It's not dear little Neal's fault, of course, as he never had the words and wisdom of Pappy to guide him - grin. Still, it was cute to see all my favourite tv grifters in one place, so to speak. Well, they didn't run an ad for Leverage, but they should have.
Speaking of White Collar, this is a considerable worry:
jeffeastin: Help: Show's that have dropped their initial premiss after 1st season and thrived - any examples?
Seriously? No more ideas for Neal and Peter? Really? Because I can't stop thinking of ideas. There are news stories, old episodes of The Saint and Maverick and goodness knows what that just pops into my head, I just can't stop. I swear my badly written fics could power a whole season if you took the naughty stuff out, and it'd probably work better that way anyway (I'm thinking of cutting a lot of it out, best left to the imagination).
Poor old White Collar. That was always its problem, a lack of faith at the heart of it. Otherwise, it could be a cracking little show. There's a real, tangible difference between shows slapped together to make a sale, and shows made because the writer or writers had something to say, like Joss and his highschool trauma, or Mark and Stephen and their love for Sherlock Holmes. No writer with an ounce of investment would ever suggest such a thing.
Ah well, I still have my musings, many and weird though they may be.
Speaking of which, since I was casting about for more solid ideas on getting Neal into even more trouble, I found this. Somehow, I have to get these words into Peter's mouth:
"To federal prosecutors of white collar crime, the mail fraud statute is our Stradivarius, our Colt 45, our Louisville Slugger, our Cuisanart-and our true love. We may flirt with Rico, show off with 10b-5, and call the conspiracy law 'darling', but we always come home to the virtues of 18 U.S.C. 1341, with its simplicity, adaptability, and comfortable familiarity." - Art Fraud Prosecution
Meanwhile, work blah blah blah came home and cried in the loo for over and hour on Friday.
Saturday was enlivened by some much needed weeding in the now once more blissfully sheltered back yard (bless the neighbours and their enormous, wind break of a garage, the trees have grown up to hide it in just a month) as well as Star Trek, Spooks (Lucas!) and Sherlock Holmes.
Spooks was all Lucas and his Russian misadventures and oh my, yes. That was fun. And yes, there will be, cough, homage later on.
Then there was Sherlock. Not the new one, the old 40s b/w ones they're running on ABC2 late-ish. This one, called "Dressed to Kill", was all about a femme fatale and her quest for music boxes that contained some sort of musical code leading to hidden treasure. Huff, encoded music boxes, of all the silliness, thought I....(17 minutes and 15 seconds later)...oh.
Oh indeed. So very, very White Collar, right down to versions of Moz and Alex. Amusingly, in the Holmes film it was a debased Australian tune, not Austrian one (a touch of Raffles there, and there's another influece White Collar could and should have). At least White Collar spared us the Eastend pub. I was going to say it was so very Bullshitters, but, tragically, it's an actual episode of The Profresionals I'm thinking of. Oh dear.
But in any case, the music boxes that made me go hmmmm. Or, actually, 'hey!', but never mind. Once that's wrapped up it looks like it's gonna be retooled into another show. Sayonara.
Sunday, though. Sunday was everything I could ever want it to be.
You know those posters up dow at the Opera House that look like Sam West? Was. Is.
He's here, touring with the Kreutzer Sonata with the ACO, and I can't believe it. I saw it and I still don't believe it. I've been trying to see Sam on stage since the 90s and every time the laws of fuckery interceded, so to finally see him, at the Opera House, how weird. Outstanding and excellent, but weird.
Richard Tognetti I love, too. He's really good and responsible for one of my happy memories. I love to hear him play.
It was good too. Not great, as I think I would have preferred some form of original Tolstoy dialogue, but there was Sam, being all seductive, as the music played. Oh, what fun. I still can't believe it. Also, being in the weird single person seats I was right up the front, and Sam was right there in front of me, so I certainly got my eyeful, at last. He's a fine looking man, with that slightly wicked air. Oh Sam, oh worship, oh, adore.
But no, I did not linger by the stage door. Because...because...because I ended up sitting next to a chap just off the plane from Dublin and we got to chatting so much we were slightly flummoxed when the lights went off and afterwards, emboldened by the glass of wine I'd had on an empty stomach, I asked him if he'd let me shout him a beer while I vetted his guidebook for him, and he said yes!
So, for the first time since my twenties, there I was wandering in and out of pubs up the Rocks with a lad from Dublin. Hapinness and joy. There was me, in a pub, talking to a realive boy, with all the right parts and conversation, oh yes! Just a joy! Such a dance! Usually when I try to talk to a guy here I feel like I'm shovelling so much coal I could power a steamship three times across the Atlantic. No such labour here. We skittered across everything and anything. There was me, in a pub, with a boy, dicussing which Wallander was better: book, Swedish tcv series of BBC version. I swear, in an alternate universe, I just met my husband.
Alas, the sun went down, the jet lag kicked in and my wee man started to turn back into a sleepy pumpkin so I dropped him off at his hotel, but oh, such an afternoon. I don't care that I'll never see him again. At least I had that afternoon/evening. When I popped into the chocolate bar across the road from the bus stop (to sober up, I think I drank a year's worth of beer in a day) I was twirling so much they all laughed, nice happy for me laughs.
Himself was happy for me, too (either that of a gift of chocolates is always welcome). It was just an afternoon, chatting in a pub (okay, pubs), but it's been so bloody long since I've had the pleasure. We also wandered through a bookshop, and would have done the MCA had not the shutters come down as we arrived.
Ah well, at least I know there are nice people still out there in the world, and that is a certain knowledge to cling to.
Such a wonderful, wonderful day.
And all with cat poo on my shoes. Oh yes, the supersoaker has been finally pressed into action as a gentle persuader that our front path (or back steps, for that matter) are not to be used as a kitty litter. That, too, is fun. Wicked, wicked fun.
So yes, I'll never see him again and he's probably tweeted to all his mates how he was stuck with a charity case all afternoon but he was nice and fun to talk to and, dammit, he was normal (unlike the usual gun collecting women's underwear owning Klingon speaking chumps I usually get who make dying alone and being eaten by poodles a positive lifestyle choice, I mean, I know I don't rate much choice, but seriously, must it always be Jeff and Lester and Comic Book Guy?). Just for once I got to be a real person, chatting in a pub about books n stuff.
From Russia with love - cast brings Chekhov home
Let's tryst again, like we did last summer
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