Last week: Hmmm, I was trying to go for boho this morning but I think I fell far short and ended up with hobo as usual Sigh. At least nobody tried to run me down this morning, but I did miss the bus.
Oh yeah, the other day it was foggy and I saw a car coming up the road so I thought I'll wait in the driveway until he goes past (we don't have footpaths and, having tracked poo through the house once this week, I try to stick to the tarmac, which was only put down in 1999, but I digress). So there I was waiting for the car to go past when he suddenly swings in my drive and collects me as a hood ornament. He then pulls off and skedaddles, without even bothering to see if I was okay. Nobody else did either, so off I went to work, because you know what, not the worst thing to happen this week. Sigh.
It's been a shitty week, literally and metaphorically. Everything I do turns to merde, everyone hates me, my holiday is off and one of the bitkas who has made my life misery beyond measure this last year is off to a dream job in London. How fair is that?
But I won't bore you with my dometstic trivia (because I can see the flist voting with their feet). You want funny and upbeat. Hmmm...I'll see what I can do, but it'll be tricky.
TV? Not a lot. Catching up on Spooks via dvd. My, but Mr Armitage is a damn fine looking man. And I gotta say, pretty as Rupert was, the somewhat priggish and public school Adam was a bit of a hard sell (especially as I was a hardcore Tom fan), but I like Lucas. He's brittle, damaged, sneaky, sexy, duplicitous, needy and callous and...well, perfect spy material and perfect spy show material and dear Richard is acting his little heart out and going all method with the waterboarding and the like, bless. If it's any help, Richard, it works. I like the character and he's a magnetic presence. Also, Harry really rocks this season. Harry has always been, and will always be my fave and I love it when he gets all old school and George Cowley, and I love the double act he has with Ros. Yep, I thought Spooks was seriously circling the shark pool the last two seasons but it's back on form now, and really, how can you do a spy show without dastardly Russians (or Germans, if you're doing a historical). It's tradition, and it works. Hey. it'd be an ill wind if all that FSB carry on in London recently hadn't reasulted in cracking Spooks episodes. Now, when do we get to the episode where they leave the laptop on the Tube? Whoops.
Pushing Daisies: missed the begining but I'm fairly sure there was a dead body involved, nevertheless is was the wrap up of the nun story (heh) with Ned and Emerson posing as priests (to die for) investigating the murder of a nun. Oh it was silly but the best fun I've had all week. How much I adore that show.
Mon: Sorry, it's been just mad and I've been buffeted severely today for all the stuff I was supposed to do but didn't, mainly because I was busy doing something else. But there were compensations. Like Karl Urban. I could only spare one day (and not even that, in retrospect) to go forth and oggle, but I did, and he is a comely lad indeed. Dressed very spiffly, for a Kiwi, she snarks. Well, all's fair as he was sniping at Aussies all day, the wicked boy. So I will grin when he says he's a science fuction fen, but he was a lively and entertaining talker, with several stories from Trek and LOTR (especially filming on the army firing range), even though the conversation did devolve into rugby. As it must.
Also saw the guys from the old 70s Galactica, and that was kinda scary. One should never meet one's heroes, but, my gosh, living in the 70s much, with their California-speak. More anthropoligical study than anything else (or maybe that's my fallback position when things get weird).
Picked up a couple og books I'd been after for a while (but lacking the lunch hour to go forth and fetch them), a stack of UNCLE gum cards, Fox Classics in comic for (some old Gold Keys, which has amused the Peanut Gallery thus far with the so bad it's weird art) and a set of mirror universe minimates, because they cracked me up. I know, spendthrift me, but you know what it's like in these places, I was pretty restrained compred to my usual sprees.
Sunday I did the washing, curled up and watched Merlin, but instead of staying curled up and writing fic I did a wee bit of gardening then struggled to get through a week's worth of correspondence with a glacial connection (okay, who's been hitting the youtube? Not me). I'm still deeply dippy for Merlin. It's tv chocolate as far as I'm concerned. Though I was annoyed they made such a cheap death of Pellinore. Won't they need him for later on?
Oh well, never mind, as Merlin's a bit like, more than a bit like, the Tudors when it comes to messing about with characters who they really should have put back on the shelf for later plot points. But who cares, really, when there's a feast of pretty boys riding about the countryside in shiny armour. Oh yeah. Tudors S3 is finally on out here. Yay. It is glorious twaddle and any resemblence to Tudor history as it is understood is completely mad chance, but who cares, I mean, really? Tudors! (or Tooders, as the Yanks insist upon) Whee!
Bonus squee for Mr Cavill, esq.
Oh, before I press on, a dear friend wanted an explanation for this. Um, yes, did I neglect to mention the whole simulating oral sex with the microphone bit? How remiss of me. Well, someone up the back asked Mr Urban if he'd ever consider doing a full blown comedy. Mr Urban teased by asking just what they meant by "full blown" and started wiping his mouth in a rather suggestive fashion, then before we knew it, in went the microphone. Thence the poor lad spluttered, worrying where said mic had been before, and gasped for a whisky, that never arrived, poor lad (it wasn't that kinda con, more akin to a shopping mall apearance). So yeah, Karl, oral sex, it entirely slipped my mind.
