Tea in the garden
The roses, about to be boiled up into rose water
Angry birds, aka corellas
Melbourne, shopping mall, atrocious attempt at heritage preservation
Okay, so today, tripping over my own feet, missing the bus, which had the cheek to be on time for once, the one day I was running late as my phone wasn't where I put it to grab on my way out, ditto coat, and, oh, everything.
Which wouldn't so so bad if I wasn't still reeling over Friday. I couldn't do anything right. She asks me to bold everything (against my better judgement) and then demands to know why I bolded everything, she gives me copy with an edict not to change so much as a comma, then accuses me of being unable to write or edit copy, and then she tore up three perfectly good reports/project plans that no one else had a problem with and were comparable with examples I'd looked at on the net. Oh yeah, and she took away two projects I've sweated blood over now that they're actually going to come good, and given them to her pet, the nasty temp. I was in misery.
I can only assume that she enjoys behaving like the Queen of Hearts and, that, possibly, the monkey incident sent her over the edge.
It wan't intended, it just happened. The one project I still have, also a mission impossible that will no doubt be taken off me as it is also about to get over the line, but anyway, there was a meeting about it and, as it happens, one of the new managers in charge of it, as of the latest (bi-weekly) restructure, and I go way back, when were were mere girls together eight or nine departments ago. I can't remember who said what but we were working on another impossible project together and one said 'I have a cunning plan' and the other 'So cunning you could put a tail on it and call it foxy' and it was an 'aha' moment. Firm friends ever since.
So anyway we're trying to get past some roadblocks and she offers to talk to one roadblock on my behalf as I'm getting nowhere, but, she warns me, half teasing, it'll cost me, someday I'll have to pay up. Another team member wants to know if I'm to offer up soul and/or first born, but she says she'll settle for a box of Tunnocks teacakes.
Easy, says I, knowing where to get them in the city. The other team member pipes up with another source, even cheaper. I mention my source is also selling PG Tips monkeys. The other team member already has one. This leads to a quick round of "Munkey! Munkey!" and the Queen Bee just got up and walked out. We were at the end of the meeting and just working out who cajoles whom so the topic of bribing with teacakes was entirely appropriate, but yes, we did get a bit carried away giggling over the "Munkey!". One could have let it go as not so youthful high spirits, but no, I paid and paid and paid for the rest of the day, and today, too, no doubt.
Damn you, Monkey, you've got me in a bucketload of trouble, now.
The weekend? Dammit, brilliantly sunny and blue-skied, just when I'd planned for a drizzly weekend of typing and catching up on Supernatural. As it happened, I did neither.
No, sunny weather meant I ventured into the backyard for the first time in ages and, oh, what a ruin. I spent most of the weekend chopping down and chopping up weeds. Yes, chopping and sawing. Trees and shrubs I'd bought back from nurseries were just brown shrivelled sticks in the ground but some weeds (proscribed pest trees) had shot up from nothing to blocking out the sun since I'd last had time to work in the backyard, which was probably Xmas, sad to say. I guess that's why they call them weeds, but it seems I can only grow weeds. Capriciously, too. I mean, I spent years buying elephant's-ear plants only to have them shrivel up. I get one shat in the backyard by a passing bird and it's so big now it takes up an entire corner. I guess it's the bird enzymes that make the difference.
Most galling though are the barren moonscaped remains of the herb gardens, while the lawn, yet to be mown (the mower played up, coughed, wheezed, and was led off the field in disgrace) abounds in parsley, marjoram, tomatoes, sunflowers, mint, strawberries, and, hilariously, corn (which I presume is off the seed cones hung up in the trees for the birds). Clearly I suck at gardening.
Yet I persisted until I blistered, and I, too, limped from the field in dishonour, covered in sratches, scrapes, cuts, bruises and virulent rashes.
I did stop for tea, but that was about the only highlight. Well, that and some telly, none of which I actually watched as I was trying to catch up on ironing/cooking/sewing/washing/admin/ema
There was Doctor Who 602. Now I know a lot of people don't like Moffat. I adore him and his stories (I loathed RTD, who was worse than JNT at times, if you can credit it) and I especially adore it when it gets all silly and Coupling. Which it does, a lot. I will allow though that these two opening stories jumped back and forth and skipped way too much (especially for the multitasking viewer) and they could be cited as yet another reason why I loathe story arcs in tv shows these days as too much was left out, left hanging, left unexplained for later. Instead of being a whole and complete story it was a bit of one, and a complicated and all over the place one at that. It was sort of like the bad edit jobs they do on tv shows out here to fit in twice as many ads as the US or UK, so I'm used to a confused mess, but I expect better from the series opener on Doctor Who, being a BBC flagship show and all.
And yet I still loved it and adored it because of the characters and their interactions. Poor, insecure comic foil to everyone and everything Rory and the mad Doctor, being completely mad and bad and getting awfully bothered by all these women throwing themselves at him. Then there was equally mad Amy and Canton. Oh, how we loved Canton. Please, BBC, do whatever you have to to get Canton back. I've loved Mr Sheppard in most things but Canton has shot straight to the top of the list, and a list that includes Crowley, no less, so yes, loved and adored Canton.
