Or, at the very least, rather past the idea of everything I try to do being that little bit more difficult than it has any right or decency to be. All I wanted to do was get in early and remove the very last of my life savings to the matter of paying for my mother's funeral via an online transaction. But no. Obviously somebody has mucked around with my pc in my abscence and now I can't get it to go at all. This also puts the kybosh on anything else I might have attempted in my brief quiet time: uploading, writing, compiling items of gossip. Sigh.
It's all a bit too much. Especially as I'm not well. Oh yes, I am depressed, but that is only a natural reaction and I intend to be depressed until well past my next birthday, especially as the loss of my life's savings mean I'll never cruise down the Nile now. Not ever.
But alas, it's worse than that. I fear my neglect these past few months has come home to roost. Either that or I really did poison myself with those coffee drinks on the weekend. Whatever the cause, something is all swollen and very hurty down my right side, swollen enough to be discernable, though I'm gratified to have at least lost enough weight for something to be discernable. Alas, despite being near top in the state for biology and studying it at uni that knowledge, never used, is gone and I've no idea what I'm poking, but I shall desist as it hurts lots. Yes, I could go to the doctor but considering how those clumsy, incompetent fiends murdered my mother, I think I'll take me chances.
But I'm not well, I'm not happy, and now I can't even turn my computer on, so I've resorted to old school pen and ink. But I'm tired. I would very much like a life that didn't involve pushing rocks uphill. And it's a pity that it looks like a lovely day for the garden, when Saturday was so, well, I was calling it Scottish weather and a neighbour referred to it as Irish weather, but you get the idea. Bleak is the word, I would think. And possibily bitter.
Himself was miserable, but we ended up at the nearest fete, one bus ride later, and I've got to say, the book stalls were excellent. I even managed to pick up the complete works of Casanova. At a catholic school fete. Well, he loved nuns, quoth Himself.
We had a excellent lamb biryani for lunch, then headed home, noticing that nobody picks up their poo in the posh picket fence suburbs. That because they all go to the shops in their 4wds, exponds Himself, or TARDIS, he adds, catching sight of an old phone box sitting in a front yard for no good reason.
Said shops included the Asian marts where we picked up the accidental poisoning waiting to happen. Damn, because it was a really nice caramel macchiato, too, but perhaps not in a can, eh?
Oh yes, I also bought a few patterned plates etc because I can't bear to use Mum's for fear of breaking them. The rellies finally came over and noted the wilted flowers and mess of the kitchen. Oh well. At least I forced some stale biscuits on them, and they left a quiche.
Oh year, had to have the real estate agents around on Sat. "It's a lifestyle, I suppose" they sniffed at my shoddy room. Arrrgh.
Sulked all afternoon with the telly. That'll show 'em. Oh yeah, we finally came to a bad Protectors episode. Up until then we'd been so very annoyed with everyone who had told us it was not worth seeing because it's been wonderful. Well, it was one of the last episodes in S1, and yes, I suppose the second and last eason must be a dud, but up until that shark jumping moment it's been brilliant and I've loved every minute of it. And Tony is so very pretty - even in his most flamboyant outfits.
Sunday was washing, intensive gardening (including wrestling with a dead lavender and a potbound palm) and trying to scan my way through a large pile while trying not to shriek in pain (it was so very hurty). I should have stopped, but I'm stubborn and I need to get through them.
I also fed the kookaburras, the angry magpies, the currawongs, cockatos, crows and lorikeets. Ack. Also had a tussle with a giant spider while trying to block up the hole dug by the neighbours' dog (I'd blame the DestructoCats but I don't think they BYO tennis ball). Actually got upset when the old magpie showed up on Monday and called for Mum through the door. Really upset. Oh well.
Monday morning I spent flat on my back, then attempted my taxes but messed it up as always, ironed, painfully, and then, well, I understand it's still boorish to admit to watching anything like Mythbusters or scifi so I can't tell you what I watched, not even the Top Gear polar special which was so kindly sent by a friend.
I suppose I can tell you I've been watching Unit One (Rejseholdet). They've started repeating it again on SBS only they had netball or something last week and I was so put out I went off and bought boxes 1 & 2, and I'm loving it. I'm amused at just how English it all looks, especially all the faces - so very English. And then there's the slash buddies: Fischer and La Cour sitting in a tree...etc. So very, very. And of course, it's got Mads in it, hasn't it. Not the first place I ever saw him, that was some Danish film I caught having won free tickets to the SFF years ago, and then I caught him on Unit One like a week later, flicking chanels. Been hooked ever since.
It's not the world's most original cop show, but it's perfectly serviceable, does what it says on the tin, etc. In fact it could be Any Old Cop Show, except for the fact that they're all jabbering away in Danish. And it does have Mads.
Oh yeah, I also picked up a dog eared copy of Northanger Abbey at the fete. Bliss! How lovely to revisit an old, old favourite. Oh my, yes, as in ripoff merchant much, cough, I mean, I can see how my early work was framed as obvious homages to the great Jane. Oh my, yes. Loving it, though. Just the thing. I much prefer snarky Nothanger to prim and pissy Mansfied, which is just sooo proper I can never really tell if Jane is taking the piss or not.
And finally, I was a tad annoyed at a recent article about the Bionic Woman in the SMH where TPTB said he'd never watched the old show which was crap anyway but his show was going to be all about wimmins issues which he understoof so well. Yeah, so well he happily dumps on the show which may well be laughable and risible now but to very wee girlies growing up in the 70s it was as girl power as it got (ditto Charlies Angels, Wonder Woman, Sarah Jane and Leela on Doctor Who and even Little House on the Prairie, which, for all it's hokiness, but just about the only show to feature girl issues on tv way back then). Don't diss the Jaime, man.
I must confess, I loved the show as a kid, and it was I, in all my foolishness, who posted on the Buffy boards that the one thing Buffy really needed was Fembots, a silly thought Joss seemed to take to rather too much, but never mind. Jaime rocked, no matter what creepy assignment old Oscar had her dressing up (or down) for.
Oh, Doctor Who? Dobby the house elf? Tinkerbell? Purlease.
Dr Who goes up Pompeii
Under the spotlight
You Are What You Watch
Extra! Extra! Dancing Russian spills beans on Indy secrets
Duran Duran's Simon Le Bon flirts with the girls on film
'Streets' leads off releases of TV series
"The Streets of San Francisco" (1972)
We can rebuild her ...
Miles Kington: The deadly mystery of the shifting sands
Sci Fi October 2007 US
YM August 2002 US
Starburst #286 May 2002 UK
Pavement December 2002 NZ
HQ #96 March-April 2003 AU
Empire #36 March 2004 AU
Entertainment Weekly #953 September 2007 US
Sci Fi October 2007 US
Starburst #352 Summer 2007 UK