mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

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cats don't eat cumquats

There are Brixton riots on telly and for a moment I think it's a repeat of Ashes to Ashes again. No, just history repeating.

This week has been very Ashes to Ashes, though. I'm still smiling over the image of Sooty bashing out that unhappy tweet to me. It's the small (and yellow fluffy) things that amuse, especially this week.

Meantime, we caught a bit of Moonraker on the telly the other week. It's kind of sad, and I don't just mean the pigeon doing the double take. It's the shuttle, the concord, even the hovercraft, all gone. All that fun and wonder, just gone.

It's kind of weird when you think about it. Of all the things to emerge from the Sixties: James Bond, Doctor Who, the Beatles and space travel, who knew that space travel was the passing fad?

RL is a bit of a sucking swamp, but I did manage to snatch two 40 minute scribbling sessions from my day, which is extraordinary. Too bad my scribbles are mundane and uninteresting, but at least I managed some quality spiral notebok time and I was feeling pretty happy and relaxed about that.

So happy and relaxed I fell asleep during Being Human, dammit. I'm kinda really enjoying the US version now. At first it was very weird and odd, with everything being the same but different and at first I was annoyed that the US version had taken away all the sharp and spiky edges of the original, but this far into it I'm kind of used to this soft, fluffy and neurotic version of Being Human. I like NotGeorge and NotMitchell (called Aidan here, just to confuse matters even more, but played very fetchingly by Mr Witwer who caught my eye in Smallville several months back).

I even kind of like some of the revisionist stuff, like vampps appearing on film. This means they can never do S3, and that's probably a good thing, because I really didn't like it, when all was said and done, but it does get over those niggling questions re photo IDs and CCT in this paranoid age. And I'm not sure, as I keep dozing off during the important bits (such a nana but I'm lulled by tv I enjoy) but I think the game plan here isn't so much world domination but more of a True Blood civil rights thing, but I could be wrong. Seriously, world domination by minions and mwhahaha-ing is so old hat when the same ends can be achieved by anonymous bankers.

Speaking of bankers, I loved the line in the New York Times about the rest of the world being 'conerned' about the state of the US economy. Really? I thought we were all teapotting about like Tim Brooke-Taylor in the Goodies (I'd post a clip but couldn't find one), but you know, whatever.

Doesn't bother me, I'm screwed anyway (I could say so much but best not in a public forum but one word should put you squarely in the picture: restructure). Again. I'm so very, very, very tired of this. I really am. You've no idea. I've got nothing left in the tank. Not a drop.

Too bad my misery isn't as photogenic as Dean Winchester's last night, or I, too, might have fallen angels moving mountains for me, but, alas, no. I can't even manage a seat on the bus as all the bags slam down the moment I step aboard. Ah, the unspoken burden of being awful. I guess that's why my sympathies always lie with the monster in Frankenstein. Rejection, it burns.

Sorry, all sulky today. I was so looking forward to a lunchbreak in the park but it's just too grey, cold and damp to be conducive to scribbling (there's a certain ratio of misery to words on page, I find, from long experience). I know, where did the summery August go?

Sometimes I think British actors have an unfair advantage over their American cousins because we rarely ever get to see Americans all gussied up and Darcified. Well, maybe in those old westerns which I love so much, if they're playing a dandy, but we never really get to see them strding across fields in the full Beau Brummell. Which is probably just as well. The moment they open their mouths it all falls apart, no matter how many elocution lessons they've had.

Doesn't mean I wouldn't like to see some certain American boys rising like Darcy from the pond (Venus as a boy?). Just keep your mouth shut and look pretty, there's a dear.

Oh, now it comes out sunny? Fie, fie, shameful weather. Do not keep me from my books, that is an unkindness unwarranted. No, probably warranted, I'm a pretty bad and selfish person and it probably right these small pleasures are denied to me.

Speaking of wicked and selfish, my one legged noisy miner, aside from becoming very greedy and demanding, is also now very spry in getting about. Even more, it has aquired a friend and they've been inspecting properties in the local area. Just not next to the clothesline, 'kay? (They get very territorial re their nests).

Bored, bored, bored. Being sidelined most dreadfully (and would that I had my tiny desk tucked in the corner behind the stationery cupboard and boxes of photocopier paper, but no). So I've been tracking the concepual art project going on in London at the moment. Well, it is kind of like art.

Interesting to see the slums my ancestors lived in are still slums. I think there might be something in the whole angry mob of have nots argument. The Telegraph, oddly offering the best coverage, also reflects back at the 1981 Brixton riots and Scarman report. It is Ashes to Ashes.

