Anyway, it was dark and blowy when we got off the bus and there was much activity in recovering blown away recycling bins (and not small ones, either), stacking fallen branches (and not small ones, either) and battening down of hatches a good few seconds before the storm hit with a WHUMPF! and sent rain smashing into the back windows and lightning spearing down. Huddle, huddle.
Himself was out of the room when a mighty column of lightning smacked down, sucking the air of of the room in an instant and filling it with ozone, making the sky go white and the windows shake so hard I'd though they'd break. That was the end of it as it moved off with a pitiful drizzle and half an hour later there were clear bands of sky and sunset, but I was a little spent and there was no getting on the webs for me that night.
Nor sleep either as the wild weather kept the angry, angry possum ('im upstairs) indoors all night and the petulant beast threw such violent tantrums all night there were paint flakes all over the bathroom in the morning, paint flakes from the leaking roof that leaks because some bastard possum keeps loosening all the tiles. Now it's going to cost me $$$ to get it fixed, the little protected marsupial cuntweasel. In my sleep deprived and impoverished state I'm saying yay to possum fur gloves.
Saturday: What a day. Up at 4 am to start the washing, hanging out the first load by torchlight, catching up with The Newsroom over coffee at 6.20 am. I dunno, yes it's clssic or typical Sorkin, as in West Wing retread, lots of idealist people walking corridors spouting facts (which always makes me think of that Armstrong and Miller sketch) and I guess it was saying things that comfy America doesn't want to hear, tends to the preachy and suffers an idealism that borders on pathological naiveté, but for all that, or maybe it was just the hour and my desperate need to be enterained while various cycles finished, or didn't, I enjoyed it. Very much so. Always been fond of a gung ho newsroom moment.
After that it was off into the city to get my hair down, then to see The Bourne Legacy, cause I've had a thing for the Renner since he once popped up in an apisode of Angel (no lie, dig through 2002, when we saw it here, for proofs), but I gotta say, I was mighty underwhelmed. But I think that is most my unhappy viewing experience. I didn't pay $45 for a gold class ticket so some schlub could race in after the lights went down (and race off again, too, before they went up) with a massive box of popcorn and a massive, rattly coke and crunch and slurp all through the damn thing when the rest of us were quietly sipping wine. What is the point of ticket price apartheid if it doesn't work? I can't bear people crunching with their mouths open and slurping loudly which is why I go gold class or not at all and, I was so mad it's a wonder they didn't find the lumpy bitch still stuck in her seat, sorry, my seat, with the entire furniture carton sized box of popcorn rammed down her obnoxious windpipe like the start of one of those bad tv procedurals with the crazy murders I will watch when I'm lazy enough to watch anything on the box.
So, Jeremy munch crunch, slurp guzzle Renner, not much enjoyment there. I was so fumed that even though I had hours to kill I didn't go see another film, I went and sat in a sad cafe instead that won only for geographical convenience and was served Earl Grey tea in the filthiest cup I've ever been served with, and I've dined in English cafes, so understand just how gross it was. So gross I knew there wasn't any point sending it back as the remainder were likely to be as bad if not worse.
Caught the bus out to Marrickville, got out at the park with the old rocket in it and walked up to the Factory. I'm not sure if it was premonition or whether all my fretting caused it to happen, but sure enough, when I got there my ticket was not at the counter for collection as I'd feared. I did have my printed out receipt and ID though and the guy just stamped my wrist and waved me on. The Factory is a shambles but that's part of its charm. In other venues where that has happened I've not been so lucky (hence the fretting).
Inside there was a fun crowd, about two thirds my age, one third bright young things, but a fun crowd. So fun that when we were all in the loo after the support band, who rocked, btw, one voice complained about having to re-adjust the boobs after dancing, another commiserated that this is what happens when we get old, re saggy boobs, then a third voice floats over the stalls, announcing cheerily that we could tuck 'em in our knickers. We all shriek with giggles over that. Okay, you had to be there, but we were still crying with hysterical laughter as we left, passing to check in the mirror and wondering why our teenaged selves were not sttaring back at us.
It happens when you have to wait thirty years to see a band play your favourite songs. Was it worth it? To dance to Save it For Later so exuberantly I could hear my knees crack? Kinda, yeah (I was pleased that I could still dance about so much, but, oh mercy, the next morning, not the knees of a teenager any more).
