I couldn't make the screening of Much Ado About Nothing, which I had been squeeing about in anticipation for weeks, and I was, and remain, completely gutted, but, bless 'em, the Globe just got back to my hastily thumbed email to say that they would certainly think about venues closer to my locale (which is kind, as Sydney transport is nowhere near London transport) and that Much Ado would be out on dvd from The Globe shop by years's end. So yay. Not as much fun as being there, or seeing it on the big screen, but still very much yay because I thought I'd missed out.
As for being off sick, well, that was dramatic. I know I'm usually such a drama queen, but it was a spectacular collapse in my Enlightenment class, all painfully humiliating and scary, too. Completely lost my balance, turned myself inside out then slumped into a taxi home. Damn, I'd been looking forward to that class, too.
There was no tv, while I was home sick, either, as the cable was bung. Yes, it was that sort of week. And yet those were the days, compared to yesterday. You'd be surprised at the amount of things I did wrong that needed to be reported while I was off sick. Or maybe you wouldn't.
Meanwhile, my dreams of cloning my very own Ewan McGregor have taken another step forward. I mean, I've already done the hard part. Oh, it's not what you think. Many, many years ago, when Ewan was artist in residence, doing two locally based films back to back, he appeared at a Popcorn Taxi event, and this was back in the days when he used to get rolling drunk, and I hate to slur the boy, but he was slurring himself as the evening progressed, and buttonholed by a Star Wars bore, he reached back, grabbed little ol' me who was hovering and silently fangirling from, well, arm's length, really, and he proceeded to use me as a prop, leaning up against me heavily, and more heavily, as the evening wore on. Had it been anyone other than Mr McGregor, they would have got a sharp shove and a snappish 'gerorf!', but as it was dear Ewan, I endured, especially as he started absently stroking my black velvet coat as he leant. Oh yeah, you can lean on me, baby. (Yeah, I know, precious few of my celebrity encounters are in anyway the usual transaction of the things). Anyway, after a night of lolling, said velvet jacket had picked up several blonde hairs in the process, which I jokingly preserved for my cloning project one day. Well now, she says, adopting a mad scientist cackle.
And I got in so much trouble when I said I'd spent the night being stroked by Ewan McGregor. I probably will again. But I did (well, okay, my coat did). And he had no idea he was doing it, or has any memory of the night in question, at all, I'll wager. Well, Ewan, I'll just tell you this: it was good for me. Smirk.
Onto things more pleasant, and I finally got me some good theatre. I was a bit wobbly (more than a bit) going up, but once settled in my seat, I did get into it as the play progressed. And I had a good time. I was pleased, as I'd been looking forward to this all year, and to be unwell, well, it made me anxious, high expectations and all.
I need not have feared. Yes, we had the bare white wall with two doors and the lift doors in the middle, but that was okay, as it was a roll on the floor, food throwing farce, so the bare space wasn't as hollow as it can be when youve got some lone character banging on about their insecurities.
Not that there wasn't a lot of that, but, being a Noël Coward play, there were plenty of bitchy zingers to liven up the proceedings, and while it started off stilted and talky, it pretty soon devolved into slamming fights, to my great amusement. Highlights would have to be Toby, arch clown that he is (and born to play Coward) miming to In The Air Tonight (I know, you're thinking what is Phil Collins doing in a Noël Coward play? Never mind, it worked), and whoever was playing the snotty French maid. Bringing new levels of surly to the French, she was. I just loved the passive aggressive vacuuming. And whoever was playing Amanda was a revelation. She was really, really good.
And who was the poor guy playing Victor who had taken the whole 'break a leg' thing to heart? At first we thought the cast was a prop, but no, as he hobbled around gingerly, it soon proved it was not. what a trooper. Clearly the play had been rehearsed around a more able participant, but I rather liked the bit where he awkwardly leant over and just patted Sybil on the shoulder. It was funnier. Nothing like a prop clown (though, poor guy, real trooper).
But the main thing is, thanks to that boy Toby Schmitz, I've had In The Air Tonight stuck in my head for a week.
The weekend, well, I feel I actually accomplished some things. Had a massive, massive pile up of washing, for various reasons, so that meant the poor old Hills Hoist groaning under two full days where every millimetre of line was occupied. Alas, cloudy weather (and passing wildlife) meant the manchester had to be finished off in the drier, but in all else I tried to be greenie cleanie. Surely hanging out 200 hundred socks (or near to it) should count as daily exercise.
