It wasn't even my flu shot, it was Peanut Gallery's, whom I discovered flat out on the couch shivering and whimpering. And now I've got it. And I don't want it.
So I didn't enjoy D&P as much as I'd been anticipating, and the advertised hand wringing was of too brief duration. Still, a decent episode, and at least it didn't revolve around Andy's old indiscretions, as the UKTV episode did (but OMG could the opening scene have been any more domestic if they'd tried?).
So that was Friday. Saturday I woke up early and grouchy and decided to play possum and play State of Play (especially as I couldn't get Blackpool, which had vanished from every shelf in the city the day I finally decided to buy it. Bugger). So I wallowed in John and Philip and James and David and Bill and Marc.
Then I rose late for brekkie, discovered Winter had arrived, suddenly and quite serious, so I scuttled back to my room, happily warmed by excessive electrickery usuage (I swear when I move out there'll be a Hiroshima like shadow on the wall behind me.) Flipped around cable for something to watch and landed upon a young lad uttering the words "You lucky, lucky bastards."
Okay, more of him, Andrew Lincoln, Danny Dyer and Richard Coyle who turns up toasted and sprouting Star Wars. Total Coupling moment. Tally so far is eight hours of Simm, no hours of housework.
Indulged in some Special Branch, and, finally, the football episode of Life on Mars (Simm 9: housework 0). Thoroughly enjoyed myself (although all sniffly and woobie). The whole pub scene. Love. Gene undercover, Gene pretending to be drunk, then really being drunk, Sam being such a smug bastard. Then there's Sam's heartbeaking Hillsborough soliloquy.
Don't let them belittle you for watching tv, because I can't think of a film last year that had a speech so effectively written or delivered.
Then it was The Saint (a serious East German border crossing episode) and The New Avengers, featuring a giant rat, mad scientists and a vodka swilling Russian. What more could you want? I wondered out loud if the Red's red jumpsuit was an appropriate outfit for hunting giant rats in sewers. "Well," says Peanut Gallery. "It's all part of the colour coded bad guys code. We started off with black hats and white hats but suddenly in the 70s thing obviously took a one day cricket test turn for the bizarre." Bwahaha! Even stricken, PG is on form. Many snipes followed, but that was the best.
So, when can we expect the giant rat/ants/maggots episode of Life On Mars?
"Honestly, Annie, I tell you it's giant maggots down t'pit. I was right about the Chinese magician and the giant rat, wasn't I?"
Okay, maybe not.
The Sweeney followed with Jack's wee kiddie being abducted by villains. Cue hysterical wife. The wives are such nagging bitches in these shows. I'll never understand it. They obviously have higher standards than I do. I'll have Jack, and I don't care if I only see him one day a fortnight. I'd probably prefer it. Lovely scene of Jack going berko and George desperate to try and stop it before it ends up as homicide. LOM TPTB? That scene, please. It really works because Jack is eeerily calm throughout, so you just know he's gonna blow at some point, big time.
Then Rage was mean and played The Cure, Echo and the Bunnymen, Split Enz, Nick Cave etc until I was hooked into the 'just one more clip' game, and when that happens it's dawn before you know it. Bugger.
Sunday: A cold, wintery breakfast, the weekend papers, thin sunlight and the barest effort at gardening. Scanned some more. I'm getting really sick of scanning. It's expensive, time consuming, I've no more room in my room for any more magazines, absolute limit reached now, and hardly anybody ever says thanks. Grizzle.
Gave up and crawled back to room to watch repeats of old cop shows but fell asleep instead. So much for plans of writing fic, but I'm not sure Sam would be quite that wet or troublesome, on second thoughts. Will watch episode eight again, but I think I need to dial down the wetness and dial up the bitchiness. So long as he's being a pain in the arse the scenes should hold true, okay, trueish. Aside from Sam being a precious little petal, I wonder just how far Gene would go, if he was as angry as Jack was in that episode of The Sweeney, which, in the fic I'm trying to write, he is (which is why I was thrilled to see a similiar set up in The Sweeney, just so I could see how the masters did it).
