And I was supposed to have an early night, on account of feeling wretched yesterday. The pr0n in the park helped, but when I came back, two zealously and cultishly thin people decided to stage another fat intrevention. I can only assume that they were being cruel to be kind from the most honourable of motives, but they just made me very, very upset and instead of waddling all the way across town in search of elusive magazines and missing dinner, I went home early and comfort ate like crazy. So that worked. There's no live and let live any more.
I can't even go shopping any more, because I've had it with the nasty stares. So what do I do? Stay at home and watch telly. Thanks a bunch, dickwads.
I did discover though that parrots can take a hint. I grew tired and angry at them landing next to me and begging all the time while I was trying to chill out with a cuppa, so I finally shooed them off with the broom. Boy, did they not come down until invited yesterday. Obviously I should employ the broom when dealing with people I'm in no mood to engage with. Could have certainly have used the broom yesterday.
Being miserable, I slunk off to my room and it was tv from dusk til dawn. First up was the John Simm episode of Spaced, which I'd seen before, but not at the height of a mad Simm passion, so that was fun. I always find Spaced a more than a bit cringeworthy as it perfectly describes my twenties, and the people I knew, far too closely for comfort. More doco than sitcom for me, I'm afraid (and again, watch Spaced and you'll know why I'm an old spinster now, look at what I had on offer, yikes). Simm was lovely, smarmy and evil and line free, but never mind, and the Matrix bit was a tad overplayed (and now very dated) but the Jedi-esque ceremonial burning of the Star Wars stuff had me screaming with empathy and laughter.
Then it was onto Sharpe with a youthful Philip Glenister, but weren't we all young, thin and pretty back then. I've never really liked the story, playing merry havoc with Sharpe canon and my own fic canon as it does, but aside from that, There's Phil and Alexis and Sean and there's nowt much to complain about in the eye candy department. And it does have its moments, especially Sharpe's ultimate sword fight, here he fights hard and dirty, his continuing domestic disputes and all the class trauma going on that is more relevant today than when I first saw the episode (new IR laws anyone?).
So Sharpe has a half brother who's very pretty, very angry and shouty (now there's a surprise) and very revolutionary, whereas Sharpe has always been more mercenary, and wanting to play the game by their rules, and beat them at it, rather than break the rules, as Matt does. Lots of references to industrial unrest and Peterloo, which I'm sure must have been topical in the UK with all the miner's strikes still fresh in living memory at the time. Biting social commentary and sword fights? Me likes.
Then onto another viewing of Life on Mars episode eight. I liked it better this time, but I still need a couple more viewings to try and work out everything that's going on (it really feels like they cut a scene or two). My first impressions were close though, Gene does beg for Sam to snap out of it and be a copper first and a lunatic second. Sadly, Sam can't manage it. He babbles repeatedly in front of Vic (and everyone else) and when Sam tries so hard to be a good cop and bring Vic in, and it's tearing him apart and you see that so clearly, evil Vic just plays with poor Sam and turns him, and gets away.
Which makes me think, as an aside, that if they went with some strange Avengers or Manchurian Candidate type brainwashing idea, Sam is so very susceptible to suggestion.
So watching it again, I can see that Sam doesn't just loose control completely, he fights it, but Vic really plays him and twists all of Sam's buttons. And not just when Sam is babbling at Annie and pulling a gun on Gene, but before, at the shootout, too, when Sam gives Gene that long and highly amusing insult about being a homophobe with an unhealthy obssession with male bonding, and then pleading with Gene, all I could think of is what Vic on earth must be thinking, watching that. Not "I love my mad/dead gay son", I should think. But he is witness to what is a very, very personal fight between Gene and Sam. Ah, boys, not in front of the vilians.
"You're not going to ruin this for me... Hunt."
"I think you've forgotten who you're talking to."
"An overweight, over-the-hill, nicotine-stained, borderline alcoholic homophobe with a superiority complex and an unhealthy obsession with male bonding."
"You made that sound like a bad thing."
"I've got to save him... Gene."
