"I felt like an awful old harlot taking this young innocent man's screen virginity from him." - Emilia Fox, The Guardian.
I don't know why, but it amuses me. Dear little innocent Sam - smirk. Anyhoo, I was bemused to see the NYT trying to figure out Robin's politics, as I'd had a similiar unhappy revelation last Saturday night while watching old (but still good) West Wings on the ABC. Far from being the East Midland's answer to Che, this time round, what with Robin's insistence on tax cuts and small governement, this can only mean our boy is, holy hannah, a Republican.
Eeeeewww. Okay, so possibly, and I can't beilieve I'm actually typing this, a liberal Republican like Arnie, rather than a truly scary Republican, but still. I feel a need to shower, scrub and exfoliate.
But thank you West Wing for pointing it out. That show is nothing if not educational, in fact essentially so for my working life, which I appreciate. But I also appreciated to opportunity to see Alan Alda, most beloved, on a roll. Thanks for that. I was one happy little piglet.
Also watched Dazliel & Pascoe on Friday night, which was okay if predictable, but perfect for a Friday night, and tried Judge John Deed last night, which I'd not seen before (but folks had rec'd). Well, tried, anyway. A rip snorting storm roared up so I had to turn the telly off so I missed the end but I wasn't that broken up about it because I've yet to find a likeable character in that show. Perhaps the politics in Deed, and New Tricks before it, were just too close to home for comfort right now, as my own life is being destroyed just for the sake of politics.
Nevertheless, I've blown my savings on something very silly because like hell was I losing my life savings on those freeloaders again, or to theft (again). Those bastards. I was going to wail and gnash about Saturday's small example of their bastardy, where, tired and ill after a long hard week I had to do shopping then make the tea and they didn't want anything then they decided on sandwiches so I made the sandwiches while they watched telly and put them on pretty plates with little bowls of strawberries on the side and just as I'm dropping on the sprigs of parsely I'm told they don't have butter on their sandwiches any more. They waited until I was done to tell me. So I had to walk all the way to the shops and back again (in the wrong shoes, hence my hobbling today) and came back and found them still in front of the telly. On the cusp of the moment where Eliza hurls the slippers at Henry Higgins, I went out the back steps to cry, whereupon I was told off for taking so long with tea. Oh yes, and they drank all the fruit juice I'd bought for myself.
But a friend gazumped me with their tale of Saturday dining woe which started with, just after finally attracting the attention of a waiter in a local resturant, all the lights going out. And it went downhill from there. Okay, so their rolling disaster wins against the petty cruelty of my lords and masters, but again I point out that mountains can be broken by a steady trickle as much as by an eruption.
And you wonder why I feel so much for poor Much.
Never mind, we went to yum cha in exotic Eastwood of all places (it never used to be associated with the word exotic, quite the antithesis, actually) and my friend demonstrated their yum cha fu by getting us in and sailing past the crowd outside. Damn, I will miss them when they, too, move interstate next week. I mean really miss them. If I gnash and wail this week, it'll one reason why, and it won't be just their disks or their yum cha fu I'll be missing. It'll also be showing up when I needed to get out, for one thing (Take me out tonight, where there's music and there's people...etc).
Oh yes, it's raining and we're into the Smiths songs. Oh. Dear.
Sadly, it was way, way too hot to do anything really this weekend (you know how cranky Dell Boy gets when it hits 35C and beyond), except work in the yard (I was trying to sweat off another dress size, I need to loose at least two more before I can fit into the winter coats, and I need a new one. Apparently fat chicks can just freeze to death as they no longer make coats in my size). Well, I did melt, but I think the yum cha might have set back my ambitions re not freezing this winter.
However I was canny enough to spin Life on Mars #2.03 in the wee dark hours on Saturday before the baleful sun popped up to blast all before it. I'd heard enough about this episode to go into it with my expectations dragging behind me like the sound of a shovel on concrete, so it was a case of being happy in the moments when it didn't suck. And there were a few moments that didn't suck.
Mind you, the whole Annie/Sam thing is now playing serious havoc with my dentistry as I wear down my molars grinding my teeth. She drops him like a stone when Sam makes an error of judgement, no standing by her man here, but then it's all smiles and giggles by the end? Purlease. At least now I'm not just worried about Annie's taste for psychos, it's Sam's as well.