Got online for a bit, which was great from the the stuff folks uploaded (more Simm, yay), but it made me all tired and cranky (but at least it meant I didn't have to watch Manchild, I don't need to see that much Giles).
Sunday was going to prove a bit of a dilema as EvilChannelNine had Sam Neill in some US tv movie and Auntie offered up an Oz cop show. Normally, I would have chosen Sam, but those ads of his have done what no mean girls could do: killed my JP3 fics stone cold dead.
So that's a no to Sam, and a yes to Richard, redeeming himself in a classy cop thriller set in my city. Yep, I said it, Richard redeems himself and it was a classy, slick looking Oz cop show that wasn't risible. It was also set around old crime scene photos from the P&J museum (aka J&P), so instant love there (cf back entries). Richard's also a very fractured, tortured and twisted up cop with secrets and flashbacks and childhood trauma. Love. And they made my flithy, ugly city look all mysterious and noirish. Love. Highly recommended.
Speaking of winter, does anybody out there know how to knit? I don't and can't, but we've this old featherless cockatoo that hangs around, and yesterday he was shivering so hard he dropped his biscuit. Now I'm a bitch of stone, but I couldn't do that. So can anyone out there knit him a wee cardy? How I'll grab him and put it on I don't know, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. If nobody can knit him a jumper, my evil aged parent is threatening to stop his food and water so he dies. She can, has and will do it, so get those knitting needles going for a poor old parrot. I'm not supposed to feed it anyway, but I just can't help it when it sits on the back railing looking seven shades of pathetic.
Guess there's a tiny droplet of human kindness in there and I'm not entirely the selfish bitch people tell me I am. I shall hunt it down and sterilise it later.
In other news, it came out hot and sunny but I did not go to the park. My excuses du jour are: 1) I'm all cross and I wouldn't enjoy it,
2) I'm in no mood to be trampled by sweaty joggers. I like to lie on the grass when I write my fic and this just makes me fair game, apparently. Ditto lawnmowers.
3) I'm wearing one of my old gothy velvety skirts today, being the first thing to hand (I didn't do the washing) and I'm in no mood to be spending the evening picking leaves/grass/bark/twigs/wildlife out of the lacey trim. I usually don't wear my gothy skirts to work anymore, but that whole Sienna Miller soho boho OMG what a ho look is in right now, and a few more wears before they're retired to be next years dusters seems fair and decent. Actually, I might send them to my Aunt to be made into cushions. The idea of skirts that remember many a night of infamy ending up on a church stall in Caithness amuses me no end.
4) I had to run to the chemist & supermarket for more tea and asprin. I wasn't having much luck asking for asprin in the chemist, so I tried it in Italian, it being the only Italian phrase I ever really mastered (woe is me). Worked, though. Am doped up like a filly on cup day.
Must go. Boring shit to do before I go home.
America claims Mars
Creating Life on Mars: Time Shift
Billie's Dr Who kiss confession
Q&A: David Tennant and Billie Piper
Doctor Who: New Earth
TV laughter lost in translation
An earful of Britain
Roxburgh cops to it
Roxburgh loves a meaningful silence
Yes, there can be life after death
Depeche Mode @ M.E.N. Arena
Moz blames Kate for state of Pete
Morrissey blasts Moss
Listen to tracks from Mozza's new LP
Shoeprint analysis to fight crime
Back through the Stargate
There is life out there, and it's mighty gross
Extraterrestrials With an Appetite in 'Slither'
Television pilots: Who will soar, who will stall?
Nudist's spider-killing stunt backfires
A star is torn
Attack a damper on Ledger visit
My Parrot Screams Like A Girl
Russell Crowe: Meg made me a bad boy
Russell Crowe fires up Kiwis
Beatles, Apple face off in court
Remote Location Column
Life on Mars pilot 'heads to US'
Kelley prepares drama "Life on Mars"
Mars Landing on BBC
ABC to remake BBC's time-travel cop show Life on Mars
Clooney takes aim at stalker site
Bill Leak: 'Tis a fickle fine line you walk in this funny business