Furthering my greeness, the little local supermarket surprised us with a shipment of apple trees in the foyer. Exactly the thing, as I intend to only expend time/money/resources on productive plants that earn their keep. I walked back four in the trolley (Jonathan, Fuji, Pink Lady and Gala, I was intending more of a scattergun, at least one might take, than actually choosing for variety) back home, uphill all the way, for about a kilometre, which, again, should surely count towards one's daily expendables (four trees was my limit, alas). Only $12 each, too, not $$$ fancy nursery prices, not that I can get to nurseries any more either so I'm limited in what providence provides and providence has provided apple trees. So I dragged home my very own orchard.
You'd think no one had ever seen an orchard trundled through the streets before, the way people stopped and stared, most nice, one not so much. It put me in mind that quote from Macbeth, when he scoffs about trees moving across ground. He's clearly never seen me trundling my trolley back home through the streets, branches bobbing in the air as we bounce over rough terrain.
I rather like walking my plants home, except that Grevillea that smacked me in the bottom the whole way home from a fete three suburbs away with its spiky branch. The neighbours chopped it down, in any case, a couple of months ago (over fond of entering the property with machetes and chain saws, so they are, on two sides, I only got to call the police once when they thought we were out but I was home alone, sick, and that was fun, let me tell you, confronting an armed angry man hacking away on my property. The police did sweet FA, if you're interested. Useless bastards).
Anyway, applee trees, yay. And Peach tree #2 is doing well, as is Mandarin #2 and Lemon #2, which is well, because M1 and L1 are looking very poorly indeed (the dreaded worse than Agent Orange stuff those morons use). I refuse to quit. If they don't like trees, they can move.
Aside from that, I also scanned over 600 pages of magazines. Haven't sorted/cropped/rotated/touched up/uploaded/linked/encoded yet, but I'm working on it. That was enough of a job. I nearly couldn't stand up straight again after my first effort (when the weather turned gloomy and indoorsy jobs beckoned).
The new little scanner isn't of the same quality as my old one, but its faster, and, oddly homophobic. At least, it craps itself every time I try to scan an article about a gay actor. And I know, with my collection, what are the odds, right? But still, it happened often enough that I started to raise an eyebrow the few of times it gave me the red exclamation mark for an actor who wasn't out. I'll be perusing the gossip mags in the weeks to come just curious to see if the scanner knows something I don't - grin.
Silly and wrong, I know, but you try scanning for hours and hours and hours and not getting punchy.
Did other stuff, too, but I did feel oddly accomplished, even though my achievements were small and insignificant.
TV? Pretty much just the Sunday Justified/Merlin/Boardwalk Empire/Homeland/Band of Brother/Grimm line up at the moment. And yes, I do tend to bounce around from hillbilles to kerniggets to gangsters to paranoid lunatics to soldiers to monster hunters. But hey, all the shows I might want to watch are on the same night, what else can I do?
And at least I can play how many boys from Easy Company can I spot in a weekend, not counting Band of Brothers itself. I mean, there was Neal McDonough and Rick Gomez in Justified, Damian in Homeland, Michael Cudlitz in Southland...
Maybe it's the pillar to post line up, but Justified, despite some great lines, and Merlin, despite what now seems very forced bromance, and Grimm, now that Munroe has been sidelined, are all disappointing me, or, at least, not whetting the appetite or making me hang from episode to episode, the way they used to. Boardwalk and Homeland are still interesting, but because they were lower on my radar perhaps I don't have the same high expectations. Still, they seem to be heading somewhere, the others seem to be stuck in ruts and spinning their wheels. Sigh.
I did get to see some White Collar, though. Series three has finally started screening out here, and it's still annying because Neal is such a self serving bastard. Series four though, or at least, the first two episodes I finally watched (thank you), I dunno, maybe the moment was right, because, yay, I loved it. It made me happy the way Merlin used to. Funny how moving it out of NYC gave me two of my most favourite episodes. I like it when Peter and Neal, or Peter, at least, are allowed to care, and be clever together, instead of at odds. I know, it ain't gonna last, I've seen the spoilers, they seemed determined to set the dial to nasty, even when the show works best when it's boys against the world, not each other. Ah, well, at least I had the great holiday romance episode.
And young Bomer? Still pretty.