The Prisoner is one of my favorite television shows of all time. - Alan Moore.

No, really? I'd have never have guessed, etc, etc. /sarcasm.

I read that Ricky from the Kaiser Chiefs was manning the brooms in Clapham yesterday. So not only did he entertain me with an amazing show on Saturday night, but he's helping clean up London on Wednesday. And that's after getting off a plane from Sydney. That's like six kinds of heroic and hardcore. Oh, Ricky, I love you more and more. See, I told you he was entirely fuckable.

Sometimes, just sometimes, the fantasy boys I like are not complete and utter dicks. Sometimes, just sometimes, they are wonderful.

As for me? Misery abounds. The posh tart was so drenched in chemicals yesterday that I was choking all day and when I came home it was like the decontamination scene from Dr No. Scrub, scrub, scrub. My most favourite, beloved coat reeks, so it's off to the dry cleaners (probably not before time). It's the perfect bullying tool. All that misery and inconvenience and in my face nastiness, without lifting a finger. Sigh.

And I read the spoilers and White Collar have finally taken a leaf from my book. Several in fact. Oh well. I'm not re-writing, not at this stage, just let me known that I'm not copying. Darn, the whole twist in part 4, ruined. Oh well. Serves me right for not finishing it and ppadding out the plotty bits with soap, but the soap is the best part, the most fun to write. Never mind, I'm only doing it to have something to do when I'm not in the office and miserable and alone.

I shouldn't be so grumpy. I'm actually getting some proper sleep for the first time in ages since stumpy the grumpy possum died. I'm not happy though as it was doubly my fault. One, the crime scene indicated he was attacked while carrying away, and slowed down by, a lump of birdseed brick I'd fished out from under the pineapple sage and placed up on the porch for any one who wanted it. Second, the very night of the indicident I'd been lamenting the sleep depriving possum frolics to the taxi driver who advocated a permanent solution. I would never, but it happened that night anyway and now I feel so guilty.

And how unfair, as I was begrudgingly fond of our noisy lodger, and if the wish if a split second can come true, why are my two workplace bullies still walking around and breathing air? There is no justice in the world.

Still, the ripening cumquats I was fretting over may yet end up as jam in jars after all. The evil feral cats are back (three favourite and pricey pots broken in a single night of destruction) but at least cats don't eat cumquats.

Yes, sorry. Should do writing chores first, then housework. The detergents just ruin me for the rest of the day.

Anyhoo, saw a possum with a wee little joey on her back in the cedar the other night. Awww (there go my cumquats) awww...

Had a rough weekend. Nothing major, just a thousand irritations, frustrations, setbacks and various minor fuckeries and fuckups. What really had me sitting up in tears at midnight on Saturday instead of happily scribbling away as was my habit was the boops that told me some folks I'd really rather distance myself from (see toxic article below) were now perusing my updates and it made me feel really, really sick inside.

It's not just the toxic side, either. Although some of them have done so truly awful stuff (including manstealing) it's also that they're from the past, and they keep telling me who I am, what I am, what I can and cannot do. Never mind that I'm not that person any more, I don't want to be that person any more, I don't like the things they say I must (never really did) and, well, I just want to be me and not wedghed into this idea they have of me.

So, suffering this dark teatime of the soul, already miserable and feretting, I decided to hit play on the White Collar finale.

So you're expecting Neal expletives, right? For once, no. Okay, the whole Nazi loot/complicit in war crimes thing and the constant running around behind Peter's back and actively interfering in jis investigation and putting people Neal is supposed to care about in dire and dreadful danger does indicate the boy still has some hard lessons to learn, but, basically, I just felt sorry and sympathetic for the boy. which is why I include the caveat of my state of mind at first viewing. ask me again next week and I'll probably tell you he's a smug bastard who deserves anything he gets, punitive wise, and then some.

But I did feel for Neal. The language that has betrayed his true heart since season one ('home', 'my place' home ground', etc) finally worked its way into that overstuffed brain of his and Neal decides that no, he really does want to stay, despite all the emotional and actual chaffing he's done.

And Mozzie, who has puhed and pushed Neal into staying true to his criminal past from the pilot, keeps pushing and pushing, the actual devil on Neal's shoulder, constantly whispering that he is a criminal, he will always be a crminal, telling Neal he cannot change, making Neal who Mozzie needs him to be, because Mozzie needs a frontman and he's so ruthless now, constanting dragging Neal back and back again into his shemes, each more dangerous than the last as Neal becomes more and more resolved to go straight.

