Tuesday: Yesterday, I discovered the whole friggin' bookcase had gone, which was impressive, but this morning they stole my yoghurt and that was a trespass too far. I just burst into tears. There I was, 6.30 am, hungry (and I dare say, hypoglycaemic), and no yoggie. It was just too mean. I hates them.
Sorry, but it was the last straw in a long line of calamity, injustice and indignity. Sigh. And I was so looking forward to that yoggie on my long long (and twisty turny which is why I didn't have it prior to) bus trip. Peach and mango...yummy. Or would have been. Utter utter bastards.
Anyway, watched Burn Notice last night. Oh, it is fun. It's just fun. It's full of snappy dialogue and cllever stunts - exactly what I want from a weeknight tv show. Also, the whole 'who burned me' arc isn't the boat anchor that other arc plots are in other series. It bubbles along nicely and weaves in and out of the (usually inane) A plot, rather than halting the proceedings or apearig to be another show entirely.
Like on Unit One which we watched last night (Thurs' episode, IQ'd). Plot B, an ongoing arc leading into the next episode (I hope), shoehorned its way into the episode so rudely and unexpectantly that we'd thought SBS had put the wrong reel on (being old enough to remember such things) as we seemed to return from the ad break to a completely different episode. Seamless it was not.
That said, I was thoroughly enjoying the episode, even though the arson plot was wound up far too quickly to allow time for Arc Dump From Another Episode, and I do quibble over dragging in rellies to identify crispy critters who were, according to the subtitles, too far gone for fingerprint or dental records. Shouldn't they have turned to DNA then? I quibble, but it's only a cop show and I'm not sure about the subtitles as poor old SBS has, by the evidence of my own eyes (and I understand there's a decided lack of funding, hence the ads), gone from the world's best subtitles to google-esque (bringing lots of comments from Peanut Gallery re the recent public screening of a dvd for the deaf that had dodgy Chinglish translations, much to the confusion of patrons).
Never mind, there was lots of Fischer being very handsome in that world weary way of his, and the bit where he and IP filled the truck with empty beer bottles (being the lonely and embittered cops they are) was kinda cute (yes, Fischer and La Cour seem on the outs at the moment). And lots of us amusing ourselves with characters who seem to have gone all Mrs Columbo on us (ie mentioned but never seen) and wondering if the characters really exist (or is Ingrid just having a long overdue breakdown with this illusiory lover of hers).
We also admired the scenery, Unit One doing for Denmark what UK costume romps do for the British Tourism Board, as the murders often occur in pretty parks and scenic coastal locations. I'd tell you where but I don't have an Ikea catalogue handy (cf doormats). :)
Speaking of BBC costume romps (and skipping over the absolutely awful Meadowlands which I watched the other night), I did enjoy Sense and Sensibility, which I watched last Friday (flex day + a full day's housework = time out with a cuppa and some JA on the box (in fact I'm surprised my magpies can't do a half decent impersonation of me growling "f-off, I'm watching Jane", so often do I indulge on my rare days off these days).
Anyhoo, S&S. Well, it was a bit annoying/distracting/disappointing that so much of it seemed like a low budget re-hash of the Ang Lee film, especially with the sets and casting, in ways the P&P film just wasn't a carbon copy of the beloved series. I did like Willoughby though. He was new and improved, with extra cadishness, and David Morrissey (alas, starting to look his years now) brought some oomph to Colonel Brandon, though most of the time he just seemed to stand about looking bewildered, but smartly dressed bewildered, at least. Eleanor proved still somewhat inarticulate re unexpected marriage proposals, but Marianne, Edward etc seemed to be such clones of the film it actually became annoying. Lovely scenery though. Much crashing of waves onto bleak coastlines (and don't the Brits know about that). Also, yet another appearance of viral Mark Gatiss, yay.
re housework, I have completely rooted my poor ankle again, as it did not enjoy the games of soapy twister I was playing while trying to scrub out the shower stall. I hate that bathroom. It's poorly designed and gets in a state even when I'm not there. More so, in fact. One does not need rooms that devolve all by themselves, and with such gusto. And why can't I suffer an illness that involves a bed, the tv remote, fluffed pillows and being waited on hand and foot instead of one that invloves having to scrub the house from top to bottom (my ex-mother must be having fits of laughter). Anyway, at least it was an excuse to indulge in the manchester sales as everything has to be washed and washed again (and we, poor impoverished creatures, didn't have the reserves in the linen closet we should have had). I like my new sheets and towels, even if they are beige: they're fluffy and new.