Wednesday: Oy, what a week. Feeling a touch more sinned against than sinning again, alas. Take last Monday, fer instance. After a really, really hard day, all I wanted to do was curl up into bed with a hot water bottle, a hot cup of tea, and watch Winchesters. Nope. Not even o'er leaping all the hurdles placed in my path before the appointed hour was enough, because when I turned on the telly I discovered the cable was out again. Much stomping and pouting and cursing ensued, as you'd no doubt expect.
Not that I care that much about Supernatural these days, as the show is way, way, way, way past its prime, but still, it's the principle of the thing. I wanted my Dean fix, dammit. And it means no Raylan tonight, either, so I was moping in advance.
I know, other people are dealing with deepest darkest crap, but het, it's my misery, and there are countless other abuses, and I do rely on tv to cheer me up come nightfall.
Yeah, I should be typing. I would, if only there weren't a million other things to do. Recycling is always more important than my pathetic efforts, let's not forget. Ditto ironing, etc. Funny how chores always manage to fill in the gaps. Sigh.
Sorry, grumpy me, and then to be called on being miserable by the sods who make me miserable, well, it's enough to sore try a person. And then you take away my Dean and Raylan? What kind of a monster are you, universe? Seriously.
Meanwhile, Himself is no longer laughing over my weird mystery virus, as he has it now. Besides the extreme dizzy spells, it also makes everything taste wrong, exactly like the fish fingers and custard scene in Doctor Who. Good is bad and bad is good. The worst thing was it ruining a decent cuppa. It made my expensive top shelf teas taste like swill, and I could only bear the tast of cheap, nasty, off the shelf supermarket teas. Oh, how he mocked. But now he, too, is suffering. It's either hysteria or the most evil virus ever. We call it Lyons Disease (because you can only drink cheap teas).
Friday: Things are not going according to plan. Tried watching telly online, but with speeds of 0.04kps, that wasn't happening. Got myself a set top digital telly tuner, but I don't hold with this digital telly racket. For a start, I'm reduced to twiddling rabbit ears again, which isn't very Spock at all, and now I remember why I have such an insane dvd collection as I can only get Seven, and badly. Ten is unwatchable, the others, not at all. Just like the bad old days. At least with analog telly I could choose to watch the blizzardy outlines of ghosts waft back and forth if I so chose. Now, I just get black screen. Other people have HD 3D internet tellys and I'm stuck back in the radio age. Can I have a little something that's AD and not BC, she says, quoting Sam Tyler.
I know, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's telly, but, seriously, can I just peek through the curtains?
Yes, clearly I should be doing stuff other than watching tv, trust me, message received, loud and clear, but the life killing commute, which was once only an hour or an hour and a half, as the bus was always pulling out just as the train pulled in, is now edging up to five hours of unendurable misery. That train and bus service no longer exist, for starters. Then we have the extra 50,000 people on the roads in my area, just in the last five years. It is actually quicker to get out and walk. I usually do, the last bit.
This is merely to say, by the time I get home, I'm tired, I've been up since 4am, I have to get up at 4am again (just to get into work on time), I'm in no fit state to do anything. I started to seriously nod off standing up washing the dishes last night. It's that bad. I just want my telly. Please?
No White Collar tonight, either. I'd look out the kindly sent Tivo version and happily watch that, if I'd not put them in a safe place* mid clean up. Oy...
Such a waste of time, this no telly thing, especially my visit to Dick Smith last night, which was so the Buy More, the only way it could have been more Chuck was if some 80s tv star had waltzed through the door. As it was I had to deal with two chaps from the Nerd Herd, who were so Jeff and Lester, right down to obssessing over the unfortnate fact that I share a name with a comic book character. (Fun fact: I also share a common ancestor with Dick Smith).
I miss Chuck. Even when watching Trek, the Jack the Ripper in space episode, when it takes over the ship's computers, the Peanut Gallery reckoned they should ask Bones for the name of his favourite Russian porn site. Heh.
I love Bones. Never did, as a kid (K/S shipper hardcore from a disturbingly inappropriately early age), but now, the perpetually drunk, drug dealing, politically incorrect doc has his charms. To be honest, it was when he got in that fight and never dropped the drink in his hand that impressed. Not even Caffrey is that cool.
See, I can swing around to characters, but only because Bones is now occupying a blissfully Gene Hunt-like position of being so wrong he's spectacular.
Like that episode, had the whole ship stoned by the end. Ah, the Sixties. Bless 'em.
