But I digress.
There they were last night, all lined up, looking fabulous. There was the Gene Genie (and his pretty eyes), Apollo (slightly less buffed and waxed but never mind), Doctor Who (well, No. 8 at least) and the self described Mr Fantastic. What men. What eye candy. And all on screen, at once. It was a buffet, a smogasboard. And as slashy as.
Yeah, I was watching Hornblower. And loving it, as dear Max used to say. Oh, hello, sailor. Really, I just didn't know who to slash first. I couldn't pick an OTP if my life depended on it, though I did love Pellew simpering over his dearest one again. Oh my. And could he wait until Archie was at least room temperature before pouncing? I think not. Tsk.
But did I mention the Gene Genie and his pretty eyes? Just what was it between him and the Captain? And what turned him suddenly to the pro-Horatio camp? And oooh, the blond stubble. Swoon. Thud.
So that put me in a happy mood. I also caught the very end of Smallville, rubbishing it as always. It's more fun that way. Dean (okay, I know the character is called Jason, but I keep calling him Dean), had finally come to his senses and was trying to get outta Kansas, pronto.
"You're leaving." Lana accused, and she probably would have pouted too, had the botox allowed it.
Dean, grinning: "Oh yeah baby. Got me a lead in a series. Ka-ching."
Lana strops some more. Dean pauses to wrestle with some internal struggle, or possibly last night's dodgy kebab, it's always hard to tell with WB actors, all the while standing in front of the worst wallpaper ever. I mean Sam's flat doesn't even come within several thousand nautical miles of this printed hideousness. Which of course causes the Peanut Gallery and I to erupt simultaneously with the old alegedly Wildean quote: "Either that wallpaper goes or I do."
Jinx. The wallpaper stayed. Dean left. Because he had a series, you know. Ah, Dean, I'll miss the twice weekly fix of your surgically perfect smile.
Meanwhile, I finally bought myself a vhs/dvd recorder. All shiny and new. Well, the poor old Sony kept crapping out while taping Simm (but suspiciously not anything else, which makes me wonder just what Simmo has done to piss off all my various machines so badly, the daft wee sassenach). Getting it home on the bus was a challenge, and setting it up tomorrow while on the worst day of my you-know-whats more so, but needs must. I need a new beastie to record Mr Simm and his football tragic, sorry, Football Magic thingie tomorrow.
I can't believe that I'm doing this, but I know what you're thinking, that if I'm going to keep crushing on Yorkshire born actors I'm going to have to expect a football docco or three. Expect, yes. Endure, possibly. Enjoy? Highly unlikely. Let's just say that I work on a PC and have a Doctor Who screensaver ::cough::ubernerd::cough:: so football interests me as much as, well, I can't think of anything I care about less right now. Even used chip packets would have some appeal, as far as design aesthetics go, but never mind.
Things I do, eh? At least it's a distraction from the work situation, which is dire and threatening in so far as I am a mere pawn about to be stomped on or shunted somewhere very unpleasant.
And now it looks like the Doc needs another Timmy. Oh dear. And just when Rose was starting to annoy me less.
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Sam and Gene
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