Other than that I've been working through the docos on the IQ while working, so lots of Time Team (I had to iron so many shirts on Monday the lounge room looked like a Chinese laundry) and Tudors. I've seen it before so I'm no longer squinting at the plot (what I was taught about the Tudors at school I could fit on the back of a bus ticket but I kept thinking 'that doesn't sound right' and running off to books or net, so I suppose it's educational, in a perverse kinda way) and we're now just revelling in the far richer fields of bad acting, and Philip's fake chin which, we felt, should have had its own credit, and why bother when JRM so obviously is the spitting image of a fat and fifty year old Harry as he should be when a-wooing. More fun that it should be, The Tudors. Once you've resigned yourself to the fact that it's nothing but another overdone American soap in drag, it's fine, but it's a rude awakening if one first hoped to be viewing a splendid historical costume drama.
Then there was Life on Mars, so stale now the Tony Blair jokes fell flat, but fun nevertheless (although I still grit my teeth at Sam inventing surveillance when they had chaps in vans in 60s episodes of Special Branch). Plot aside, where on earth did they find that house? Oh my, it took me back to the big 70s houses some of my rich school friends/parental aquaintances used to reside in, and the Santana joke still cracks me up (Sam's room silencing moan of "oh god"). Hee, in fact a person I dislike is banging on about Santana right now, which says just about everything, really.
Friday: The server is down again so I have time to type. Phew! Where to start.
How about with last Wed's Lewis, which I fear is the last for a bit as EvilChannelSeven has decided to tease me with season two then withold the remainder. Grrr.
Before I should start, I should mention I once had an aquaintance (I thought she was a friend but that's a whole 'nother post) who was big on the Morse slash, which to my mind was extremely unlikely and distasteful, more from the point of view of poor Lewis already being Morse's butt monkey in everything but name (or deed), than the idea of two less than aesthetic chaps, well, I still don't want to go there. It just wasn't my cup of tea. So I'm on record as stating that Lewis was one of the least slashworthy British cops in the history of British television.
So, turning to last Wed's episode: oh my. I'm not talking the whole omg we're so gay plot (especially the guy who was trying to out-camp Nicky Grace, which should not ever be attempted by amateurs, and apparently the director thought one of the characters wasn't convincing enough as a screaming queen so he gave him an Oscar Wilde screensaver. Okay, I get it, they're gay, can I take off my pink hard hat now?).
I'm not even talking about all the is he or isn't he stuff about Hathaway, with the plot dropping heavy stones down on the "is" side and poor Laurence struggling fiercely against the tide to try and retain a little dignity and mystery. And, weirdly, I don't even care one way or the other because I like blank canvas Hathaway, mainly because Laurence is a decent enough actor to give Hathaway shades and hues and small conceits and secrets that intrigue and titilate, rather than merely being blank. More secretive curtain than blank canvas, and I can see why the writers felt the character must having something to hide and what it was. For my money, it could have been an obessive love of ornamental teapots that Hathaway was so conscientiously concealing.
So, no, it wasn't the whole tortured gay thing that made the episode oh so slashy. It was at the end, with some mighty fine moments of old school heroics that made me sit up and take notice. Yep, Lewis recsuing Hathaway from the burning building. It wasn't glamourous, with poor Lewis stumbling about, but actions speak louder than words, and as it carrying our boy through the flames wasn't enough, there was also the holding him back and shielding him from the handful of rock candy thrown by a grip off stage (some old school cheap FX going on too, to my delight) as the fire got all splodey and consuming - biblical much? (I could go on about gay characters on tv always having to die horribly, having just revisted dead Tara last week on Buffy repeats, but I'll let others deal with that). In keeping with the old skoolness of the eppy (more 80s than Ashes to Ashes, by far), we finished off with a sweet yet uncomfortable and deeply concerned bedside visit (no grapes or grog for props, leaving poor Lewis looking even more ucomfortable, yet all concerned - aw) and then the short but sweet epilogue where Hathaway mocks Lewis for views (which was a tad unfair because Lewis had been extraordinarily community friendly for someone who would have started his career when it was still illegal) and Lewis comedy scowls, and the boys walk off into the sunset, or rather another quadrangle, as Lewis seems to be only filmed in those few blocks of Oxford deemed filmworthy.
