Kinda sucks that I had to give up Jarvis (the rave reviews have just not stopped, pouring bags of salt into my open wound) and Simple Minds were a mere support act and thus had a very short set, and all the latter stadium pieces rather than my faves, which was quite right, but still. At least they played Love Song and Glittering Prize, which had me bouncing about. Actually I bounced the whole time. Dear Jim was well, Jim, all the old moves and poses. He'd also lost a lot of weight and had been dipping into the Grecian 2000, so he really did look just like slightly older Jim. Oh, how I adored him. Just about every moment I was so in love with, you could have powered a household of appliances off me. Dear Charlie, oh dear. Oh well. A few too many pies and chips for Mr Burchill, methinks, but he still rocked, and I loved every minute of it.
Then I fled before the travesty that is "INXS" shambled on - I'm just not ready for that, but I wasn't the only one to exunt, and anyways, the gorgeous Dixon St night market was still going so I browsed. Even if it was nearly all trashy Hello Kitty knockoffs, it was still all shiny and lit up and pretty and all the resturants had tables set up and girls (some in costume) touting menus and begging one to sample their noodles above all others. I gotta say, that was a complete change in attitude from what one normally strikes in this town: "You want to WHAT???!!! Sit at a table?! And order food?! What the bloody hell do you think this is?! A bloody resturant???!!!!" etc. I did buy a set of chinese lanterns, for my sins.
So, I managed to get home in time for Spooks (what is this city of nanas coming to that I get home at my normal getting home time?). It was the one where Evil Frank Gallagher tries to kill dearest Ruth with a cross bow. Oh yeah, other shit happened, but I get all distressed when people are mean to Ruth. She's my pinup girl for unappreciated, hard working, loyal, dedicated bluestockings.
My favourite bit in this episode was Adam's cover including a birthday card with a very low denomination banknote from a non inflation indexed Aunt. So very true, it cracks me up every time. I also loved the harrassment via door colour. Very dirty tricks, and it's nice to see the lads employing low tech but effective stunts as well as the old gizmos R us stuff, especially as the ABC hangs onto these episodes for so long that Adam's whiz bang USB stick fails to engender anything but sniggers and murmurs of government cutbacks. The door and water supply tricks thus don't date and remain effective pieces of skullduggery. Extra points also awarded for bonus Rupert Graves. A veritable buffet of Ruperts.
Saturday: watched a bit of Sea of Souls and Hex then it was work, work, work until 7.30 pm when it was time to turn off all the lights. Which we did. We turned off everything...except the television. We just couldn't miss Top Gear. I know, of all shows, but given that 57% of households turned off their lights but only 17% turned off the tv and Top Gear won it's slot, I suspect we weren't the only ones worshipping at the Church of Clarke. I suspect the lads would be bemused, especially as we closed the curtains, to try and hide our sins from the world.
As I suspected though, precious few folks, if any, did same in our street (those bastards across the road still hose their concrete driveway) so trying to peer at the much promised starrier skies was a complete washout.
Sunday: watered, washed, hung out, weeded, cleaned, ironed, threw out, recyled, exterminated. Threw out half my wardrobe, finally, finally got that corner of the kitchen ship shape again (I give it hours), decimated the local roach and spider populations, and emptied out the fridge again (aka the old cheese museum). The washing machine, which was so old it had to be filled and drained by hand and merely stirred the clothes for a short duration, no longer stirs, so I had to do two weeks worth by hand, in a bucket. Ouch. And no, I will not be buying a new machine. It's buckets from now on, alas, because...
Monday: My job is abolished. Kaput. It is no more, it has ceased to be, etc, etc. Okay, then. Don't know what I'm gonna do but the standing orders are to present myself and work my arse off as usual until told to pack up and piss off. What does this mean to you? No more magazines being scanned, for one thing. Me? I don't know, and find it hard to care. That flu I've been fighting off for weeks has got me now, so I'm not up to re-jigging the CV etc. Not today.
I did get to see the end of Silent Witness with a young Phil Glenister in it while I did the ironing. Actually had to stop ironing while he had his Big Moment because I couldn't multi-task, alas.
Tuesday: still fluey, shell shocked and miserable. Forgot to mention how much Timothy Dalton bemused in Sunday's Miss Marple (a series apparently finding gainful employment for the Fox family, I note). Last night was a repeat of Supernatural but one I'd missed, so that was cool. Is it just me or was it scarier last season, you know, more long leggity beasties going bump in the night, less boring Sam arc?
And now, I got more work to do, though really, really not giving a toss. Any one want a used web monkey? At least I don't have to cook dinner tonight, if I ever get to leave here before midnight.
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