And River. I adore River. I love her to bits. I love the whole quick draw bad girl thing, so different to the fawning females of the RTD era, and I just adore the way she flirts with the Doctor. They have a real, sizzling chemistry together. And the best lines, especially when they're flirting or bickering or showing off. Which makes River's sadness at losing her Doctor just so heartbreaking. Oh, River!
So, could do better on the not plot, but high marks for the cast.
And so onto the other Matt, as we had a new episode of White Collar, despite every tv programme describing it as a repeat. Good thing my trust level has a baseline of zero. This meant I missed the end of Spooks again, just when we were in the middle of another big Lucas moment (I'm just gonna have to finish off watching via dvd).
This is the one where Peter gets fbi-napped and it's Neal to the rescue. For an episode where the boys were physically seperated, it was the most Neal and Peter-centric episode in ages, and, as it's quite likely to be my last tasty treat in this regard, I am determined to watch it with my slash goggles firmly affixed.
So, quickly, as I'm typing this on the fly/sly, the best moments re Peter/Neal were Neal slamming Keller up against his cell wall. I'm not entirely sure whether Neal was more concerned about Peter or Keller getting the upperhand, and with Neal, it's so hard to tell, but I'l be charitable and call it concern for his purloined Pookie, and you do know how I love these rare flashes of anger in Neal. I shouldn't, but I do. It's some indication that the boy has human parts.
Best of all, though, was Hughes, and I'm not sure if they meant it to be so, but in the edit I saw, Elizabeth was completely sidelined and it was Neal who was getting all the sympathy and attention and pats on the arm and meaningful looks. Oh, I loved it. As far as Hughes is concerned, Neal is Peter's significant other. I love a man who not only runs a tolerant workplace but acts as agony aunt and matchmaker if need be. Oh, Hughes, you old yenta, you.
Either that or everyone knows Neal is a flighty, needy, high maintenance bastard and Elizabeth can look after herself. There's that, too. Nice moment with Mozzie, btw. I actually quite liked him in this episode.
And then there was the hug at the end, and Neal's look as Peter hooks up with the missus. Oh, triangle, triangle (only they decided not to play it that way, dammit).
Please, can Mr Moffat write White Collar? That, I'd like to see. More Coupling, less whatever it is they're doing (at least Leverage bows to Coupling, big time, obviously).
Last episode of fun before the stick figure bitch takes over. I've seen the promos for series three and I am so offended I'm not sure I'll watch. If Mr Moffat were indeed writing it, Coupling style, I'd watch. If Neal had set his cap at River Song, I'd watch. But this? Her? No way. And, going by a lot of the comments I've seen online, I'm not the only one of this opinion. And I won't be told to wait and see. I've seen what they've done so far and I didn't like it. More of the same? No thank you.
It wouldn't be so bad if they hadn't axed Zen, wrapped up Smallville and put Chuck on the bubble. Oh well, hopefully the Chuck folks will wrap it up, like the poor basatrds have done twice a season every year now. we'll never get a season where Chuck and Sarah have settled in the burbs. "Abner! Abner! There's something strange going on at the Bartowskis again!". Heh, Abner and Gladys, Agents of Mossad. It's probably just as well I'm not allowed to write tv shows.
What else? Repeats of Chuck, the one with the giant blonde shemale, which wasn't a favourite episode, saved mainly by Morgan, who does comedy and romantic foil so well.
Then there were Doctor Who repeats, includiing the last series on UKTV, and it was clever to get a relative of Karen's to play young Amy Pond as she does Amy scowls so perfectly, and it was good to see/be reminded of plot ploints we had to wait an entire series and a bit to be picked up on again (really, writers, you are asking a lot of viewers in these days of competing distractions).
There was also Leverage, the log cabin one, which wasn't all that I had hoped, and it even had Clancy Brown in it, but never mind. Leverage has been most instructive, and I've been using a lot of things I've picked up with evil intent, like seeding emails with the action words I want the person to perform. It works like a treat. Thank you, Leverage.
Smallville, and yes, I picked it over Merlin. Well, I've already seen Merlin and I'm still kind of frustrated that they don't use Colin to full effect on the show. I've seen what he can do on stage and he could do so much more on the show, given the opportunity. Sigh. And besides, I've kind of gotten into Smallville again since it's been on in that slot twixt Chuck and Leverage. It's not great, but I'm bemused whenever my old withered DC brain can go 'aha!' whenever they lift a bit of mythos to play with, and it's less Lex and Lana do the Bold and the Beautiful now that they've left and it's more Clark's journey, and I kinda like that. Also, now that we're counting down, it's going round in circles less, which also helps.
Finally, there was Hawaii Five-0, and I was wondering if they'd do a tsunami ep, and yes they did, and it was a very elaborate set up for a bank robbery, but there you go. It's never a couple of guys with sawn offs and pantyhose on their head in US shows, is it? And it's the overly complex plans that have the crooks come a cropper every time. So many variables to go wrong, that even the most lumpen of detectives, and yes, Steve dear, I am possibly looking at you, can join the dots. Still, once I had it explained to me that's it's the story of Dan Williams trying to turn Steve into a real boy, well, it's entirely watchable, in a it's Sunday night and I'm tired, kinda way (i.e so not in the mood for any gritty northern dramas on a Sunday night).
