mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

a week in the bathroom

Last week: So much for my hoped for quiet guilt free weekend. Sure, it rained. Stormed, even, but that wasn't it. It was a crappy weekend, in name and nature.

So we all went down with a dose of the violent, shivering, sweating I shouldn't have eaten that's, and to add insult to injury, in a not entirely unrelated ddevelopment, the plumbing backed up, on a long weekend, but a thunderstorm meant the very expensive emergency plumber couldn't make it out to our place. And to think lying in bed on Friday night, as it spun gently, and watching an enormous spider heave itself out from behind a bookcase and start marching towards me across the ceiling was the worst that could happen.

So yeah, I did battle with the spider. Oh, don't wibble, I lost pets to cats and cars on Monday so don't cojme the fluffy bunny with me. Anyway, it broke the rule, which is lurking behind the book cases is okay but not hanging off the ceiling above me. And I was too ill to do a catch and release and he wouldn't shift with several warning swipes with a rolled up newspaper, but when I finally swung in with the killing coup all I did was pitch the blighter into the furthest corner of the room, so now he really has a grievance. Sigh.

So, yeah, crappy weekend. You'd think a wet weekend with a Dr Who marathon on would be bliss, but it wasn't. Somehow I always managed to not watch the episodes I wanted to watch, especially the episodes featuring young Mr Cooke and young Mr Morgan. Grump. Didn't even get to see The Wasp and the Unicorn, which is one of my faves. In fact all my fave Dr Who episodes tend to be historical pieces with tentacles. Obviously, in my warped mind, costume dramas are always enlivened by vampires/zombies/ambulatory squids etc.

There's also a disturbing venn diagram cross over between Dr Who and Midsomer casting, imho. Not that Midsomer wouldn't be enlivened by the odd tentacle. Seriously, if zombies invaded Midsomer, would anyone notice?

Oh well. I did get to watch The Saint, which made up for my Dr Who deficit by providing Patrick Troughton in one episode (with bonus Lois Maxwell) and Roger DelGado in another. That one was one of my faves, solely for when everyone decides to check that yep, that really is chloroform, by sniffing it. Is it only me who sees the flaw in this method of assessment?

But my tale of woe hasn't ended. Oh no, I also pretty much shook the etch-a-sketch of my social diary into nothingness, having to refuse not one but two of my annual invitations. The first was to a long drive which had to be declined on account of the can't be more than 1m from a toilet facility clause. The second was an invitation to yum cha, which quite obviously I just couldn't accept. I'm hoping they'd understand and realise that I must have been really, really, really sick to say no, but they probably think i'm just a bitch. That seems to be the default setting of assumption these days. Like they take all responsibility for the webpage away from me but everytime something goes wrong it's still all my fault. Oh yeah, the buck stops and starts here and it drives me to tears, up the hill, round the bend and deep into a chasm because all I do, and I mean all I do, is run around trying to do everything asked of me and it's never enough and never right, even if I've done exactly what was asked for. Sigh.

Meanwhile I've been having mucho de disciussion about The Fixer elsewhere, and as much as I joke about Callum and his superior ability to annoy and needle Mercer and be a prat (but a prat with a heart of gold), I think he is important. I kind of like Callum's whole not as stupid as he looks classic fool thing he has going. I was thinking last night as much as I might joke about Callum and as much as Mercer might grimace and grumble, he is necessary to keep Mercer on the path, so to speak (albeit a path of Lenny's choosing). Lenny, that master of the dark arts, sees all and knows all. Because, when you think about it, every brooding hero or flawed hero type who has ignored the advice and/or company of his comedy sidekick has come to a bad end, from Lear to Jonas's Robin Hood. Just a thought. Every Frodo needs a Sam?

Then there's Mercer taste in books, which tends to high end physics, and we were wondering if he was both trying to compensate for a crappy non education and also trying to find some sort of order/explanation in the universe. Mercer, I think, would like to see things in black and white, and when grey areas like Rose intrude, he flounders.

I'm thinking I should have re-watched the Fixer instead of catching up on a month's worth of Burn Notice (thanks for that, btw). I was wondering who would win in a face off twixt the two teams. They're pretty evenly matched until you get to Lenny vs Michael's mother. I'm not sure I'd be putting my money on Lenny. Sure, he's an evil cloak and daggery bastard, but Mrs Westen is that formidable beast, the American Mom. Mind fucks are her meat and drink.

Other tv? Not much. Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars, Whistleblowers (can't take Jeff being all serious and earnest), FlashForward (can't take Steve being all serious and earnest) and, well, Rex, I suppose. Oh, and True Blood. It's trashy and tacky, I have no idea what's going on, but it kills an hour every Tuesday. I miss my boys in shining armour, though. It's all cops, spies and vampires at the moments (sometimes all in the same show) and usually that'd keep me sweet but I'm feeling, I dunno, restless. Stuff I should be doing but I'm too tired weeknights and there's never enough time on the weekend.

