mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

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every cloud

Nothing cheers me up more than waking up to shots of Paris Hilton going off to gaol. Would that she were in for some Oz/Prisoner treats. Alas, no, but it's enough to see that vapid sow finally taken down a peg or two. I love the smell of schadenfreude in the morning.

Also cheered up re-telling the tale of when I met Mr Saxon. Okay, I've got a few more goes at that before I have to shut up. Definite highlight though. Right up there with pizza in Venice and hot tea as the train rolled through Austria, with me half expecting Julie Andrews to bound onto every flower studded field we rolled past - grin.

I gotta tell you about the train sometime, it really was quite fun. Gorgeous old carriage, reminded me of the ancient carriages that used to do the Richmond run before it was electrified (yes, I'm old, 'kay?). And I do love a tea service - we just don't get that here. Being served tea in my seat - such a treat.

Must have been a month ago, only now there are no cakes and it's DIY cups of tea. Sigh. No rolling countryside, no maypoles, no fields or quaint houses or industrial suburbs that all look like Granville.

I'm having a cramp free time for the first time in my life. Too weird. Obviously I need to be frog marched around more foreign cities.

But it's so weird. I didn't want to say anything but it's been three days now and nary a twinge (even if it decides to pipe me out with a big finish, it'll still be three freaky too quiet days). Which is cool, I suppose, and I've always wondered what it was like to be a normal girl, but it doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel proper. It's like eating a really hot curry and not being able to taste it.

I dunno, I guess I've just become so used to the bastards, the ritual of lying out the hot water bottle, the bucket, the bottle of water, the pills, the towels, the bar of chocolate, the dvds and the the super fluffy bed socks. It's just so...anti-climatic.

So no excuse for wallowing, though I did nibble at the choclate last night. Needed to, watching last night's Supernatural. Here was the dreaded Wormhole Xtreme episode. Ye gods, it was bad. Only the Brothers Winchester kept me from hitting the off button, and even then...well. It was cringeworthy in the extreme, and lame in-jokes abounded (oh yeah, Jared, I didn't see you twitch when they mentioned Gilmore Girls so lets have that six more times so even the slowest SPN fan gets it Haw! Haw! Haw!). Spare me. You know it's really dire when at the halfway mark I'm beggin' and pleadin' for a Sammy Arc story. I'm just gona shake my head and pretend it never happened.

Oh, and caught up with (despite or in spite of wobbly connection) with this week's worth of flist. Missed all the lj kerfuffle. Bit sulky about that, not just because of the censorship issues but I've only just got my flist just right, so it's a real treat to read, not a chore/bore, and I'd hate to lose folks (because you've really been good mates to me). I've just found it a really convenient way to hop over to cool stuff and news and just laugh at your witty posts. Will miss that if fandom moves on. Because I've loved lj so much more than the old yahoo groups, mainly because I can pick and choose what I want to read. Le sigh. Spoilt, I've been, obviously.

The other thing that bemused this morning, aside from the spectacular dark and throbbing clouds that were staining the sky like ink behind the harbour bridge, blocking out the yellow and violet pre-dawn sky, was the sign on the old pub that announced Mark Seymour and later that week, the Choirboys. What decade am I in, again?

Mind you, I loved the Hunners. I remember the first time I ever saw Talking To a Stranger on SBS' Rock Around The World (oh yeah, I am that old) and it blew my mind. What a clip.
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Tags: dean winchester, sam winchester, supernatural

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