Oh, I forgot the bit where Lewis became outraged that Hathaway had lied to him. He could forgive anything but that. This was their serious screaming argument before the fire and the rescue. I ask you, could it be any more old skool slash than that? Nobody messes with Lewis' little protoge, not without actual hell to pay.
So it doesn't really matter whether Hathaway is or isn't. Nor does it matter if I still find Lewis unlikely. Sex and sexuality doesn't really come into it. What is unfolding is a lovely old fashioned romance between two lonely guys, and it's rather sweet and often mis-steppy, as all the great romamces are, and I personally find it a damn side more convincing than the recent Sense and Sensibility.
Also, Lewis had a slash yenta at the alotment. I rest my case.
I'm also wondering if and how a Yorkie bar and a copy of Loaded magazine came to be the very definition of heterosexual pride in the UK. I had no idea Yorkie bars had a gender, as it were. I wonder what a copy of Top Gear magazine and Cadbury Creme eggs says about a person. On the cusp?
Last night I was treated to one of the few remaining episodes of that other great recent cop partnership: Life on Mars. Though sadly it was the one where Sam is tripping which starts great but after the first few scenes there's no Sam/Gene interaction as Sam watches the action unfold via flashbacks and tv, which is clever, but diconnecting (and a foreshadowing of a Sam-free future, weep). However it's hard not to love a shore that starts with the mighty Camberwick Green sequence. I've never even seen the kiddie show to which it referred, so I know 90% of the joke was lost on me, but it was still cute and surreal and funny.
It was also fun to see Mr Simm reprise yet another druggy performance (his stock in trade?), and the blue PJs made me think of Elling. I couldn't help it - straight to the Elling place (which was also a great romance, in its way). Btw, the Yellow House is playing on ABC2.
Btw, it occurs to be that if RTD is going to slag off about the lack of affirmative action hires on Primeval, why doesn't he stick his oar in about the evil gay murdering pyscho tranny trope that's still prevalent on telly, ditto the tortured and/or doomed gay characters. I mean, it's not like RTD to refrain from blessing us with his opinions, the old windbag. And I'm so over his God issues, btw. Finally saw the Xmas special, hackneyed Posidon ripoff that it was, right down to the Shelley Winters character, and it had me covering my eyes and hiding behind the sofa, but not in a good Pertwee era Action by Havoc kinda way.
Man, I miss Action By Havoc. I managed to pick up the sea devils box set (at bargain prices because the store had mislabelled it and were extraordinarily ungracious about selling it to me at the price thus labelled, in fact one could say extraordinarily intimidating what with the guard making me empty my bag on the floor in public as I tried to leave, which has taken the bloom off the rose considerably, but it was an accidental $100 discount and well worth fighting for considering the state of my finances).
Anyway, we watched the Sea Devils last Sat in a rare break between jobs (and I'd had quite enough of overly large spiders by that point). What fun. Action!Pertwee hikeba-ing his way through the masses, Jo Grant (what is it with the Doc and blondes?) and, of course, the Master. It was fun to watch them sparring, and odd to realise Tennant and Simm would be playing these guys. The sea devils were also fun as they lumbered out from the surf in thheir string vests (the spray painting of said vests went awry and one poor devil looked like he'd been tagged - hee). Lots of silliness and Royal Navy footage and, of course, Action By Havoc. Ah, classic Who. Happiness.