At least Gene's a fairly forgiving sort of chap, especially where Sam is concerned. Aw, it's true wuv. I don't think Gene thought at any time Sam was going to really shoot him, just that Sam was having another one of his wobbles. If Gene deals with it, I think he'll deal with it privately, and I'm fairly sure he told Annie to leave Sam to him. But it is painful to watch poor Sam go through the wringer, unable to wake up, or put right what once went wrong, though he did save Annie.
I still love Gene's affectionate pet names for Sam, and Sam's pained expression over Gene's mixed metaphors. As much as there was Annie ship (though her patience is worn to breaking point), there was a lot of Gene/Sam going on. Classic old school slash, just like I've been craving. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Then it was onto The Lakes, with very young versions of half of the Manchester-Salford CID. My goodness, with his hotel uniform on, John looks like a cheeky schoolkid. He wasn't much in this episode, which really is lurching into melodrama now, but when he was, magic, just magic. I love the way his eyes light up.
Then I should have turned the tv off, but the witching hour is when the good telly comes out to play: Teachers on 2, Ewan on 3 and Pirates on 29. I love Teachers. Not love as in tape it and buy the box sets, which aren't out here anyway, but I never fail to thoroughly enjoy every episode I've managed to see. I've noticed that they're launching an American version this year. Why? Just why? These things never work (cf Coupling). Teachers without all the smoking, swearing and shagging, well, at least, talking about shagging, not to mention all the pub going and hard drinking. Take that away and, well, it's not Teachers any more, is it? You'd think they'd know better buy now. Just play the original, it's perfectly good as it is.
Hee. One of the guys upstairs just phoned with no bad news, just to say hi, because I hurt his feelings yesterday when I greeted his phone call with a groan. He didn't want to be Mr Bad News. Aw, sweet. And so sad, because I'm not who he thinks he's flirting with, but it's fun, and it made my morning. What a sweet, silly gesture. He's my man upstairs, so I do appreciate him. I should probably tell him so, more often. I understand, from reading, that fellers like having their egos stroked, and too much is never enough.
Oh, please don't move me, I've actually made some friends where I am. This is a rare and happy occurence for me. I think I'll go and have another cup of tea.
Besides, it was another adventure getting in this morning, as our bus was pranged by a truck, twice. The first time was a real hard prang that broke the glass and woke everyone up with a shock. We had to get off the bus and wait for ages in the cold and dark for another bus to come and pick us up. When it finally arrived, just as we were getting back into our seat, another truck swiped the back corner with a thump, but the driver was too busy futzing about to notice and we all swore instantly not to say a word, and so finally, after ages to get going, we restarted our journey, the sky being light by now. There were people scurrying about all over the place by the time I finally arrived in the city. Most disquietening, as I rather like the whole 28 Days deserted streets vibe that is usually going on when I arrive early for a quick spot of fic writing. Alas, nothing today. Spent my 40 minutes by the side of the road. Sigh.
It's raining. Heavily, and there's a weirdly greenish cast to the sky. Which means no pr0n in the park today, alas. But at least it's cooled down. It was so steamy before I was afeared of having frogs in my armpits by mid afternoon, and it was not helped by picking a mad stripped shirt from the back of the wardrobe. At least I know why it was relegated to the back of the wardrobe: it's like wearing a damn shower curtain. Swampy.
Embaressment. Just had a phone call from the bank, worried that some lunatic had gotten ahold of my credit card. Nope, just me, sad to say. Last week was rather awful and unrelenting and there was some comfort shopping going on. A lot of comfort shopping. Enough to worry the bank. Ooops. Half rations from now on, I should think. Still, it did register as a big blip, which proves at least I'm normally very sedate in my spending.
It's come out sunny now, but I suspect, too soggy to go sit under my pr0n tree today. Besides, I have heaps on.
Oh, just caught a subliminal glance of episode four. And why, exactly, when Gene emerges from his office to pick Red Rum in the Grand National, is he tucking in his shirt? Answers on a postcard please.
And is that green van that appears in every other scene significant or just a severe lack of props?
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