The Beat, or The English Beat as they were billing themselves, had finally arrived, and it had been a bloody long wait since I used to hum their tunes to myself walking the corridors of high school (and occassionally getting thrown down them, hence the cracking knees). It was funny, a lot of the people there had also been to see Madness and The Specials, so we were more of a congregation than a crowd, and it was fun. So much fun. I deliberately had not revised the old album tracks, so I wouldn't be standing there all night waiting for this song or that. I just wanted to jig with delight when Dave played favourite after favourite after favourite. They even played Mirror In The Bathroom, squeal, swoon. If you play the tracks below, you may recognise some lines from the fic I'll never finish. I can't help it, they're ingrained, from humming them all the time in my girlhood.
|Mirror In The Bathroom - The English Beat
|The Beat - I Confess
|English Beat: "Save It For Later" |
And oh, when Dave winked at me, while I was dancing away, Dave whom I had such a crush on when I were but lass, well (although let's just say age has levelled the playing field considerably).
You know, I'm not sure, but all those young, impressionable years watching the 2 Tone record label logo guy spin around and around on the turntable may have imprinted, just a little.
Yes? No? Maybe? I think I still have a thing for rude boys. And why does Caffrey dress like a rude boy anyway? It's never really been explained. Aside from the whole bad boy thing.
Anyway, it was such a fun night, and I wouldn't have missed the bus back to the city for anything, filled with the same crowd (to the extreme annoyance of the young hipsters on the bus - smirk), but man, I would have liked to have caught a cab home, but the streets were lined ten deep with people trying to hail cabs, of which there were none to be had. A bus going within a few suburbs short of home showed up so I got on that, and it was a quick ride home, and warmer than waiting by the road, but I still had to get out and start to walk home. There were vacant taxis heading back to the city but none would stop until one finally did turn around. He said I looked drunk but I also looked cold and he felt sorry for me. I wasn't drunk but my teeth were chattering.
That was it for the new jacket though. First it gets insulted at the Factory, then it turns out to be the slighest bit warm as I froze and froze trying to get home and now a cab driver tells me I look like a drunk floozy in it. Into the Vinnies bag with you, vile garment, and that's what I get for trying to step outside my comfort zone: trashy.
It's been the lemon Eva Marie Saint inspired 50s style cardigan I bought in New York for wearing in the dining car of the Lake Shore Limited out of New York ever since, even today, though I swore I'd never wear it to the office (out again tonight, an unfortunate alignment of overbooking myself due to losing the calendar on my tablet, which never synched despite my setting it up to do so). And the new skirt I bought. That I like. It's a textured black thing that is very, very like one I had and loved when I was much younger, that just vanished one day. Well, I have it back now. In to the wash tonight but for now I'm just crawling out of bed and into the clothes I've crawled out of the night before, lots of crawling on hands and knees, it's that kind of weekend (not drunk, just old).
Sunday: I'd planned to go in and see that Plummer as Barrymore flick I was really wanting to see, I even had a ticket, but oh, so not good after it had taken my the usual three and a half hours two buses and a long walk home (well, okay, I caught a cab for the last bit and it cost $13 so it was no small hike) and poor Himself was still sitting up, too tender hearted to let me deal with spiders and sticking doors myself, or figuring I'd make so much noise squeaking from spiders and trying to get in the front door, which has never let me into the house yet, that he might as well stay up, so it was bleary eyes all round. I should not have tried to get online as I had no bandwidth to even load a single picture to Tumblr and I was so mad I could have thrown the laptop against the wall.
There was tea and brioche, though, that cheered me up, and an enormous bap to see me through before I had to head off before 4pm anyway (to be in the city by 7), missing the end of State of Play, which is still marvellous. The scene where poor Marc Warren tries a limping dash for freedom at the airport, oh, Marc does great pathos. Poor baby.
Anyways, I think I caught the earlier bus running late, so I got into the city early. Settled into the Guylian cafe, not really expecting to be served but happy to have a seat in the sun, but they did serve me, a very nice dark hot chocolate which was delicious and fine (unlike the horrid Lindt one on Saturday which sat like a stone and nearly caused an ick factor while I was skanking away, and yes, two hot chocolates and not a lot of patience, check your calendars). Then, just when I was getting really comfy with my book (I've gone from Jane Eyre to True Blood, not the jump you might think, bookwise) I was choofed out of my spot by rude and pushy waitress who had other clients to seat (no tip).