Tuesday update: Sorry, didn't post this last night. I was tired. So tired that instead of running errands on the way to the drawing group I opted to wallow in the cafe instead. Well, I wanted to wallow. Here, if you're not ordering coffees, you're out on your ear. You can't even read or sip cause they'll snatch a half drunk cup away from you and scrub down the tables. If these jokers were in charge of coffee shops in London and europe at large there'd be no stock exchange, poltics, women's rights, citizenship rights, the enlightment, poetry, books, dictionaries, etc. Which is, Himself snarls, exactly the charter of the local chamber of commerce. None of your chating or reading and getting ideas here, thank you.
So I stood on the darkened footpath and saw Borders was still open. Last days. I was like picking over a corpse, everything 70% off including the shelves. I picked up Roger Moore's book, a book of Frank Hurley photos, a book on 70s interior 'decoration', a book on life in the middle ages, a book of Roman eyewitness accounts to historical doings, and a couple of other things I'm not even going to cop to.
Oh, Borders. With all the Borders gone, there goes my access to US and UK magazines, especially as they put all the smaller newsagencies I used to go to out of business. I mean, the newsagent near work gets in Spanish editions for some weird reason, but it's better than nothing, but, still. At least I have a mighty backlog going back to 1994 to get through, but I'm braced for the snotty comments. Look, if there's a bright spot in the galaxy I'm the farthest point from it, so I can't do currency. What I can do is thorough and archival. More on the archival, from now on, I fear. Still, who knows what treasures I may unearth, what them unknown modelling underpants or somesuch. Jude wll get his hair back, Ewan his mole. It's not all bad, surely.
But I sure am gonna miss Borders. It was...convenient. They're all going, bar the one in Bondi (150km round trip? Not sure....only for something really special, not for me the casual browse) and possibly the one in Melbourne (2,000 km round trip? Ebay might be easier). Sigh.
So, drawing class. The guy was really good and struck these classical poses but I could only make him look like Bigfoot and I was so tired I just gave up and packed up in the end.
Which was okay because it meant I got home to catch the end of Supernatural, which turned out to have Crowley in it. Yay! Because I haven't had enough of Mr Shappard this week. Heh. I love that Bobby episode. Love it to bits. It ain't easy being the Winchester's wingman. It's sort of like The Zeppo, only I like it more. Mainly for the Crowley bit, but also the wood chipper. Sork. Wheeze.
But I'm gonna have to get my dinner in town from now on. Supernatural is not the sort of show you want to try and eat through.
And that was my night. At least it gives me something to do, even if it isn't typing. I'm never gonna finish it, but as I'm not going to bother with S3 until it turns up here, next year, never, I'm not as bothered as I was, and I need to get out. I've got to have something to take my mind off the work situation.
I know I shouldn't bitch, but she ticks all the boxes for being a bully on a British counselling website, and then writes in some of her own, and makes arbitrary and contrary decisions that have nothing to do with business needs and are all about being nasty, well, I just can't focus on work. I need to focus elsewhere. It's the only healthy choice.
Fic bit, from Part Four:
"You never came after me. Did you even try?"
"Of course not."
Neal was shocked by this frank admission.
"Why would I?" Peter accused. "You wanted to go. You burnt your bridges. It was easier to just let you go."
Neal still seemed surprised, and Peter shrugged, that he just didn't get it.
"You're like a Volvo driver, always driving on, never looking back in the rearview mirror. Look at what you've left behind you: Kate, Mozzie, me. I might have followed you, still, if you hadn't given yourself such a headstart. You didn't just destroy my life, Neal, you put me in prison, for a month, until the case you set up around me started to fall like a house of cards. Do you know what they do to Feds in prison? Especially known associates of Neal Caffrey?"
"Peter, I'm sorry." Neal was actually looking shocked and horrified.
"So you say," Peter shot back cruelly. "You never thought, did you, about what would happen to me. I was just a piece to be moved out of the way in your stupid game."
He was. He had been. Neal ducked his eyes, unable to meet Peter's.
Was that shame? Regret? Or had he just lost interest.
"How can I -?"
"Make it up to me? You can't. I'm tired, Neal. Tired of you and your games. You tore me up inside and I'll never forget and I'll never be the guy I was. You did this, you live with it. Or not. Go, leave, don't look back. Don't you dare look back."
"I love you."
That earned him another slap.
"Shut up. You're a child, a brat. This is just about ego. You only came back to see why I wouldn't follow you. It's easy. I didn't want to. Now please just fuck off back to wherever you came from and leave me alone."
"You want that?"
Their eyes blazed at each other.
"Liar? Have you looked in the mirror lately? Can you look yourself in the mirror these days? You probably can. You never had any problem before."
Neal kissed him. Peter had been expecting a belt across the face and instead Neal was kissing him hard, and damn it, he told Neal everything he needed to know. He was a liar.
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