Meanwhile, I forgot to mention Leverage, which I watched after To Catch a Thief, which I should not have stayed up for but it was being presented by Bill Collins and it was just quaintly nostalgic, like when I used to watch the old films on the old, old b/w telly in my room in my school days of yore (yes, when I was supposed to be doing homework, the test of a good film or tv show was, and still is, whether or not it made me stop what I was doing and watch).
So yes, to Catch a Thief, and the first time I've ever seen it in colour I think (my old cheap tv only ever did blue and red, then just red) and that was fun. So I stayed up for Leverage anyway, which was also fun. Again, it's a does what it says on the tin kinda show, and it has Gina (from Coupling) in it and Tim Hutton, so it can do no wrong in my book, anyway. But, in Saturday's ep, the guys were rushing to the airport and they were digging through the fake IDs they had on them and Nathan (Tim) had "Peter Davison, Tom Baker and Sylvester McCoy" and Sophie (Gina) had "Sarah Jane". Ho ho ho. Well, I was bemused (it was late).
How come Neal doesn't have the comedy fake IDs? Just wonderin'. Everyone else seems to have. Oh, he's just too cool for school, that one.
Hmmm, this rain means no writing in the park, but it's probably just as well, considering how crazy dark au the fic has gotten. It's going much the way my Lewis one went, taking off in directions I wasn't happy with because I'd love a happy ever after but my fic Neal is ground down by the nine to five, the players, the constant conspiracy and politics and having to live two lives (the face he presents to Peter and the one Moz and June see) and he decides he has to get out, but he can only run if he can take out the only man who could catch him. Which would be Peter, his friend and lover. Cue angst and betrayal and, oh, dear, but that's where it's running off to. It's a twisted take on the lyrics of an Altered Images song, I gotta say. And I really shouldn't have been watching The Prisoner and Ashes to Ashes the other week, though there are bits of Life on Mars and, dear me, even High Chaparral in there, too, with my magpie brain just tossing them into the soup. And I wonder how I went from an unguarded kiss to this, but that's what happens when it runs away from you. I might as well go with it because experience has taught me that stomping on it will just kill it dead. Damn, but, really, could there ever be that happy ever after Neal keeps searching for? And Neal, he's like one of those bloody minded Arthurian knights, trampling over anyone and anything to get to his idea of pure, chivalrous, romantic, poetic, happy ever after.
It's funny that this should have more to do with all that Arthurian reading I was doing than my unfinished Merlin/Arthur, which borrowed far more from Ms Sutcliffe in tone and subject. Though I was having fun playing with Uther's paranoia (bit of the Last King of Scotland in there) and Merlin showing definite signs of not suffering anyone who dares to interfere with his kingmaking.
Now that I think about it, Merlin's homicidal ambitions for Arthur (Lady Macbeth much?) make Uther's paranoia seem entirely justified, if he could ever see past the fool act and really, actually suspect Merlin of being one scary dude. Which, if I remember rightly, is where I left it.
And where I left Neal was in the midst of an 'out, damn'd spot!' moment. Hands hard to wash clean, my dear? Tsk, the real world can be so messy and confusing, you poor, dear boy.
Yeah, guess which text I had to study for my final exams. That and Pride and Prej. Deal with it (because they're hardwired templates now). Somewhere in the depths of my twisted mind, Mrs Bennet melds with Lady MacBeth and Anne de Bourgh ends up in a ditch somewhere.
Oh, I might be out at the branch office again next week. This time I think I should spend that extra three hours I won't be commuting actually trying to sleep in, instead of getting up at my usual godless hour and watching telly, fun though it was. And I just had to watch the White Collar finale, mainly because I'd accidentally spoiled myself enough to be thinking 'eep', and because I didn't want to say anything about my thoughts for future episodes etc without sounding like a moron, and the same for the fic (though it's so au now it doesn't really matter what the canon does, and I'm not happy about it, but there it is).
Then of course I could be cynical over the whole is Kate really dead thing, because who, on tv these days, really dies (excepting Ianto, it seems). It's enough for a post on it's own, the variable mortality of televion characters these days, though I suppose it's always been that way. You know, Hero A (or, indeed, Villain X) can get blown up atop an entire building and still walk away, not unlike that Toyota on Top Gear, while poor Second Policeman just has to be in the vicinity of shots being fired and they're a certain goner (even more so if they're an ethnic minority and/or days from retirement). Or gay. Gay always equals reformed or dead - thank goodness the US entertainment industry is so much more enlightenened than Malaysia. ::cough::
Meanwhile, Ricky Martin announces he's gay. Well...well what? As in so what and so not a surprise and so not caring. One day it won't matter at all, but I've still yet to see a chummy progressive I Spy style tv show (as in, why yes, get over it). Meanwhile, personalities who put themselves up for Bachelor of The Year while actually in a relationship strike me as cyncical, attention grabbing, hypocritical and, well, lying bastards, when it comes down it it, imho. A bit seedy and sleazy, as would any man professing to be unattached when actually not. It's not cool. Even in Jane Austen's day it was not cool.
On the other hand, there was poor Tom on the radio this morning, bemoaning the lot of being the less famous partner and being reduced to plus one status on the red carpet. Ouch. Well, nobody cared, which is one thing, I suppose. Poor Tom.
But hey, what would I know, bitter old unwanted and unregarded spinster that I am. Sorry, it's wet, I'm tired and this idiot system won't let me edit the code or the css. Arrrgh.
Perhaps I'm down because I finally got my mitts on that damned elusive magazine. Don't know why it should matter but I took the fact that it wasn't on the shelves of this suckarse city extraordinarily personally, but I gots it now. Pretty Matty. Pretty, pretty Matty.
Either that or, let's see now, I'm tired, bloated, breaking out, bad haired, hungry, clumsy, cranky and miserable. Wot, already? again? I swear, I have the PMS 24/7 these days.
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