So, yes, straight onto the extras, then. Well, the first one, anyways, while I was waiting for Spicks and Specks (only did a nine hour day yesterday and that's a whole world of trouble I won't bore you with). Ah, sweaty, pasty Brits in summer gear. There should have been a warning. I don't need warnings for sex or swearing or spookiness, but I do need a warning for that. Or at least a stiff G&T to hand. Anyhoo, Richard was looking all dark and melty (the poor boy, I've read his constant yet very amusing whinges re head to toe leather in 40C), Jonas was every inch the Britpacker abroad (run! hide your babies and your beadwork!)* and it seems Lucy and I share a disturbing taste in hats as she was clutching the very same hat I'd bought in haste when the sun was beating down at our day at the show (it was dark and promising rain when we set out, I swear). Hats sourced from the same factory in China, no doubt.
But when talking Robin Hood cast and hats, one can't go past Sam's fetching little number, cue the haunting Torgo theme:
note: pics sourced from here, which happily saved me having to cap 'em myself.
Oh dear. Sam, you're a Troughton, stop looking like Worzel Gummidge, that's totally the wrong Doctor (well, it looks like my gardening hat, which can never be a good thing).
Cute, though, is wee Sammy.
Anyway, Sam's hat kind of reminds me of one that popped up in a work publication piccie that still has me giggling (cue Torgo theme yet again). So it's been a week of headwear ala Torgo. Bit of a theme, you might say.
Funnily enough I was inspired to crack open a notebook for some very rough and unuseable stuff (but I'm very, very rusty and I was very, very tired) and the only notebook I could find to hand was a mouldering one that had been used on and off as a travel journal. I flick it open and there's me in a "Scottish" pub in Budapest, chortling over the menu and describing the clientele. Heh, enough about that, I think. Anyway, I tried writing last night. It didn't work but I'll keep pluging away. The brain is still working, I just need to reconnect with the act of writing it down.
And re the popularity of Robin Hood outside the UK, well, I was astonished to hear from folks north of Hadrian's Wall that they were refusing to watch Hood on principle because it was an English story. Yikes, I hadn't realised even grannies had gone all SNP bolshie, but there it is. It's something for the BBC to chew on, at any rate.
Well, at least the skirt today is getting raves. I had to go forth round the office so I whipped out one of my precious few designer skirts, in this case, as I was feeling drab, the peach vaguely 50s screenprint wrap around skirt that I bought in the UK a while back - well, obviously bought in the UK as it actually wraps around (it's no fun being a large Scottish woman in a town that is neither large nor Scottish). It's quite lovely and has been much admired and actually fondled. I'm pleased. It's my London threatre skirt (or one of 'em, I have a darker one, for emergencies) so it has happy memories and it works a treat: I just folded it up into the bottom of my backpack, run around all day in jeans and my black skivvy, then come chucking out time at the museums I just whip on the skirt et viola, instant suave. Well, if Audrey Hepburn looked like Andy Dalziel - I do realise we're back in hippos in tutus territory here, but I like it and it makes me feel happy to wear it, and it passes muster, so it works.
Sigh. I do realise that being of stout farming stock and able to bench press a bullock was once a valued evolutionary trait, but I do wish I was a fragile, twig like thing instead. Sigh.
It's not just the fashion magazines, either. You rarely see anyone with a deformity these days, you know, real gargoyle stuff, but when I was a kid a trip to the shops was always Fellini-esque with people with uneven legs, flippers for hands and huge, dripping goitres. None of that now. Everyone but me looks photo ready. No wonder I feel like a bull in a china shop. Sigh.
Sam & Harry
Aryan ideals, not ancient Greece, were the inspiration behind flame tradition
Questions raised over mysterious 'men in blue'
Odd Young Things: Britain's latest style tribe
Seahorses found in cleaner Thames
Excitement brews over tea cosy exhibition
Appian Way blighted by voracious property developers
Shameless rip-off: similarities between kidnapping and TV drama
Venezuela swaps The Simpsons for Baywatch
Charity shop in a spin over record music donation
Looks aren't everything? Don't kid yourself
I'm calling for a pubsidy to get us all down the local
The Rudd stuff
1-in-5 managers hate their employees
Parrot teaches mates to swear
Citizens and Kings: Portraits in the Age of Revolution 1760-1830
Act repeal could make Franz Herzog von Bayern new King of England and Scotland
Tian Tan Buddha
A Symphony of Lights
A Symphony of Lights
Wick fountain (aka the world's fugliest fountain)
* If you don't know why a Britpacker is such an alarming sight you've obviously never been to the Coogee Bay hotel.