September 29th, 2013


six whacks of a winchester

Still with the allergies in extremis, and hacking away at all the weeds and scrubbing away at the mould is supposed to help but in action is really, really not. Didn't get to the scanning as planned because the weather report said apocalyptic storms At Any Minute! What we got was a sprinkle of rain that would have struggled to dampen a tissue.

Instead I'd settled down to the classic old Hitchcock version of 39 Steps and a wicked box of chocs, achieved because I'd idly bet a box of chocs on a completely predictable outcome to the Newsroom finale (yay) and Himself thought he'd better pay up after my rant about other people welching on a bet made fairly and squarely and even written down. I reserve the right to use this further example of lowdown dirty behavour as irrefutable proof that the sods are indeed villainous scum deserving of my scorn and contempt. Fair enough, right? I mean, what would Nucky do?

So, after some frantic drudge work, me, couch, chocs and the wonderful Robert Donat. Hey, a gal's gotta have some happy time. It is the best version of the tale ever filmed, I really love it, and so ripped off some scenes were they were almost unfairly comical in a 'that old trope' kind of way, even though this was the original, or near enough. There were two scenes seemingly straight out of Bond flicks that had me thinking 'hmmmm'.

Okay, so I wasn't watching it properly (I blame the boxset of Rifftrax I was sent on Friday) but it was all 'Richard Hannay, confirmed bachelor' after that sculpture in his hallway, and the scene where he and Mrs Scottish Farmer stare at the page of the newspaper in horror, the page advertising HP Sauce, which got us onto HP Sauce speakeasys and Nucky standing on the beach while squarish bottles tumble ashore. Like I said, not watching it properly. Being very silly. And loving it.
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