Which isn't to say yesterday wasn't enlivened by oiled and nekkid Simon Woods, oiled and nekkid James Purefoy, a young skinny McAvoy and two hours of Winchester Brothers.
Okay, still bemused at discovering Simon's other life. It's not every political journo I've seen naked, and that's a good thing. I mean, Laurie Oakes? My eyes, my eyes. But I digress.
Probably easier to work backwards, the way my poor brain is working (or rather not) today. So, last night. Supernatural. Squee. And I did like Castiel, even if it does look like Conjob nicked his clothes for a prank so he nicked John's. John would very much like his coat back, I'm sure. The burnt out eyes were all very Hellblazer, too. Still, it's cute to see the Constantine influences creeping in. I don't mind, so long as I'm not going to be preached too, because I hate it in other shows (have turned off, on several occassions). So, not sure about the new direction, but liked the new guy and loved having my boys back on telly. Also disturbingly bemused at the subtext rapidly becoming text Wincest vibe they insist on playing to (everyone keeps thinking the boys are "together"). But never mind that. My boys were back. Oh boys, I wuv you.
Then there was the not taping James, or how I screamed at my creaking dvr for most of the Bill, folks three houses way no doubt covering their children's ears as I 'encouraged' the bastard to machine to please, please, please consider switching on and actually recording something. It was my fault, I suppose. I'd been out gardening during Silent Witness (I love the Tom but I had neglected weeding duties) and then I was called to dish washing but I heard his wee voice and dropped dishes and ran out to try and cajole bastard machine to work. Oh my, he was so young, so skinny, so pale, so freckled and so unintelligble - hee. That's quite an accent you had there, wee James. I'm surprised the boys and girls at Sun Hill weren't legally obliged to provide a translator. And James? Yellow isn't really your colour.
From what I could work out, having missed the beginning and the later part being mostly mumbled into young McAvoy's grotty yellow t-shirt, he was a young rent boy who'd witnessed a hit and run. Nothing special but this was old, old half hour pre-soapy Bill. Too cute, though.
Then there was the not watching Silent Witness, not watching the first ever Morse and not watching Rome while I did my taxes. Okay, so I looked up for the rudey nudey bits. I was doing my taxes, afterall. Was distressed to realise I'd given $300 to charity in my last return but none at all this year. Well, it's been a year, but still. Bad karma, no biscuit.
Also didn't get to watch back Primeval (finally got my mits on S2). I was in a filthy mood, too, as I'd announced I'd wanted to sleep in, so imagine my distress when I was rudely woken by slamming doors at 7am. Okay, so it wasn't earlier, but still. I think I can safely say that aside from the mad bastard I share with, no one else would consider 7am a lie in?
Sunday was gloomy and I was up at 6am (slamming doors again) to water the garden, even though it was drizzling, said drizzle just enough to make me damp and give me a nasty cold but not enough to wet the whistle of the garden. Had to tandem the washing and tumble drying all day and also vacuumed and sorted out recycling. Would have preferred to read, watch telly and stuff but no chance.
Was promised in the guide a wicker man on Midsomer but it was another episode entirely. Sigh. The day was not quite as I'd hoped.
Saturday was the day it all went wrong. I woke and it was grim and rain was splattering against the windows. No gardening then, so I looked out several dvds I'd had on the bedside table to watch for ages: Whistleblowers, Chancer, S2 Primeval and the Murphy's Law I dozed off during on Friday night (despite a thunderstorm rolling around and hissing and spitting at the time, which is why I wasn't online as planned, ditto throughout the weekend). But I never got near them, grump.
Though I did get to see one episode of Chancer. Even though it was made in 1990, it's so 80s it hurts. Young Clive is still sporting a Coventry accent, Stephen Tompkinson, well, he's made a career of gormless now, and Robert Glenister (whom I'd seen in Hustle on Friday), gave us a Top Gear interlude. Oh yeah, Sean Pertwee was in it, too. I'd been after Chancer for so long I'd forgetten why, it was just 'must buy' when I saw it. It's all about naughty bankers, whom as we know, can do no wrong.
Oh yeah, Hustle continued the horsey theme that had popped up in a Silent Witness on Thurs and last week's Gideon's Way. This time it pretty much was the Fine Coton affair, complete with dodgy dye job.
Oh, here I was was rushing through this entry thinking I had ten minutes tops, and now the server is down. Typical. Well, as I've got a spare minute, and speaking of subtext rapidly becoming text, From Last Seen Wearing:
"He read his horoscope: 'You're doing better than you realize (sic), so there could be a major breakthrough as far as romance is concerned. This week will certainly blossom if you spend it with someone witty and bright.'
He looked glumly across at Lewis, who, for the moment at least appeared neither very witty nor very bright."
Tch. Never mind Lewis, some day your prince will come. Poor old, or rather, young Robbie in that very first Morse. It was all very Life on Mars/Ashes to Ashes. And poor Robbie. A part of me wished somebody would just tell Robbie to get out, but no, he walked in, he met Morse, and thus of a moment years of irritable co-dependence was born.
About 3/4 of the way through the episode, after Morse dumps on him for not having a classical education, young Lewis (and he is young Lewis) shoots back with a heartfelt but not exactly Wildean "at least I can go for half an hour in my job without needing a drink" - at which point Morse heads off to the pub, deflated Lewis in tow (and it was his birthday and everything - Lewis perfected the kicked puppy look from the off). At the end of the episode Lewis prangs the jag good and proper (all in the line of duty), the price of which Morse appears to extract for the next fifteen years in beer and snide comments. Poor Lewis.
Never mind. One day there'll be a lad with ambiguous taste in chocolate bars waiting for Lewis and then, well.
Between all the brass and beige in Chancer and all the chunky analog equipment in Morse it's no wonder I was having nightmares about being stuck in the 80s (oh no, not again, worst nightmare).
Oh, and I've just worked out why I'm annoyed and grumpy, well, besides the server being down again and Himself not even throwing away the bread tags or putting the rubber bands in the rubber bands drawer and not just saying fuck it and going on strike and watching telly all weekend. Which I should have done, because now I'm all tired and grumpy. And crampy.
Billy Jean is Not Hugh Jackman's Lover
Exclusive Video Interview: Jensen Ackles of 'Supernatural' Answers Fan Questions
Life on Mars - Episode 1.03 - My Maharishi is Bigger Than Your Maharishi - Promotional Photos
"Life on Mars" Executive Producer Josh Appelbaum, Part 1
Palin Won: But Can't Do The Job (Simon Woods)
Doctor Who: Behind the Times
Science of Dr Who at Chester Literature Festival
Theatre of the absurdly unpleasant
U.S. shows recycle foreign concepts
TV.com Q&A: Supernatural's angelic Misha Collins
PopGurls Interview: Supernatural's Misha Collins
True Blood's Hot New Vampire Answers You
KTLA Interview with Misha Collins
Harrison Ford All But Confirms 'Indiana Jones and the Temple of the $100 Million Payday'
Fox, CBS and CW fall lineups show promise
Thanks to sleeper_frost for the link collecting!