At least Gene, furious and frustrated, kept giving Sam opportunity after opportunity to present his evidence. The fact that Sam couldn't make a proper case for his hunches and Gene had a desperate situation on his hands, well, that balancing act they walked so well last year is gone. Sam is all Mr High and Mighty because he has Sekrit Future Knowledge which he does not bother to attempt to explain, nor does he let Gene in on his hunches, so Gene, left with only the option of getting information anyway he can, comes across as a bad guy (where as in Spooks the exact same methods are seen as heroic and Sekrit Sam would be the bad guy). It just seemed less balanced (having Sam always on the right side of history seems unfair, as Gene does do his best with what he's got - Gene is not a bad man, though they painted him as 'bad' in broad heavy strokes, where I think Sam's betting the car wouldn't explode was far worse behaviour than any of Gene's methodologies, though there's a whole does torture ever justify the means argument in there, but Sam seemed far less squeamish last episode, so it seemed to be deiberately showing Gene in a bad light, excuse me while I take a breath). And the heavy handed 'blowing shit up isn't just for the Irish' tag at the end? Purlease.
I don't know, maybe I have to watch it again, but Gene was giving Sam the benefit of the doubt, even after a major fuck up, though he quite rightly didn't have the time for Sam's usual fiddle faddling about, but who does Sam side with? Ever loyal Annie. It's not right or fair imho because while Gene was furious with Sam, and rightly so because Sam had treated the bomb threat as a joke and no one should ever do that, he never stopped listening. Unlike AnnieSue, who gets to save the day. Gah. Maybe Sam gets what he deserves, after all.
And the whole it's not really the IRA thing, I swear I've seen that plot somewhere else, but I'm blanking on it right at this moment (could be anything from Spooks to Special Branch).
Weirdly, at the time I was enjoying it unfold as I watched, just like last year. It was only later that I started worrying over details, though the whole Annie snubbing thing had me grinding my teeth from the outset.
I did like the chunky kit kat line though. Speaking of which, have you seen Portmans' windows? Am I mad, in a coma or back in 1973? The whole front window had dummies dressed up as Annie. Not like Annie, exactly like Annie. 1973 all the way.
Now, if you really wanted to freak me out those dummies would have crashed through the window: Auton AnnieSues gone feral.
And yes, there's something about a shop window full of mannequins dressed in 70s clobber that really sends my tiny mind spinning back to the Autons. Yikes.
Still it was some diversion on the shopping trip from hell (no coats in my size, soon to be tragic grocery shopping, and the only clothes on offer being track suits and trainers - chavtastic!) Grump. I do not want to dress like Jackie Tyler, if it's all the same to you (the fact that someone teased me about how it should be my look on Friday probably made it even more of a bitter pill to take).
I also discovered the bathroom will not hold any more crap from BaySwiss, but you will at least be pleased, or, more likely, utterly indifferent, to the news that I picked up a shitload of stuff for scanning (Daniel, Ewan, Gerard, Christian, David), which, weather gods willing, I might be able to get done tomorrow. Not that anyone seems to care, but I feel if I'm no use I've no right to exist and I try to be of use through scanning, at the very least. It's a small and pathetic effort but what else would you expect from someone so small and pathetic?
I think it's the sort of day (and mood) to forego the tea and head straight to the hot chocolate, even if it does mean I'll be playing Little Match Girl this winter.
Oh dear...they've messed around with the servers again. Not all the chocolate in the world is going to make today go away. Not even my rubber chicken, given to me by a friend to banish my pc woes (it works, too), can save me from those bad server elves and their tricksy ways.
In other news, there's a pic of the less fun Capt. Jack in today's Guide. Apparently, in further proof that the ABC is just passing on all manner of UKTV treats these days, Channel Ten has bought Torchwood. I'll just blink for a bit here, if you don't mind: o.0. So that'll be Torchwood at the exciting new time of 2am, then? And that'll be Torchwood, sans twenty minutes for ads, making even less sense than usual.
Oy...I really do need a Bex and a lie down now.
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