It really is the sort of acting out you'd expect when a best friend wants to move on, you know, the sort of stuff yoo get in those comedies when one guy gets engaged. Only this is more serious, and I was right, White Collar does work best with a darker edge.

Anyway, you've seen it by now or you don't care, but it gets darker and darker and more dangerous and daring (loved the leap from the roof) as Neal is pulled this way and that. As for the end, I was neither shocked nor surprised, because I'd already written that scene. In 2009. But never mind. You'll just think I'm copying now, not the other way around. Harumph, but there it goes.

Neal chuckled warmly at his shoulder as Peter went to put the key in the lock. The door swung open slowly, revealing scuffed up rugs, overturned chairs and coffee tables and books splayed open across the floor amongst broken crockery.

Peter had his gun out instantly, stepping gingerly over the threshold.

"Elizabeth?" He called. "El?!"

"She's not here."

Peter snapped his head around.

"How do you know?"

Several different reasons form on the tip of Neal's tongue but he just shrugged.

"I'll check upstairs," he offered.

"Don't touch anything," Peter warned.

Neal didn't need to be told but Peter was panicking.

Neal turned around in the bedroom, relieved that it was empty, but trying to see if anything was out of place. The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach coiled up. It was a very bad feeling.


Peter was leaning heavily in the doorway. There was blood on his shirt.

He shook his head in answer to Neal's wide eyes.

"Satchmo," he answered. "They took him out to keep him quick. Fuck." The situation started to crash down on him. He knew this was serious. He knew what was at stake.

Yeah, I did the dog in. I got that from Rosemary Sutcliff, that I did. It's the whole the dog didn't bark thing.

Much like Satchmo, the world's most useless dog. At least in my fic it's a vaguely heroic exit.

Why Peter and Neal don't completely freak out from the first moment as per the show is that, thanks to Neal, Peter's marriage is on the rocks, with a side order of rocks, which of course just adds lovely layers and layers of thick juicy guilt. Peter does to the complete freakout as seen on tv later in the story, but that would give away just about the only plot twist I have left, but let's just say this time the red stain is for real.

As for the Stockholm quote, well, yeah, kind of obvious, but I did thay, too, after I saw that play, way back when, 2010:

"You're going to have to get a lock." Peter nuzzled on Neal's neck.

"They're going to have to phone first," Neal agreed.

"They don't like me." Peter followed the line of Neal's jaw.

"You're a Fed."

"Are they going to warn you off me again?"

Neal kissed down the side of Peter's neck. "They think it's Stockholm syndrome."

Peter stopped, serious suddenly.

"It's not, is it?" Peter had to ask.

"No," Neal teased him for even thinking it.

Shrug. And so it goes. There's more, but those are the two that struck me most. At least it means I'm not too far off book, I suppose. What's really funny/spooky is the begining of the fic, written way back when:

With hindsight, which was always a far more cruelly accurate mirror to hold up to one's self, Peter would have, should have, known trouble was brewing when Neal had given him a freshly painted copy of "Vase with Viscaria" by Vincent Van Gogh. He should have been aware of the hidden layers of meaning contained within the gift, especially a gift from Neal, but he'd just been so delighted, so irrationally pleased, to be the proud owner of a genuine Caffrey fake that he'd dropped his guard entirely. And dropped the ball.

Though, in truth, there had been nothing sinister in the gesture, nothing untoward except Neal being playful, and yet that was where trouble always started: with Neal, being whimsical.

With hindsight, too, had he not been so dangerously beguiled, the cases he'd been working on might not have ended so badly. But that was the problem with hindnsight. You could see exactly where you went wrong, but you could do nothing to fix it.

It wasn't just the painting, it was the message in the painting, the message in the flowers, a message that said "dance with me".

The painting Neal has gifted Peter at the begininning of the story was nicked in real life and at first I was flail but now it's part of the narrative (Neal swaps out fake for real later for nefarious purposes).

Anyway, those were my first impressions, that it's not enough for Neal to want to change, it's about being allowed to change. Much like the oft quoted Godfather, just when Neal thinks he's out, they drag him back in. And not just Mozzie either, but everyone, even Peter keeps seeing Neal as he was, not who he is now.

Mind you, it's hard to blame Peter for, quite rightly, not taking Neal at face value, considering Neal has been sitting on plunder and has destroyed the Burkes, yet again (funny how the life Neal covets more than gold is so often imperiled by Neal, right from series one where Fowler goes after El). They do love each other, but, by golly, Neal is the sort of bad friend, always dragging trouble around like Marley's chains, that one would be well shot of, killer abs and baby blues or no.

