"Having said that," he says, "if you can last five minutes at the beginning where I die, I'm f***ing great in it."
It also, he adds, paved the way for his role in the next series of Doctor Who. "I didn't realise it at the time, but it was a dry run. It was an unturndownable part. I play a character called Mr Saxon but I can't say any more than that, apparently." - The Telegragh.
So, it's going to be hot buttered scenery again, is it? Betwixt Simmo and Tenner, to borrow from the Peanut Gallery (describing another mighty act-off between uber-luvvies), I suspect they'll not so much strike the set as send the leads home with doggie bags. Heh.
Besides, I've already got the Benny Hill playing ice cream truck from their mighty confrontation stuck in my head from a previous interview with Mr Simm, who seems far more willing these days to reveal (or perhaps unleash) his razor sharp wit, and the world is a better place for it, I feel. At least, lately, he's been funny in print, even when being churlish, as opposed to the somewhat sullen epistles of yesteryear.
He might not appreciate being the star of a cult hit tv show (which is naturally why he chose the low key vehicle of Doctor Who as his next tv project), but it certainly seems to have lightened the bastard up. And not before time, I say. It can't hurt, any way.
Meanwhile, it was all things Who last night as #9 popped up in Heroes and #10 was, naturally, being all gorgeousness and swagger in Blackpool. Oh, Mr Tennant, how I love thee, let me count the ways. Well, I'll spare you that, but I was somewhat cheered by his presence on my telly last night.
Also, on the ABC, appeared the visage of one Sam Tyler. Yep, they're playing it in May. While I'm out of the country. Oh nos! Sure, I've got it on dvd, but who, I ask you, is going to run around madly collecting local press???? Fuck and bugger.
It's not fair, you know. This whole holiday thing, if it wasn't all paid for, I'd chuck it. I may yet have to as those above are not the least bit happy about my absence, even though they profess that I'm surplus to requirements( despite twelve hour days all this week, and 13 yesterday - all unpaid), and I already halved my allotted time, which I am boiling about because I may never get OS again. All I wanted to do was chill in quality galleries. Was that too much to ask?
You know, my best friend moved to the other side of the country and I just didn't wanted to be stuck in my room, alone and brooding, for the tenth anniversary of the very horrible thing. I thought booking a holiday was the healthy and pro-active way to manage my grief. But that was then. Now I have no employer, no job, no co-worker and the family are all ill and falling apart and I keep being told not go and I'm doing twice the workload and I've no time or spare thoughts to get organised and it's just all horrible and too hard. And, to be honest, I damn nearly frantically worked right through the horribleness, if it hadn't popped into my head on the bus last night. How ironic. Or, just, well, bitter and unfun.
And now I'm going to miss Life on Mars. Sink the slipper, whydoncha?
Grumble, mutter, gripe.
PM update: Fek. Just discovered two roolly, roolly cute guys in the office, on my fourth last day. Cute Boy #1 has just started, the poor bugger, and let me tell you, if Jonas is a 7, this chap is an 11. Woof! Woof! Ahem, sorry. Too much coffee, yes, that must be it.
But at least it saves you from the woe is me mantra, though we're all a bit, well, crazed right now. And coffee, cake cand eye candy at least stops me sulking over missing Lloyd Cole, who is playing across the road tonight, cause I gotta lug stuff home from my desk (yes, once again I was well on the way to moving my bedroom here, since I spend 10-12 hours here daily anyway it made some sort of sense, I just needed my stuff).
Meanwhile, I'm tasked with creating an induction site for an organisation that was abolished two weeks ago. When I say my elders and betters are, a little, well, different, I do mean it.
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