Ended up at the sushi bar, which is getting a bit like that scene in This Means War, 'Sushi for one!', but it's cool that my avid attention as I sit in the bar stool and watch pleases chef guy, as he always waves me in and out (big tip).
Then it was up to the concert hall at the old Opera House to see Mr Simon Callow give a talk on Dickens. And did he ever. It started off hilariously with tales of his first professional engagement with Dickens in an impoverished of A Christmas Carol in Lincoln in 1973 and all the hilarity and misfortune that involved (it's not for nothing Life on Mars was set in 1973).
Then he rolled on through the career and celebrity of Mr Dickens, one of the original actor/writer/producer/director types, full of so many facts I began to shift in my seat and wonder if I were going to be examined on it later. There were no questions as anticipated (and we'd been invited to submit questions so my anticipation was hardly the stuff of insubstantial whim) but he did finish up with recapping his episode of Doctor Who as Dickens, and that last line from the Doctor about Dickens lasting forever. Which was a great finish and we all applauded.
I enjoyed it and I can fully say now that I've attended a proper lecture on Dickens. I certainly learnt more last night than I ever had at school or via my own reading. And Mr Callow talks so well, the way only English theatre actors can. One is held on every word.
The same for Benedict, even though I'm still not keen on The Far Side of the World, but I did stay and sit and watch to the very end credits (I'd missed the first hour), because the Cumberbatch is so damn compelling to watch.
Sad to say, even though it was all Sasha all day, he was in The Husbands behind the scenes clip which I finally saw, an article I saw posted and an interview on SF which himself had taped for me, by the time Grimm came around I think I managed twenty minutes or so and then the next thing I knew it was The Simpsons. Ooops. Hope the pvr worked.
And now, for today. Oh mercy, not even coffee is working and I've got miles to go.
The difference between a tv show that is a labour of love, as opposed to one that is just an exercise in profit margins:
Asked what the secret of Sherlock's success was, Moffat said he put it down to love. "It sounds awful and sentimental – but it's love. We love Sherlock Holmes so much, we're so obsessed with it. This is fan fiction." - The Guardian.
Sydney winds cut power, disrupt transport
Unusual clouds - in pictures
Neil Armstrong, first person to walk on moon, dies at 82
Rembrandt etching lost in the post
Art Thieves Steal $300K Worth Of Thomas Kinkade Paintings And Lithograms In Fresno, California (VIDEO)
Blake's 7: Syfy cues up US remake
Save us from actors with delusions of grandeur
A Ridiculous Chronicle of An Eventual Success
Alexander Skarsgård, Lara Stone star in Calvin Klein fragrance ad
'Avengers' star Stellan Skarsgard welcomes baby No. 8
Joss Whedon takes us behind Avengers visuals and explains why it's Samuel L. Jackson's movie
NA NA NA NA NA NA IRON MAN
Grimm's Russell Hornsby: Hank Has Lost His Mind
'Grimm': Sasha Roiz on the latest episode and what's going on with Captain Renard
'Grimm,' 'White Collar,' 'Person of Interest,' 'Supernatural,' 'Grey's Anatomy': Find out what's next in the Spoiler Room
Husbands: Behind the Scenes EP 2 - On the set of Husbands with Joss Whedon (The Avengers, Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog), Tricia Helfer (Battlestar Galactica), Sasha Roiz (Grimm), Dichen Lachman (Being Human), Felicia Day (The Guild), Emma Caulfield (Bandwagon), & Amber Benson (Buffy the Vampire Slayer).
Playboy founder Hugh Hefner writes passionate plea in support of gay marriage
Sherlock's Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat: 'You can't make it for anyone but yourself' - video
Sherlock series three: creators give clues about episodes (Andrew Scott)
King Richard III's grave may be under parking lot
The Medieval Roots of Todd Akin’s Theories
Parisian street scenes on display in Sydney gallery
Who inherits your iTunes library?
White Collar "Identity Crisis" Review: National Treasure Pleasure (With Bonus Matt Bomer Gallery!)
First Thoughts on Judgment Day: Neal's Choice (Spoilers Ahead!)
White Collar: Season Four Ratings