I should have known what sort of day it was going to be. For starters, I'd sabotaged my alarm clock again in my sleep, which speaks to serious wanting to pull the covers up instead of rolling out of bed.
I was so right. As I huddled on the bus I told my poor cold and crampy self that'd it be better once I got to work and filled my my hot water bottle - until an image of my hot water bottle still lying on my bed appeared before my stricken eyes,
It just went downhill after that. It wasn't entirely my fault. I didn't mean to be a drama queen. I certainly didn't know that everyone on the entire floor could here me being extravagantly sick in the loo and weeping and wailing in misery between bouts. I emerged all red and puffy faced to a crowd of onlookers but I at least discovered that we do actually have a sick room and I got to lie down for the morning. Even AP came in with the much needed hot water bottie, though HR has promised to requisition one as well, to have on hand, as I'm not the only chick in the place, afterall.
So that was something. I had tea fetched and as the dead roache in the light fitting above me started to move I could feel those mellow yellows finally kicking in. So I'm back at my desk. Dazed and confoozed but slowly working through the emails.
I'd meant to do the grocery shopping on Friday but when I rang home to double check the list no one answered. I rang and rang and rang and still no one answered, so I wrapped up work as soon as I could and went home, to find AP happily watching telly. Yup, the phone had been knocked off its hook, but instead of giving the busy signal had rung out at my end but never uttered a peep at the home end (or so they claim).
Not feeling like getting on a bus to head back to where I started, I just settled down for Law and Order and the last episode of Run Steffen Run (Hunt for the Hidden Relic). Bit of an obvious ending, more Relic Hunter than anything else, but still, not a bad series. Then I flipped over for JP3. Yay. Billy. Alan. Muses. In the many, many ad breaks I flipped over to catch the repeat of the VH special. Then it was onto the 100th episode of the Glass House. Heh.
Saturday morning involved werewolves (Ollie Reed no less), Fu Manchu, baby Lij, then it was off on the bus to do the shopping. Just up to the town at the top of the hill where they still have a grocer, a butcher, a baker and a candlestick maker. Even a fish monger. Alas, my fave cafe is under new management. The service is faster but the quality has dropped off in equal proportions. I could tell it was different the moment I walked around the corner. Oh well.
I also managed to pic up a shiny new kettle. I preferred stainless steel over PVC so it's all shiny and vaguely art deco like. I love it, the rest of the household less so and they keep leaving grubby paw prints all over it, hmph.
The afternoon was spent on the couch with the hot water bottle and the Big Boat Movie. Whee. Wish I'd seen it on the big, big screen one more time, ah well. Extras were good. Especially the one where Peter Weir does Introduction to Screen Writing 101. I'm with him on how touching history just isn't the same as reading about it in a book. I mean, I did years of Roman history and I never even saw a picture in a book, so when I finally got to Bath I asked if I could touch a column, a real Roman column (not a Victorian one) and the guy said yes. Religious experience. Better was Hadrian's wall. I cried when I finally got there. I'd been saving my whole life to get there. I loved it. Especially the ledge from the pay office worn smooth by the countless elbows of bored and impatient centurions. So human, so ordinary, so real.
I was also so with PW on the packing of sufficient POB to get through a long haul flight. Always take my POB with me when travelling. Oh, the kms my books have clocked up. The far side of the world indeed.
Followed up my beloved Surprise with the Serenity. Seemed to fit. So I watched some Firefly.
Then it was Two Men in A Trench revisting the Battle of Britain. I'm always so proud of the UK in that moment of history, how everyone knuckled down and won through sheer force of will. Though, embaressingly, the Luftwaffe used to use my grandfather's farmhouse as a landmark and overfly it onto juicier targets. Never mind, Granddad, so I'm told, was part of the local home guard and they helped defend the local air base.
This episode rocked, especially the interviews. Such amazing people, doing what had to be done. Makes me feel very small and awed. Real heroes.