Never mind, UKTV screened the Captain Jack Harkness episode of Torchwood, one of the best, and there we did have romance and lip locking, and, oh, doomed romance again? Kiss the boys and make them die. Is Capt Jack (mk II?) the only character who can kiss boys and live, and only because Rose made him immortal (or rather with an extended use-by date, since the F of B popped his cloggs in that awful traffic jam episode). But it is a surprisingly romantic story, especially for Torchwood. Owen is an evil little shit, though. You'll never make me like him, no matter how much you try to re-write him. The Peanut Gallery would also like to interject that if the actual CJH died in such heroic circumstances he'd be a VC or a lesser medal at the very least, and thus of some repute and therefore not the sort of non entity to make assuming an identity easy. But, reapeating to ourselves that it's just a show, etc.
Oh, great galloping herds of...I've got to amuse myself until at least 1pm before I can start tackling my day's work (and this desk is far too exposed for typing anything...fun and too firewalled for browsing) so... did I tell you about my own recent obessions? I've developed a thing for medieval flor tiles, because they're old and quaunt and arcane as far as design devices go, and more than that, I've discovered they used to make decorative biscuit tins. I saw some recently and I was just entranced, like full of childish wonder and delight.
I've seen many a great treasure under glass, from golden crown to silver salt spoons, but nothing has ever made me squee as much as decorative biscuit tins. I just love them. They're so brightly coloured and inventive and whimsical. They push the humble purpose of packaging biscuits way past the limits. They're silly and pretty and hark back to a far less cynical age. In short, they are lovely. Humble, but lovely.
I'm not about to start collecting them (and I've never seen any outside of museums/collections anyway), but I like to watch, let's say.
Did I mention Supernatural? It was our last episode (for a while? forever?) and it was the showdown in the cop shop episode, where the FBI dude is redeemed, given a bit of back story, and then iced. Nice. And so much the cliche. The moment a minot character is suddenly called upon to give a bit of personal exposition - boom (no wonder Laurence was so reticent to elaborate re Hathaway, he'd probably read about the fire in the last act and knew Lewis would be breaking in a new copper if poor Hathaway outed himself). But I digress. But really, it wasn't an episode that offered anything new. We had the old seige in the country sheriff office (enought with the Dawn of The Dead ripoofs now - I'd say that cliche was dead and buried, but it's a zombie cliche and they never stay put), the good guys locked up, Sam and Dean bitching, the survivors banding together and, oh yes, the big bad is a creepy little girl (yawn). Okay, everyone dying in the end was kinda shocking, but instead of having the boys realise they'd fucked up badly, they had to have pointless demon chick harangue them (cf scold's bridle, boys, and I don't care if it was just IWD).
Never mind, boys are pretty and funny. Sam was channeling A-Bit-Evil!Sam, though. Which meant much scowling and furrowing of that mighty brow. I wish Slightly!Evil!Sam would meet Angst!Dean (and slap him sensible) but they seem to alternate episodes, like some sort of teen mag weather vane. Oh well. At least there was Bondage!Winchesters, if you're into that sort of thing.
Royal rewrite all wrong as mourners lose heads
Scandalised Danes say they won't be Swedish Ikea's doormats
The Huntley & Palmers Collection
Indiana Jones exclusive trailer
Neanderthal treasure trove 'at bottom of sea'
Archaeologists discover the final resting place of outlaw Ned Kelly
Portrait of Ledger the real winner
First Look! Supernatural's Graphic New Stories
New Amsterdam Videos
British humour 'dictated by genetics'
Women shouldn't beat themselves up for hating to say no, therapist says
It's all in the wrapper
English poetry masters: Geoffrey Chaucer
Bridgend Suicides Linked To Torchwood
Bad press to blame for snake, spider phobias: study
In rural England, the mail's bad news
Beware the tides of March as violent storms lead to ninety flood warningsBeware the tides of March as violent storms lead to ninety flood warnings
Guerrillas in the mists of time: Spain remembers its war to end all wars
For 2 years, she sat on toilet seat
Australia to get own Top Gear magazine
Adelaide smashes heatwave record
Python coughs up pet dog
Mel Gibson slayed for Scottish accent
Boleyn for Eric
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Heath Ledger: We only had a glimpse of what might have been...
Mars and Venus Dissect the Spitzer Scandal on the TV Talk Shows
BBC genealogy show bought by NBC
Military awards of World War II
Advertising and pricing
Short men: 'beware the green-eyed monster'
Astronauts to Work on Giant Robot [finally, the sort of headlines I was promised in the 21stC]