Thurs: This morning a large and heavy set gentleman stamped down on my foot on the bus. And it hurt. And, sadly, I suspect the day will go downhill from there, if yesterday was any indication, which started with Mr I Know More About The Interwebs That You Ever Will, Missy inisting that the code he'd uploaded was quite correct and I was in error, for surely didn't I know that links are coded thusly on all pages: a href, b href, c href and so on and so forth.
This is why I abhor content management systems, even primitive form based ones, because it allows
Also, didn't get all that reclaiming the back garden from the wilderness project done due to inclement weather. Well, I did some weeding out the front but even gave that up under a constant assault of drizzle, enormous, menacing spiders of unsettling hues and the odd injury requiring bandaids.
Did intend to do some scanning, but the appointed hours turned sticky and stormy, and so it went. Even my limited net time was conducted with thunder grumbling over the hills. Basically, I was grumpy and tired. So I caught up on some of the stuff waiting to be watched.
Shoot 'em Up was an oddly appropriate choice for Sunday, and, though mindlessly violent and cheerfully devoid of all plot, it was pleasingly cathartic after the month I've had. I rather suspect it was Clive's two fingers up to the Bond franchise. Surely not, but one is left with that impression (and one breathes a sigh of relief because if so, the evidence would seem to prove Clive would have been more Roger than Sean, not that I don't adore Roger, but he'll always be Simon Templar to me).
Also watched the Marc Warren version of Messiah, which I loved. Got to see it all the way through this time, even with the early am interruptions. The god bothering was a bit squiffy but it was mainly thematic in a Wire in The Blood kind of way, and everyone was effed up in a typical Brit cop show way and it was fun to see Marc in a squirmy angsty role for a change from the conga line of cheeky chappies of late (at least in my viewing experience, if he's doing noir stuff in the UK, it's not screening here). So I liked. Watch if you like Wire in The Blood and Touching Evil.
Ashes to Ashes (not screening here and I've been very circumspect re the two eps I did get my mits on, ie only upon request lest I blow it for those enjoying the current screening of LOM on the ABC. However the Peanut Gallery had been mightly spoiled by picking up and flicking through an SFX I'd left on the couch (oops, though the fault lies with SFX for not realising that some audiences had not yet seen season two) so, with a warm up of some 80s vids as featured in Ashes, we watched.
I think it improves second time around as I caught things I'd missed before, but I agree with other reviews that it is too knowing, Keely is a touch too shrill, the soundtrack, which I love, seems more obvious and less integrated and it seems much more about poking fun at the 80s (Lookit! A Walkman!) than the warm affection Life on Mars held for the 70s. Not that the 80s doesn't deserve mocking, but it's more sitcom than period drama, if you know what I mean. That said, I did get a few more jokes having re-watched a few '81 episodes of the Profs (Bodie! Doyle!), re-aquainting myself with the way cop shows looked in 1981, and the mother/daught love/hate thing is spot on, but still...it just seems to lack a certain something.
Never mind, I'm enjoying LOM S2 all the more, knowing this is the last dance, as it were.
Actually, that was about it. I didn't even watch much of the UKTV whodunnit fest, which was a shame as it was the first Easter in absolute years that I wasn't working and had my wotsits. In fact I don't think I watched any of whole, just bits and pieces as I wandered in and out or sat down for the odd cuppa.
Actually had to pay to get into the show. I was going to go, then decided, with the siren lure of lights and sounds just across the river, that I wanted to, even though I wouldn't be going with OAP this year (sigh). It was okay, but I made a critical error in not picking up a Kenya tea trolley becuse my gosh, we needed it, having gone mad in the food hall (somebody bought an entire box of curry powders) and then instead of rain it came out blistering hot so halfway round we were hot, tired and knackered so I didn't enjoy the animals as much as I usually do, and it was so crowded (or perhaps I used to just go early/late when I was working) and my ankle gave out so I didn't even bother looking for my annual treats like the goats milk soap, sigh. But they did have the Arnotts chip bag back, and, being all nostalgic, I bought one, and had cheezel fingers all afternoon. Hee.
I know, how old am I again? What can I say, there was no one to say no to cheezels this time round.
Friday: Have just been emailed this fabby article about the "the dead, white, pachyderm school of thinking", in other worls, old skool museuems full of dioramas and cases of stuff under glass. I've been lucky enough to visit the Natural History museum in New York and it's everything I'd dreamt it would be - I love the little staged vignettes, just love them. I also adore local museuems which are usually a haphazzard jumble sale under glass, and all the more glorious because of it. Weirdly, towns that begin with a W seem to excell at it, with my favourites being in Wick, Whitby and Wells (with Reading coming in a close forth, the gorgeous Roman and biscuit tin sections only losing because the museum also has a creche factor of 8, that's where it's more playpen than place of learning, and I loathe those). A close cousin to the local museum is the Gentleman's collection, and here we have such sterling examples as the Macleay, the King's Library and the Soane. Lovely, lovely stuff.
But yes, I love an old fashioned museum with rows of buterflies and stuffed animals and odd collections of ephemera like 18thC pipe stoppers. I just love them to bits. And until you've seen the Herring Queen regalia under glass, you just haven't seen everything.
Watched Life on Mars last night. Pentultimate episode (sob). Loved it. Just loved it. There comes, it seems, in every mismatched cop partner's life a time where breakfast will be shared. Poor Sam looked so pleased and delighted (a clue: no). I loved this the first time, I enjoyed it even more knowing more of John's comedy tics now, the way he just pauses, then carries on. Dear Sam, bemused and beleagured stranger in a strange land. I also loved how Gene managed to bring the menance to Tufty - no small ask, to be that intimdating in a squirrel suit. But most of all I loved how it was Sam and Gene against the world, and the desperate way Sam clings on to his faith in Gene. It's pure fun, in classic cop buddy style, and it's also rather sweet, that despite all the bitching and gurning that Sam and Gene need each other, need the support, belief and validation of the other. And, I suppose, it's ultimately tragic that Sam doesn't believe in anyone or anything like he believes in Gene. I mean, when Morgan made the crack about going home at the end, Sam looked stricken, not elated. Oh well, the trip was fun while it lasted, and Sam and Gene were, indeed, the stuff of legend.
Meanwhile, the Ashes soundtrack is still playing in my head like a school disco. Weird how this year is revisting 1981 (a watermark year for me) with a vengeance. There's Ashes, there's a new Raiders film, and, well, no guesses as to where I'm off to tonight - grin.
PM update: oh nos! Cramps! And worse! Looks like tonight is set to be yet another trial. Sigh.
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