And I ended up quoting the Holy Grail while washing up on Sunday. Must have been something I watched on telly. Oh yes, that's right: Monty Python. You were expecting something else?
Meanwhile, I have camelias. The first I bought when I took a break from the middle of the washing of the socks to catch a bus to a nearby fete and saw one for sale which reminded me of the pinky white blooms of the late and lamented crabapple tree and since beggers are ill suited for being choosers, I trundled it all the way home in my trolly. A coupla klicks it was, too, up hill and down dale, so nuts to the person who said gardening wasn't proper exercise. And an extremely overfamilar camelia it was, too, as we bounced together all the way home. Branches! Branches! Branches in new places!
Then I got up on Sunday to water the garden and found three camelias lurking outside the back door where there had been one. Mildly alarming if you'd grown up on BBC kids shows in the 70s like I did, but it turned Himself, understanding that camelias were okay, had bought two more, a pink and a white to go with the pinky/white to plug the hole, the heartbreaking hole, in the shrubbery against the north fence where the ancient and gnarled old tree had been. The three cams fitted very nicely inbetween the roses to the left and the azaleas to the right. Sigh.
And how nice. Because I was a lot more upset about the old tree than I should have been. It was old, and the garden was suddenly exposed to high winds now that the neighbours have cut down all their trees, so it wasn't my fault, and yet I felt my late mother's judgement very keenly, and that tree was a favourite of mine. I think I coddled an extre ten years out of the old girl. Oh well. Hopefully the cams will grow up into a hedgy windbreak.
TV? Well, there was crumpet boy. Yep, for some reason Merlin is flogging crumpets in my local woolies, and thus they are Colin's crumpets, crumpets of Colin's. I could go on, but I'll desist. After all my looking forward to it I was kinda meh when it finally arrived, mainly because the 6.30pm timeslot is most inconvenient and I had to run around like a blue arsed fly to be slumped on the couch in time for the kickoff, so to speak, and Ten kept trampling on my slash. Dear god, it's gonna be like the Pros all over again, ain't it. Sigh. Still, boys very pretty and I can happily overlook all the playing merry hell with canon and anachronism because Robin Hood kinda blew that circuit last year and Merlin (and Colin) have such a cheeky charm I'm willing to forgive them almost anything, even casting Eve Myles. Almost anything, mind.
Still on the Buffy ripoffs with very pretty boys, I tried out Demons. I originally got hold of this because of Mr Glenister, but had held of on watching it as all reports had been extremely dire. Well, it isn't quite as bad as that. Yes, Phil's accent and phrasing is odd (but folks are cruel, I've heard far worse American accents tumbling from British lips) and the plot/look appears to have been cobbled together from Buffy and the film version of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen with some Harry Potter on the side and it just fails to catch, you know? Almost, but not quite. I think they overegged it with the critters, but that's just me. But it's not as dire as it was made out, and young Christian spent half the episode half naked, which is extraordinarily exploitive but hey, whatever, he's pretty enough to have me forgetting the complete lack of original plotting (and Merlin also had Colin get his shirt off, right there in episode one, mind, not even a episode three tease).
In fact I remember watching some BBC Breakfast interview with Phil re Demons where the girl reporter was like "whatever, who's he??!!" pant, lust, drool, so I'm not the only one blinded by the pretty. I'm not even sure the fellow can act, to be honest. And I'm not entirely sure I care.
Oh dear, you were expecting Bradley and Colin drool. Well, there was that, certainly. I still love the brawl through the markets, I love the way Merlin's refusal to back down, his cheekiness and his near besting of the Wart (had Merlin not been snapped back into line just in time) have Arthur intrigued, to say the least. I really like the way he lets Merlin off, too. Respect, already, despite the boys protesting too much and making bitchfaces when Uther, unwittingly following the dragon's wishes, binds the two boys together.
Other stuff? Finally finished Apparitions. Thought I ought as I've had it sitting on the to-do pile for so long it's starting on UKTV shortly. Tsk. And since I probably won't get to watch it then and since the possums woke me at 3.30am I thought why not? Oh dear. It wasn't bad, but it was rather bog standard Vatican politics/domonic possesion hooey (and how often those go hand in hand) and I really wanted to like it more because I like Martin and I like the writer but they were both so po faced and doggedly on message that it kinda sucked the fun out of the genuinely creepy bits. If I was watching this at 10am in broad daylight with a cuppa and a biscuit it'd be rather trite, but as I was watching it in the dark wee hours with possums skittering in the rafters it still had its moments.
Staying with the 80s 'tecs, they've booted the Sweeney for Bergerac so I got to see some vintage Nettles, which was fun because I'd missed Midsomer on Friday (whimper). I rather like the first season of Bergerac. It's suitably period and Spooneriffic to tickle my ITC fancy.
And staying with the demon hunters, guess wot's snuck onto the tv schedule tonight. Go on, guess. Heh.
Went across to the park and tried to write the first words of my very first Merlin fic. They were rubbish. Not faring much better was poor Lewis, who probably has Roxy Music's version of Jealous Guy on high rotation on his pod right now. Couldn't be helped, I had to finally sucumb to taking allergy meds which means no more annoying coughing for the co-workers, but no ability to write code or pr0n for me. Buggeration. Or a severe lackthereof for the boys in question. This probably explains that Gisbourne fic that was so dire it never saw the light of day. Same sort of deal then, too. And I was going so well. Oh well, it was all golden and autumny and the purple rug of purpleness protects me a smidgen from the damp ground and I picked up another industrial sized bag of coffee grounds from Starbucks on the way back for sprinkling over the garden (if I get home in daylight).
That's about it. Picked up the incomplete works of Bill Shakespeare at the fete (ancient ex student paperbacks) but felt I should since I'd been up in the wee hours giggling over the Guardian's youtube picks). Started reading Hamlet and it all started coming back to me, which was fun. I'm glad I went. My old Irish English teacher always said I should see an RSC production and I saw two and it was worth it, though I never imagined I ever would. Funny though, how I'm only ever ticking off stuff from the list I made when I was fourteen. I don't seem to have made any lists after that, but never mind, the one I made when I was fourteen has been fun so far: Glastonbury, Sherwood Forest, RSC, Human League, Madness, Hadrian's Wall, Whitby, Bath, Stonehenge, that tin bird in the Reading museum. Yes, thank you Penguin books and Smash Hits, your influence is longer lasting and more meaningful than anything since.
I still can't believe I nobbled myself just to please people I'd rather see buried in shallow ditches with quicklime (sorry, watching too much Bones of late), but there you go. They all think I'm too stupid for words anyway so there's no point in trying to dazzle them with my code, but the fic...sigh.
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