The Princess Bride: Now, personally, I don't care for Mary Donaldson. She's one of those pretty rich bitches who are always so mean to me. But from now on no mother will be able to tell her daughter that little Australian girls never, ever grow up to be princesses, and that's something.
When I was growing up there were no business women, no award winning actresses, no princesses. There were writers and artists and war heroes, but they were hidden away and I never heard of them. We had no one to look up to, our options, our outlooks were limited. Not so much now, I suspect.
So now an Australian has actually married into Royalty, of all things. And a grand old house of Europe, too. None of your Saxe-Coburg rubbish. Does this mean we'll get Mary's birthday as a public holiday? I wish. Heh, now Australia will have ties to more than one royal house in Europe. One is our nominal head of state and one is an actual blood tie. Interesting.
So, Australian girls can grow up to be princesses afterall. Neat.
Not that I'm giving up my repulican views you understand, it's just crushing to be told when you're two that the princess gig is for other people, not you (no wonder I grew up wanting to storm the battlements).
Sunday was hot watter bottle day. Spent the bulk of the day lolling about watching tv because it's easier than trying to read a book when I'm like this. Floated through Wild Wild West, SVU and Streets of San Francisco.
So, NCIS, at last. You know, if it wasn't for the fact that I still find David McCallum and Mark Harmon adorable I would not be touching this right wing dreck with a 100m pole. First of all, they're trying to save that evil dickwad ruler guy. Like who the frell cares? Certainly not me. Kill, Crush, Destroy, I say. So straight away I'm all grrr, fester, go bad guys, yay bad guys, do us all a favour, get the bastard. Obviously not, so I'm in for a crushing disappointment. Damn. Then the ridiculously faux Goth bitch who wouldn't know Trent Reznor if he sat on her face deliberately and spitefully mispronounces "Aussie", the way they always do, so I want her dead, too (because I really, really hate it when they mispronounce it - it's rude and insulting, you know, the way Jack always sneers 'goolds').
I mean, it could be the hormones talking, but I'm pretty sure I hated nearly every minute of it (and I'd been looking forward to it). If they could stay away from real people, then maybe I could try to like it, but if they won't, I just can't. My critical faculties just aren't that flexible these days, they've seized up with age.
At least on Spooks they offer up opposing points of view, it's never all black and white, people aren't just 2D ciphers. I think I'll watch my Spooks dvds instead. I mean, not even 60s Mission Impossible was so risible, and it was pretty dodgy, ethically speaking, from an international law point of view.
And to think while I was watching this crud I was missing Oz, the episode where Keller dumps Beecher because Beecher thought Keller killed his kid. Angst all round and it wasn't repeated. Damn and damn again. I much, much, much prefer Oz. Oz is good US telly. NCIS is bad, bad, bad US telly.
Monday: Got up to go to work and went straight back to bed again. Slept and slept and slept some more. Watched Now and Again (which is still adorable) Law and Order (zzzzzz) and Angel (Wes talking to a giant burger) inbetween dozing. Ah, sweet mersyndol, dulls the pain. Let the vcr watch Oz for me because I was too hazy to fully appreciate its juicy bite.
So then there was Tuesday, where I spent the morning being hugely sick, the afternoon being woozy and the evening sleeping, aside from watching Doctor Who, also set in a prison, which led to weird UNIT styled fever dreams all night.
Now I just feel awful, just awful. Like my poor brain has been scooped out and put back in sideways. And I've got all this work to do. This ain't going to be pretty.
But it's a lovely morning. Yellow sun, blue skies, birdies flying en masse on the horizon in ever changing shapes. Loverly. Don't make me turn around and go work, please....
E! Quote of the day:
"If you want to see my penis, you'll have to fly to Britain."
--Ewan McGregor teases Yanks about their full-frontal phobia, in Ask the Answer B!tch
Update: Folks is amused at the almost indecent way I'm enjoying my hot water bottle. Mmmm...warm...less crampy :D