I have been indulging in my dvd of The Murdoch Mysteries. It's a quaint little show if you like your forensic shows steam punked. The lack of budget shows, alas, and the DOP is mediocre at best (but not as bad as the DOP who had the Peanut Gallery howling the other night, or the one on that episode of Maverick who apparently committed crimes of such a nature the PG was adamant that the DOP responsible be dug up, stuffed in a gibbet and hung at a crossroads as a warning to all other DOPs. He was livid with the man's incompetence). Anyways, I like the Murdoch Mysteries. Nothing grand, but good after a rubbish day and I am bereft of any more Holmes/Watson stories. Speaking of olde world gentlemen detectives, Adam Adamant has finally been released out here. Yay.

This week: It didn't go according to plan either. Went home from work on Friday because I spent more time swiping into the loo than at my edesk, and that suited them just fine because now they can blame not getting those important press releases online on me, and not their $5,000 piece of shit CMS which doesn't work. They were quite gleefully open about blaming me instead, too. It makes me weep.

Anyhoo, not a lot of telly watching on Friday, bar SGU, mainly because I'd swilled so much caffeine laced fizzy drink there was now way these little optics were shutting any time soon. SGU? It was supposed to be Stargate does Battlestar. Nope. It's just Stargate doing Stargate. Like Atlantis, only far less fun, with far less likeable characters. To think, if you'd told me that Hamish Macbeth would end up trotting through the old portal one day I'd have never have believed it, but there we are. Funny how many of the old Trainspotting crew have ended up on US telly recently. Anyway, as much is was reassuring to have something familiar on when shaking with the sweats, not sure I'd have sat through it if I'd been up for anything but passive viewing on Friday night. And dear lord, hasn't RDA porked up. Once upon a time MacGyver just used candy wrappers to make bombs. Now he just eats candy, it seems. Oh dear.

Saturday I did watch the Saint, but the rest of the day was spent doing seven loads of washing, dealing with a fence quote, clearing the jungle and crap away from the side of the house (not entirely unrelated) but at least I filled the green bin so that's my weeding done (until the bloody thing composts down, I hate that, cause you spend all day weeding and the lid won't close and then by the time you show the abundant proofs of your hard labour to the resident gaoler there's nowt in the bloody bin but a few brown twigs at the bottom). It wasn't much of an effort, true, but quite heroic considering I really couldn't stand upright.

Sunday dawned drizzly so it was hooray! and I watched Murdoch Mysteries and The Saint and settled down with a cuppa then the sun came out so I had to abandon cuppa and peg out all the still damp clothes, but by the time I'd finished it was spoting again so in came the clothes once more. Harumph. Spent the afternoon watching part one of Red Riding. Effin hell, that's bleak. A friend wrote that'd she'd review it only she couldn't type with her head in the oven and I see what she means now. A more wretched, claustrophic and soul destroying piece of televiosion I've not seen in a long while (I didn't see HHIS so that doesn't count). Still, I wanted to see the usual suspects being grim northeners in grim 70s fashions (and oh, poor Sean, so past the age when he could wear that turtleneck, oh dear). But at least I finally saw him share screen space with Dalziel, which bemused me, well, not much, because of the soul sucking grimness that was Red Riding. My dear friend sent me photos of cute fluffy animals to detox with but it was only finding old Countdown clips on VH1, with own own brightly coloured 70s, that truly worked to loosen the grip of Red Riding. Oh yeah, cable also offered up Get Carter, in case I wasn't quite done with northern grimness. I think I've done quite enough. If I spend the rest of the week watching Jason King, you'll know why.

Btw, PW was in The Saint, and it was The Man Who Liked Lions and I kept giggling because when he first encountered the Saint it sounded like a gay pickup (but these clandestine spy meetings always do, you silly fey Oxbridge boys) and to be honest, the rest of the episode? Not really going to great lengths to refute the hoyay. Quite the opposite, actually. Simon Templar's Big Gay Adventure, actually. Well, there were the togas, just to start with. You know how they said they cast Brit thesps in Rome because only British men could wear togas and not look really, really gay? Clearly they'd never seen this episode. Good grief, is all I can say. And my eyes, my eyes, as well. It was sparkly my little pony gay.

Speaking of which, I'm missing Merlin. I lack the wherewithal to download it and I'm also missing the Tooders. I miss my pretty, oh so pretty boys in their shiny, shiny armour. Sigh. Last night I even dreamt I was going back to Hampton Court. Sigh. Can't help it, I really enjoyed my day out in Hampton Court, blisters notwithstanding. Somewhere along the river there are still my bandaid wrappers which I had dutifully put in the bin but which whipped out again in a sudden gust of wind and I was in no fit state to go catch them. Somewhere, there, there are, literally, little pieces of me. Heh.

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Tags: burn notice, doctor who, sean bean, stargate, the saint

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