So I did go and see the Pisarro exhibition before it closed. I would have seen it earlier only I was told it was boring. What rot! I loved it. He had a real photographer's eye, and was constantly playing with light and shade and he framed his scenes just perfectly. I particularly enjoyed the fog bound pic, the one of the steep hill and those three views of the Louvre in various weathers, all the more remarkable because the paintings came from London, DC and Honolulu, so to see them on the one wall, side by side, was quite something. The gentleman standing next to me agreed and we had a lovely chat.
So I really enjoyed that, even if I was on my last legs. Then it was a stagger through the gardens, still able to admire the beauty despite the heat and feeling mightily green at this stage (it was the salmon sandwiches). Under one tree, an entire colony of orb spiders lurked in horriffic configuration. Saw many birds, a few blooms, and bats. Watched the heat haze shimmer over the grass and listened to the shrill of cicadas.
Then it was on the bus, way out west, to the cheap skirt shop. I bought bags, but why not? At that price, if I wear them twice, I've got my money's worth. And, frankly, I feel the need to wear something more colourful than what I wore last year. It certainly helps my mood, and to hell with being taken seriously. I ain't got no career here, nor do I really want one. Time to settle for what is.
Then back home and any plans for hopping on the pc or watching tv came to nothing as a storm rolled and rumbled around all night, though I turned the telly on later anyway because like hell was I missing The Saint, The New Avengers of The Sweeney. The highlight of my week.
The Sweeney was rather disturbingly slashy, with George declaring that he really rather fancied Jack with the moustache, and Jack replying "I love you too." Then the whole undercover gig goes wrong because Jack didn't feel up the bird.
Good grief. Here I am, trying so hard to watch it without any subtext, and they go and camp it up on me. Okay, waving the white flag here.
Life on Mars was slightly less slashy, in that there were no overt declarations of love or lust, but the lads did end up handcuffed together, and there was dear little Sam's distress at the thought that Gene had been shot. Happily, Gene was positively clanking with hipflasks in one of the best tv gags ever. I did like this episode. The boys are now very much a team. Lovely.
Amazing Annie is starting to get annoying, though. Is there anything Annie can't do? Oh, Guv, I could go undercover, because I was trapeze flying nuclear scientist bomb disposal expert, fashionista and neurosurgeon before I became a WPC. Uh huh. Why Steed bothered with Purdey when he could have had Wonder Annie, I'll never know.
Speaking of Purdey, I've just realised that with my slightly 70s top and brand new was on sale stripy peasant skirt that, omg, I'm dressed almost exactly like Purdey from last week's episode. Eeep.
Anyway, as I glossed over the fact that I won tickets on Friday, I should now explain that I had tickets to the premiere of Firewall, whoo, and I took a friend from work, whom I felt could use a bit of red carpet in her life. She gives every indication of having enjoyed the frivolities, so hopefully I did the right thing. Yes, Harrison was there, in the flesh. Whoo. Old, too be sure, but still a presence, still handsome, and very nice. He's a signer. Certainly he signed lots on his way in, so points for that. Took his time and acknowledged folks. Very nice of the man. Very shy too, a man of a few mumbled words, but never mind. I done met Harrison Ford, and I've only wanted to to that for the greater part of my life. Hee.
So we trotted up the red carpet and into the cinema, where there were boxes on food on every seat - good thing years of public transport have taught me to look before I flop down. Free sangers! We're so easily impressed. Harrison introduced the film and then it started, to the opening strains of Massive Attack.
Firewall, alas, lacked some serious pacing and was cliche city. I mean a lot of terrible groaners, like someone had cut up bits of other films and stuck them together. I was also annoyed that they happily killed the Brit (dearest Paul Bettany, at least escaping with only bruises from the fight scenes) but not the dog. As the Guardian said, the number one thing you must do to be a villian in an American film is be British. Alan Rickman has a lot to answer for. These weren't even competent bad guys.
At least it had Nikolaj in it. I've been a fan of his since Enigma. He's purty. Alas, he doesn't make the final reel either. Pout. Whine. He should do better. He's pretty and his accents are flawless.
What really had me grinding my teeth were, yes the tech issues. Like what manager with a window office even knows where the on button is on a PC? And what OCR software was he using to read the scans, and can we have it please? And how come the cd burning/downloading never craps out at 75% or freezes the whole system when the boss shows up? Hmph.
I hate these shows/films that give our bosses unrealistic tech expectations. Harrison Ford might have OCR progs that are the shit, but I'm stuck with ancient and outdated crapware because Management are too cheap to update it, so it ain't gonna happen.
And hmph again as a friend cruelly describes my clothes as soy sauce coloured, implying that I buy them thus to hide my yum cha shame. Not true. Well, sorta, but since I loathe grey, maroon, navy and dark green, I'm kinda stuck with black and brown.
Besides, this skirt has brown and eggshell blue stripes, and thus will match the tops I have in either colour. Just because I'm wearing the brown top today doesn't mean I'm dumpling bound.
Besides, I'm too knackered to walk anywhere after this weekend. I was meant to spend it in bed, especially after bleeding all over my chair like that, but noooo, on one of the hottest and stickiest weekends I walked all over town with my broken foot and bleeding and sweating like a stuck pig. If I feel bloody awful today, and I do, I need only to look to myself for blame. Though I could hardly have stayed in bed now, could I?
Not hardly. Glad I went. Another tick off the old life list.
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