Something to look forward to: Hugo Weaving snogging Sam Neill in Little Fish. Egads, this means I'll have to watch...an Australian film. Argh. No.
Oh, don't you start. I supported the industry loyally, I saw dogs that have scarred me for life. You can't ask any more of me, surely. Anything but that.
But Hugo snogging Sam? I just might have a peek at that. Would that I could find an online interview with Hugo describing said snog. It was rather an amusing read. Sigh.
I was going to grizzle some more but today I did get my fave seat on the bus, and my flex day was approved (after being refused yesterday) and it's a lovely day, so even though I'm frazzled, I can't resist the Springness of it all.
I also blew off a bit of work to write some, which always makes me feel better. Now I've got a third part of the story in my head, but I'm not sure where I'm going with, I'm just worried it'll end up some horrible cross between Angel Heart and MacGyver. I think it's the whole somewhere in generic South America that does it (I'm pretty sure he's in South America). But I'm equally loathe to pick a place, lest my mumbly plot not quite fit. Still, it's nice to know Paul ends up okay. And it will be slashy. He plays fast and loose with the rules, that one, but he's so far off the beaten track he can probably get away with it. For a while.
It felt like a lovely day for the park, but it was a bit blowy, so no sex for poor Keel today. I did however walk down to the Quay, just to watch the ferries come in past the Opera House, take in a bit of a demonstration, that sort of thing. Watching the ferries reminded me of that ferry trip I took in Boston and, dammit, I just can't stop thinking about him. I've got him under my skin. I need to get this story out. But not right now, alas.
So I returneth to my desk (far too interupted to attempt any Tab A into Slot B) and read the Herald instead. They amuse me, they do, with their wry comments about firetrucks being speared down on Benelong point, or the now former leader of the opposition getting "bombed at the Hilton". Boom, tish.
Actually, I'm half appalled by Brogden's comments/actions, and half amused, as it was an entertaining flashback to the sort of Ministerial behavoiur I grew up with. Ah, the good old bad old days. Extraordinarily nonPC, but never boring.
Oooh, choppers. It must be getting exciting down there. Would that I was once again a flag waving ratbag. Ah well.
So, zombie contra drug barons? Oh dear me, it is turning into Macgyver.