The Vice, well, I guess I was overtired and fidgety, and there wasn't enough Marc Warren, because it just didn't grab me at all this time around. Nor were any of the interesting subplots teased out. Sigh.
Saturday: the season opener of SGA, which featured much running about and shouting, then there was Sharpe, which featured same, only this time I enjoyed Mission more, being only half as knackered, I suppose. Pretty Sharpe. Btw, blow me down, but there's a pic of Sharpie in The Guide today. They're playing Sharpe's Challenge on Sunday. Sharpe finally debuts on free-to-air telly. Well, fancy that.
Meanwhile, my Marc Warren deficit was topped up by Doctor Who. I still don't like that episode because I still feel it shits on the fans, and not everyone watching is a nine year old boy, btw. Didn't really need to see Marc bouncing around to ELO, but these things are sent to try us. I did like the episode more, as I was paying more attention to Elton and his journey, and he does have one, which is more than most folks on the Who, but it still left me with a David Tennant deficit.
Never mind, for yea and verily there was Bodie (and Doyle). I am really, thoroughly wallowing in my renewed squee for this show, for the first time in decades (bad mean nasty suck all the fun away people who tried to ruin it for me). I'm just delighting in everything, from the silliness, the 70s fashions and even the de ja news plots. And Bodie. Ah, Bodie. What a treasure. Loves.
The Sweeney started with a construction site that I am pretty sure became the flats Mr Simm is strolling in front of in that Orange Playlist thingy. They certainly looked the same, but there could be blocks and blocks of the things, but still, I was amused. I was also amused by the funky Life on Mars-esque camera angles (with a really nice cut betwixt bin and pool), some oh so 70s carpet, Jack's pretty blue eyes in close up and Jack playing Mastermind while on obbo. Good grief, I can't even remember how one plays Mastermind, other than remembering the objective was to guess the colour of the hidden pins (hey, it was a simpler time, 'kay?).
This time is was Jack's turn to feel the pinch as a villain brags about how Jack couldn't catch him and gloats as he shows off his big house and indoor pool, the smug bastard. Poor Jack, I do feel for him. Never mind, as Jack decides to balm the insults by setting up a minor crim to give the old villain a good kicking, just by way of a careless dropping of a few hints. Wicked Jack - it makes me love him more. I'd love to see Gene pull a similiar little sting.
Jack doesn't sulk, pout and whine like George - he gets even. Bad Jack. Lovely, wicked, but naughty Jack.
An excellent episode. Oh yes, there was Simon Callow in a brief walk on bit, fully clothed this time, thank the tv gods. That's quite enough of Mr Callow for one weekend.
Elizabeth I, part 2, was a bit better this week, though I was in less dire shape, so that helped. And Hugh Dancy is so very pretty, which also helped. But still, it did again seem to be nothing but a string of regal tanties and wtf was up with Essex? Ignoring history and Errol films aside, I just couldn't discern in the narrative any real reason for Essex so go from puppyish sycophant to drooling, wild eyed screaming madman. There were the odd whispers that he'd been a vain and cruel youth and quick to temper, but as for his fall from favourite to traitor, I just did not see it on screen. Was it cut, or was I supposed to infer from my common knowledge (which is fuzzy on the details anyway, aside from the broad strokes, ahem, of Tudor history)?
I'm not entirely sure it was Hugh's fault, as he did fluffy and pretty and mad and anguished quite well, and I think he was nommed for an Emmy, because the Yanks love a bit of scenery chewing and frothing (pity Life on Mars seemed badly timed to take advantage of what should have been a certain nom), but I just didn't get why he was doing what he was doing (again, from within the show, without googling). It kind of spoiled it, though I did love his last scene. Was that on location at the Tower? It looked authentic.
After that, there was some more Damian in the Forsyth Saga.
Meanwhile, I almost wished I was American, for a moment. It's not something I normally do, even at my most addled, but bear with. It's just that I don't know anyone here and I have to work insane hours (the two may be connected) and as I spent all of Saturday culling an enormous pile of magazines/newspapers, I realised I'd never have time to scan all the Brits, never mind all the other actors. Which is a damn shame, all those pretty pictures, languishing, unloved and unscanned.
I can't possibly do it myself, but all my American friends seem to be surrounded by hives of like minded folks, and if I lived anywhere but here, I imagined I could have some sort of utopian scanning bee, with all the scanners set up on the dining table, and many hands making light of huge piles of work. Half a dozen folk with a folder each would scan loads and loads of pretty piccies we could all share and enjoy. It'd be grand. But, alas, it just ain't gonna happen. It made me sigh, sadly.
While I was doing it - I took them out on the veranda under the big umbrella, George, the cranky magpie actually darted under the table and pecked me, the sod. Him being a protected beastie, I was limited to harsh language, but I had a few choice words with him. Meanwhile, Tubby, the too tame currawong, scampered underfoot when I wasn't looking and accidently got himself swatted with a tv guide sailing towards the 'out' pile. Poor wee birdie. Then I damn nearly watered him on Sunday morning. He really must stop getting underfoot. I was very sorry to accidently get Tubby with a magazine. I was even sorrier it wasn't that bastard George. See if he ever gets my toast crusts again. Hmph.
Anyway, my jasmine was all out, very lovely. And now it's getting on so late I might not be able to get home. Buggeration.
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