I'm not sure how Peter is ever going to forgive him for this one. In my fic, after pulling similiar (very) stunts, Peter does forgive, but he never forgets, which leads to further tension as Neal's implicit guilt becomes Peter's default position (and despite Neal's grizzling, fair enough).

So yeah, choosing is one thing. Being allowed to choose, that's quite another. So I felt sorry for Neal. And I did love the painting swap deal, the whole stunt, though he was cruel to Peter, as always. At least this time around it's more Neal being pushed into action than acting out himself.

Damn you, Mozzie. Leave the kid alone.

Other than that, caught on on Suits (which I adore), some of last week's telly (too boring to bore you with), a stonking great episode of Game of Thrones (exunt the fabulously wild eyed and shrill Harry Lloyd, enter Charles Dance - squee!) and two episodes of Murdoch Mysteries that had me thinking I detected the hand of Brian. Or someone who has my dvd collection.

I'll miss Harry in Games of Thrones, though. I'm usually not one for OTT but I love it when Harry does it, because you're never sure how far he'd go. He'd have been a much better Moriarty (because he can be still, too, which is even creepier). I'd love to see him him White Collar. He'd chew all the scenery to pieces and then pick his teeth with Bomer's bones.

On Murdoch Mysteries, my beloved little woefully low budget Canadian slice of steampunk silliness, as if the vampire episode that started with the familiar Brian motif of a confused girl crashing through the shrubbery in her night attire wasn't enough to get the eyebrows raising, the episode with the Alice in Wonderland costume party at the posh house, the trippy drugs in the drink and the dreams with the crazy props, if that wasn't so very the Avengers I just don't know what is. I was expecting Steed and Mrs Peel to rock up at any moment. So very, very Brian. Hee.

The rest of the weekend was blah with the pvr breaking and bathroom mould and books falling from shelves and too slow internet conections and weather that refused to rain or shine (ruining both attempts at washing and gardening). Harumph.

And the magpies, singing at midnight. What was up with that?

Points though for the one sitting atop the telegraph pole (yes, I know they're not telegraph poles any more but I am antiquarian and we still have copper wire for our interwebs so deal) so dramatically against the very painterly sky of boiling clouds (which promised much but gave nothing). I admired the pose all through the washing up on Sunday afternoon, wishing very much that I could capture him with a quick flick of the brush (like that painting that hangs in Agnes).

I miss having the magpies about. I remeber the hysterical football game when one of the youngsters found an old bit of tinsel and they went round and round with it, it was so funny to watch as one youngster would pick it up, proud as punch, and run with it, before his siblings and cousins all landed on top of him in a thumping scrabble.

Or the time when we moved the old shed and they were burping up cockroaches there were so many (and I could spray the buggers). I've never seen a magpie stagger off saying 'no more, I'm full now', as they are such greedy beasts (one once took off with half a roast chicken, twice its size, by sheer willpower alone, I think) but they did that day.

Don't mind me. I've automated all my checking and validating tasks, which works for me, but looks exactly like not working to everyone else, so if I tippity tap away it looks like I'm doing something. I am, in fact, multitasking. Would that I could tippity type the fic but I just get too involved to do it safely here. I need one of my familiars perched above me to alert me to danger.

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Hello, I find you perfectly toxic

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Interview with Tiffani Thiessen from “White Collar”

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Tim DeKay - McDonalds/Millionaire Commercial

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'White Collar' Exclusive Season Finale Clip: Neil Must Choose A Side (VIDEO)

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White Collar

USA Network's new slick-man dramedy 'Suits' reads similar to fellow network hit 'White Collar'

Suits: Is Harvey Going Soft? Can Mike and Harvey Keep Their Secret Forever?

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'Suits' renewed for second season by USA

Photo: Aaron Korsh and Gabriel Macht

Tonight we shot our last scene together for the season. A pleasure and an honor Mr.Specter.


USA Network renews 'Suits'

USA renews 'Suits,' near deal on 'Roughness'

Suits: series premiere, Monday, August 15

TV Week 13-19 August 2011 Australia

Tags: fic, harry lloyd, kaiser chiefs, magazine scans, matthew bomer, murdoch mysteries, suits, the avengers, white collar

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  • The Brit(ish) List

    (This post: Dan Stevens ate four roast dinners a day on crazy Beauty and the Beast diet, Luke Evans on Gaston's New Backstory…

  • The Brit(ish) List

    (This post: Ewan McGregor and Jonny Lee Miller appear businesslike as they head into the Scottish Parliament Building while…

  • The Brit(ish) List

    Special thanks to sleeper_frost for a linking finding extravaganza. She found all the cool ones. Before Colin…