that sort of thing.
Well, did I mention I’m having a hard time of it? It took me over a week to get a working new phone from Optus, including many hours on hold, being passed about, online and 2 store visits. Excuse me, is this a phone shop? Seriously, Monty Python levels of customer service here. You’d think I’d bought the bloody thing from Arthur Daley with all the lies and actual run arounds I was subjected to.
At the same time as this (and all my other calamities and insane deadlines and being unwell) my much longed-for holiday, the first planned and booked holiday (not time off as sick leave) I’ve had in four years after being retrenched and hit by the 4WD, and it was damn nearly cancelled for jury duty. After three increasingly desperate letters I managed to be excused, finally, as I’d already booked my travel. Did not need that, and now I’m over two weeks behind in holiday prep. Dammit.