Well, it has been a week from hell, and I'm still feeling tender and tenderised. First of all there was an absolute avalanche of work merde as absolutely everything had to be on the website by 1 July to be legal and I told myself I wasn't gonna break under the stress of having to do it all by my lonesome but I did after one rather abrupt phone call from a rather abrupt chap demanding to know why I wasn't tending to his demands immediately and being told he was in the queue did not placate him one jot so he gave me an earful at which point I started to wail like an anime character (picture streaming tears going everywhere) that I wasn't well and had spent the previous day in hospital and wail!
Yeah, just me being melodramatic, nothing more, though it was the best day this week, sad to say, as I was away from the phone, I got a nice drive through the posh suburbs (as a friend very very kindly delivered me there and back) and I got a cup of tea and a sandwich at the end of it all. I did get upset that it was the very swish private hospital I could never get my mother into, but that's by the by. It was really was quite painless, just in and out, no mess, no fuss (nothing like that third woorld hell hole Mum was stuck in).
Other than that? Just work, abuse, hot water bottle days from hell and a bit of telly. I got to see Maverick on me day off, and I saw Pushing Daisies, too. Yep, once again Bart rode into the sunset with his bestie, leaving all the girls behind. But I'm not saying anything. Nor will I comment that it's always Dandy Jim or Gentleman Jack, either. Nope. Not saying a word.
Upset over Karl Malden, but didn't quite have time for a Streets fest because of blancmange emergencies (don't ask) but, well, you know I loved the show and dear old Mike, wot set the template for so many old copper/cheeky new copper combos (and yes, I am looking at you, Lewis and Hathaway).
There now, Lewis S4 should devote episodes to psycho mudering trannies (no, done that), the crazed vet (have they done that?), the killer who is really an older copper pal, and the 'think is chinatown' ethnic case, just in tribute. They're pretty much there, anyway, already ticking several other Streets plots off the list.
So as much as I'd like to say they don't make 'em like that any more, they do. Heh.
Also spotted Simon Burke in Hustle last night (boggle), and Keeley Hawes in the Murdoch Mysteries (a Canadian Victorian era set cop show that is light on budget but fun in a Canucks by gaslight kinda way).
Aside from tv? Did I mention being met at the door last Sat by Himself with a rolling pin? I mean, there I am, my first day away from the usual Saturday drudge in ages, and I said I'd not be home until 6 or 7 but of course he had tea ready by 6.20pm so when I walked in at 6.50...ouch. Wasn't my fault either as there were no trains running so it had to be bus, bus, bus, bus home. Why he was so fraught was that he'd made roast spam (yes, you read that right), with a marmalade, mustard and white wine glaze, as well as studding the thing with cloves. There were also baked potatoes with home grown rosemary and sea salt and mushroom stuffed with home grown oregano and goat's cheese (store bought, don't own a goat, yet, and given prior experience, probably never will).
Have also had what to do with the garden decided in very Saphire and Steele fashion. There I was chasing the EvilCats in what used to be a lush rainforest of native trees and ferns but the trees are gone and hot August winds (remembering that's it's supposed to be friggin' winter down here) took care of the ferns so the bastard cats have no cover, heh, and anyway, on the brown open ground I found a grapefruit lying where the old grapefruit tree used to be way back in the 70s. Weird, beyond weird, but I'm cool with it, cause I was kinda wanting to do it but now I gots me a bona fide sign. Yea and verrily, I'm gonna plant me them citrus trees I wanted and restore the old orchardy grove I used to love as a wee kiddie. Cause you know what, and it took a spooky grapefruit from nowhere to kick the thought home, but I've been fretting over not being able to maintain Mum's garden. But it's not her garden any more. It's mine. And I'm gettin' me a damn orchard. The powers that be have spoken. (Because, damn, there isn't another tree for miles, so where did that grapefruit come from? And if carried there by the white feathered fiends, is this why convertibles never took off in this country, given those animals' fumble fingered nature?)
Speaking of the tribe, those birds can now strip a seed bell in five minutes. Yikes. And what am I gonna do come Summer when I'm hip deep in sunflowers, because, as you might imagine but really can't until you see it, I've got them coming up everywhere.
That's about all the news. Sorry I've not been online, but it's been a hard couple of weeks, and I have a sick note. Right, off to toddle off home as I still feel oogy. SElf inflicted this time. I decided to go cheer myself up with a small yoghurt from the food court downstairs. You can see the fatal flaw in that plan...
PM update: Got home in time to see Mavck and it featured both boys - squee. They ended up locked in a closet, but i ain't saying anything. "The Hays Code has been trying to get them back in the closet for years", grumbles the Peanut Gallery. Couldn't possibly describe the plot, it was a switch on a switch on a switch on a switch on a switch.
Now, after squueing over Aidan all day, will I make it to Being Human, because I be knackered. Btw, there's an excellent Rossetti in Nottingham castle, which I used to always make a point of viewing, back in the day.
Oh yeah, Robin Hood got axed. So over it, and so was the BBC, apparently.
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