So I took off early on Friday. About 2.5 hours later than I wanted, which meant I pretty much put in a seven hour day anyway, but that's a half day for me these days, and I was pissing blood like a stuck pig so I was glad to get horizontal at last with my feet up and a hot waterbottle clutched to, well, a little south of my bosom.
I meant to watch Tru Calling but I'm just too used to my Friday night Brit cops so I watched the John Hannah thingy instead. It was no Rebus but it was a happy, soothing diversion.
This is History had me crying, as usual. Richard III: a game of hide and seek gone horribly wrong. Snerf snerf snerf.
Saturday should have been spent wallowing under doonas but there was shopping to do so I was roused out of bed by the commandant and forced onto the bus, none too gladly on a frosty, crampy morning, I can tell you. So, since I was there, I decided to pop into Troy, afeared I would miss it.
Not the best mood to go see it, as I was all crampy and cranky and the chattering chip crinkling teens up the back were driving me barmy, keeping me out of the fillum, never mind AP noisely picking her one tooth everytime Sean got a speech. It had what little blood I had left booiling, but I still managed to enjoy it between rude distractions (and cramps).
Brad Pitt sucked, he really badly sucked, like some bad American soap 'actor' desperately searching for cues off his costars, but Sean was an utter revelation, as good as I've ever seen him, blowing everyone else off the screen. Ah, there's my Sean, finally being the thesp I always knew he could be. Or maybe I was just happy because he sounded like Sharpe everytime he snarled out battle orders. Happy sigh. So Leggy, I mean Paris, was a complete brat but the arrow slinging was cute. I was sad to see poor Poida buy it, poor doomed put upon bastard, but I feel they whimped out mightily on Achilles unseemly war crimes set piece, but perhaps just as well, as we can't have the Yanks squirming uncomfortably. Of course, when they wheeled in the ol horse, which looked fab, btw, I just knew it wasn't going to end well. Beware of Greeks, full stop.
Brad was definitely the weakest link, but it fun was spotting the Brit character actors (some of my old faves were getting old, fake beards notwithstanding) as well as the Aussies (yay). And the scenery and the fashions, it was like seeing the Met again, whee. It really was. Looks like somebod had a catalogue - grin.
All in all, a fine addition to the sword and sandle ouvre.
Came home and was mightily sick (I suspect something I ate did for me) and just slept and slept and slept.
Sunday I slept in, late then got up and took a cup of tea down to the garden seat to read the papers which had already been fetched and read. It was so lovely in the sun and under the yellow leaves. So lovely I completely forgot about doing anything like housework or web admin stuff or that I was supposed to be going out, until it was well past the time I could do anything about it. Oh well. I figure that if you completely forget to do something then you should probably stay sitting on the seat in your jumper and pj bottoms like the half wit you are anyway. Besides, I felt like complete crap when I got up, but a couple of hours of warm sun, and well, highly polluted but at least not air conditioned air did me wonders. I watched the yellow leaves fall, fed the birds and read the papers, did a bit of weeding and potted up my kangaroo paw, at last.
As the sun started to set (at, like 3pm), I came indoors, snuggled under my Movie Network blankie and watched Department S (so close to one of those infamous Brit double agents, eleven years before he was rumbled, that we had to wonder), Grosse Pointe, Blackadder and the Streets of San Francisco, which featured a hovercrafft. Heh. Bro once saw a small hovercraft for sale, and dreamt of it as the ultimate commuter vehicke: up the river, across the harbour, up Mrs Macquarie's chair, scattering Japanese wedding parties and flying through the cake just like in that Bond film. Perfect.
Sunday was rounded off with Catch Me If You Can, which was amusing, back in the halcyon days when criminal activity was a sport, played by gentlemen.
Monday was a public holiday, whoo, so there was more sleeping in, more slobbing around, and more feeling dire. The wind had blown up and entirely denuded the trees of their pretty yellow leaves. It was still ripping the few remaining leaves from branches, flinging them about horizontally, so I came indoors and annoyed the neighbours by playing a certain Queen track over and over. Ock, laddie, I never realised how much I missed ye. Then it was Angel and Buffy. The really cool Faith tortures Wes one and the one where Spike comes back all souled.
Still in a mood, my brain going bubble bubble, toil and trouble, I played a couple more Highlanders, and Sharpe's Waterloo. I watched them on my PC so I was somewhat industrious, but too busy working and watching to let the muse in. Stupid me. Oh well. Finished off with Oz on SBS.
Oh yeah, I also watched Doctor Who, with the creepy foetus alien leader, and stepped outside to investigate a strange clank in the yard. It was probably something being blown over, but, oh my, the air was clear and the stars were just, well, impressive for a suburban viewing.
Now it's Tuesday and I feel even more like crap, oh so ill and made of rubber. And the ISP is playing up so I can't upload the shitload of caps I spent all last night making. Bugger. Blast. The tight pants and silly hats spammage will just have to wait, then. Pout.
|How to make a hellblazer06|
5 parts pride
3 parts self-sufficiency
3 parts empathy
Add to a cocktail shaker and mix vigorously. Add a little cocktail umbrella and a dash of emotion