I spent six hours trapped in meetings with the hobgoblin I can't stand instead. When I wailed that that was cruel and unusual punishment, an aquaintance said it was karma (they ain't no friend of mine no more). Sure, it wasn't the end of the world but that comment really upset me. It wasn't like I'd not had an exceptionally horrid day.
Fortunately I have way better friends than that, one of whom has sent me pages of Milo piccies as consolation (see below). And, oh yes, there were krispy kremes. With sprinkles. And a nice hot cup of tea.
So much for my resolution not to bury my misery in calories. Bollocks to that. Though today I was drowning my sorrows in cold, damp fish (aka what passes for sashimi at the local sushi counter).
So, no Milo. No telly either as I missed most of the double (!) Burn Notice on Monday. Yesterday I did catch Time Team at the Isle of Man and a Doctor Who repeat (family of blood) and some of the Spooks repeat.
You know, I've watched that episode a few times now, and only now, when I wasn't paying proper attention, did I notice that Adam Carter was running around (for a bit, anyway) in jeans, a brown leather coat and no shirt! Tres Bullshitters. After that I just couldn't stop myself imagining Mr Carter dashing around London in bright red budgie smugglers clutching a bag of 10p for the phone. Not even once Zaf had rustled up a grey t-shirt for him from somewhere.
Nope, that mental image isn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Rather tired of Mr Tennant's gurning on Doctor Who, but I like the Family of Blood story, even if the WWI stuff was so heavy handed one was required to don an authentic WWI helmet to weather the storm and you can't beat an army of creepy saarecrows and a creepy little girl with a red balloon and evil posh schoolboys. Himself took umbridge at the Confidentials claiming there had never been living scarecrows on tv before (was Jon Pertwee completely wiped from Who lore, snarled Himself) and I rolled eyes when they compared that their WWI location was all muddy. The poor precious little dears. Unlike those sunny fields of clover that we remember from the real Somme (she huffs).
That's pretty much it, in my Milo free existence. And the MI5 guys (or M-Fifteen as Foxtel insists on pronouncing it) think they've got it hard doing thankless service for the public. I had six hours of meetings and I missed Milo. Talk about yer sacrifices for the greater good. The greater good can go bite me, quite frankly.
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