Friday: Had to go do my homework didn't I. I was thinking, you know, writing about paleontologists, shit easy. After all my family teems with geologists and archaeologists and I know the drill from countless school holidays spent scrambling down cliffs and the like, but noooo. They have to do things diffrently in America, don't they. I checked, my memories of dig life aren't warped or distrorted with time. Here the usual practice is to stay in pubs, motels or rent a cheap, run down house in the closest town and commute out to the dig in a roaring convoy of sturdy mud caked 4WDs. This ensures that important and essential part of dig life is maintained - the evening piss up.
The Yanks though, they have to drag these things called RVs, of which I've only seen about one in my life, and that was on tv, right up to the dig's doorstep. We don't do RVs here. The closest you'd get to that experience here is if there was a nearby caravan park, block mounted, not going anywhere.
So there I was, page one and already in trouble. Still, the whole excuse that they were in the motel because they'd had dinner with Ellie formed the only part of the fic for which I've had feedback, so it was a happy mistake and I think I've managed to pull out of it without too much fudging.
I still have no idea where this fic is going but I suspect words spoken and unspoken will play their part. I also think Billy is hanging on by a thread so there'll probably be the usual psychodrama.
Spooks: Oh dearie me. It was all going so swimmingly. It was so swish, so cool, so stylish. So Designer Spies. And then it went from brilliant to silly in three episodes, something it took The Man From UNCLE three seasons to achieve. No, it wasn't Tony's fault. Usually Tony Head is always playing to the back stalls, which is okay in Buffy and Jonathan Creek etc, but grinding in more setious fare. He wasn't too bad here, playing Tom's recruiter gone bad, and hell to the mega slash as we never do find out how Tom was recruited and Tom won't say but there was much delicious tears and angst splashing around, which is never a bad thing.
No, Hugh Laurie ruined it. Hugh shows up and suddenly it's Austin Powers. Oh dearie me. Hello to the high camp. Surely he'd be better suited over at Cambridge Spies where it's all high drama and smashing bottles and chairs and histrionics. Such emotional chaps, these British Spies. Whatever happened to that legendary stiff upper lip?
Ah well. I wouldn't mind so much except I see Hugh is back next week. I fully expect to see poor Tom forced into undercoover as a sheep next - I'd do anything for my country.
Sunday: When I started this fic I fully intended for Billy's demons to be wholly metaphorical, but I'm beginning to have an inkling that Billy's demons will instead come in Joss Whedon style, ie red of tooth and claw and more literal than figurative.
This is what happens when you start a story in the boudoir and not in a dusty street in the aftermath of a gunfight or with the hero striding out of a burning building all wildeyed and clutching a smoking gun and a fistful of dollars. At least then you know where you're going.
Here I have no idea, but I'm going to let the muse have its head. I really thought it was going to be all pyschodrama and Billy's hangups but that's kind of boring and I'm loathe to be accused of turning him into FreakBoyDaniel - though I do feel justified in giving the poor boy PTSD.
I think Billy's just one of those young men whose adventure holiday went to hell and it can't be easy to be crippled at a young age, from one's own foolishness. As much as Alan's words wounded him deeply I think Billy's mostly over that. It's being scared, being made brutally aware of his own mortality, that's what's haunting him. I think he resents Alan for coping far better than he can, though Alan was never torn apart and left for dead.
So, anyway, spent the weekend alone, as usual, reading some, which was fun. Even read in the sun, in my garden by my cycad ferns and under the shedding ginko tree, with my bad tempered birds pecking around my feet. JP Raptors seem so much better behaved than my ill mannered lot of raptors, except the baby currawong who was cute, sweet and playful (will be cute for snacks). I'm rediscovering the joy of books. Afterall, when I was growing up books were my only friends, and thus it is now. At least books can't hold a grudge - grin.
There was no tv worth watching s it was to my dvd I turned, especially on Saturday when it turned cloudy and wet. The day had dawned grey and misty and dripping when I was feeding the birds, so misty as to cloud the back fence on occassion, soften the bare branches of the white oak and cause each spine of the casurina to hang one jewel of a dew drop from the tip. I loved it because it reminded me of Europe and it was lovely, as though I was somewhere else, until the mist thinned and the I was stuck back in hideius suburbia with all the trucks rumbling heavily down the highway.
So it was Kimba, Homicide (I love my box set!) Mansfield Park (thankyou), Jurassic Park III and Brotherhood of the Wolf (thankyou). Yup, I finally managed to find my copy of Mansfield Park, working on the sedimentary filing system of mine, and it was not next to the P&P and S&S but down the back with Hackers, Plunkett and Macleane, Trainspotting and the rest of the Brit Boy collection. I used to buy Brit Boy dvds religiously, fully intending to post screencaps to my site, but the PC failed me, and well, too late now.
It's been a while since I've enjoyed Mansfield Park (hence the dust, cough cough). Bloody good film though, and now I remember why I saw it so often in Glebe's equivalent to Broom Closet Number 5 (as I was situated then). I still think Alessandro looks a bit stiff and uncomfortable in his period clobber as opposed to the Brits though. A matter of custom and familiarity I would presume. Still lucious though, yum yum. I mean, Alessandro or Jonny, choices choices, though Jonny has shown a dear heart and wicked wit at times, elsewhere, which colours my viewing of the piece, ie I find it very hard to choose, because like Miss Price , I find Alessandro yummy but an unknown quality, though he is amusing banging on with his "I have a BA in English Lit and I'm not afraid to use it" in the extras. He used words of multiple syllables! Almost unheard of in actors I fancy - grin.
So one minute my boy of the moment (again) is knocking around in Mr Darcy's neighbourhood, the next he's being chased down by dinsoaurs (and why can I only find him in films with the word 'Park' in the title?). My goodness but does Billy flirt with Alan, and the scene at the end, where he lights up only for Alan and tracks him across the helicopter - aw. I also love the beaming smile as he sees his first dinosaurs from the plane - so sweet.
So that was it for my Alessandro festival as I still couldn't bloody find my tape of Best Laid Plans or that other movie I taped him in. I can't even remember the name. It was one of my lost weekends and it was on early in the morning and he was just so luminous I switched across to Showtime2 and taped it, but I've no idea where it is or even if I kept it. Bugger.
I may be forced to humiliate myself in my local vid shop (better to ask as they are free and easy with their alphabetical filing system), all in the name of research you understand, but I hold faint hope as you can't even get Mansfield Park in this country (thankyou). Bugger.