Then there was the tribble episode. Cute as it was, the forced laughter at the end reminded the Peanut Gallery that the 70s were coming.
So, off to the 70s in Doctor Who, with aliens running around the National Theatre, to my great amusement. Even better fun was one of my favourite episodes of childhood, which made far less sense now, but never mind. I love a good monster show, but what amused me this time was seeing the Tardis fail to translate Polari, of all the languages in the universe. There goes the gay agenda. Mind you, they were speaking Polari on Doctor Who. Heh.
The things you'll see on 70s telly, I swear. The Seventies, bless 'em. And I haven't even mentioned the outfits. That's a whole 'nother post.
Speaking of the 70s, I saw this wonderful photo of the great Gough, surrounded by hairy hippy performance artists, and looking somewhat perturbed. See, not even the people who made 1973 were entirely comfortable with it, so what hope Sam Tyler, eh?
Ooh, my third Life on Mars reference. I feel a box set beckoning. If I can remember where I put that while I reorder my shelves. Sigh. A life of half finished jobs, that's me.
And I can sum up my week at work in just one word: HENNIMORE!
Saturday: Went to Sculpture by the Sea and saw The Globe's Doctor Faustus. Sculptures a bit meh, Fautus fab. More later, on a tight schedule right now.
Toby Schmitz takes the lead in Belvoir's Private Lives
Man of many parts
Back to the future: Why The Jetsons is the most influential TV show of the 20th century
Joss Whedon: Romney win key to zombie apocalypse
Buried with a stake through a heart: the medieval 'vampire' burial
Frankenstein's monster: Why gothic is more popular than ever
Ray Harryhausen: the father of fantasy film-making
Can you dig it? not if you're a 'Time Team' fan
Six to watch: US TV's scene-stealers
Mads Mikkelsen in NBC's 'Hannibal' - first picture
Martin Landau: From North by Northwest to Frankenweenie
Where have all the adverbs gone? And how did they go?
Fans of Robert Louis Stevenson urged to celebrate author's life and work
Simon Le Bon speaks of dramatic sea rescue
Sam Neill: Thankfully I did not get to play James Bond, I wouldn’t have enjoyed it
Interview: David Mitchell, comedian, on his memoirs and work with Robert Webb
Why we shouldn't have to wait for 'Downton Abbey'
You don't scare me, Seven boss tells pirates
Europe's oldest prehistoric town unearthed in Bulgaria
An Unexpected Briefing #airnzhobbit
Carrier pigeon's skeleton sparks WWII code mystery
Photographs of Hurricane Sandy
Hurricane Sandy: Most New York Studios Unscathed, But Chelsea Piers Not So Lucky (WC)
How to Wear A Winter Suit (Gabriel Macht)
Cary Grant at home: the artfully staged 'ordinary lives' of Hollywood greats
Harvesting the land in days gone by
Sir David names the top 10 endangered species for his ark
One lost at sea as Bounty is pounded by Sandy
In the wake of Sandy's fury, residents regret decisions to stay put [just for the creepy bit about the dorbells]
Something fishy about 'small man syndrome'
Romney's 'binders full of women' goes viral
Tony Abbott on the losing side again after baby jibe at Julia Gillard backfires
What it feels like to be attacked
Why beauty is rarely worth it
Ten things she hates about you
Dobber brings down curtain on Belvoir's take on Miller
Row over changes to Death Of A Salesman
Paintings by Picasso, Matisse, Monet and Gauguin stolen from Dutch museum
Blue Period on the Black Market
Counterfeiters' clean getaway foiled by police
Claude Monet's garden of works coming to National Gallery of Victoria
Shatner's Love for Language Shines in Shatoetry App
A case of the skeleton out of the cupboard
Supernatural: Is Wincest Dead?
'Supernatural' star Jensen Ackles on Dean Winchester's post-Purgatory mindset: 'He just spent a year in the trenches'
Jared Padalecki: Supernatural Without Conflict Would Be Gilmore Girls
'Supernatural's' Jared Padalecki on Sam's relationship with Amelia: 'It begs further questions'
Misha Collins on 'Supernatural' fate: 'It takes a while to play out'
'Grimm' Silas Weir Mitchell Q&A: 'Show is a metaphor for real world'
Is James Bond gay? Javier Bardem's Silva tries to seduce 007 in Skyfall
007 DOUBLES: THE REAL-LIFE PEOPLE BEHIND THE JAMES BOND CHARACTERS
James Bond Bisexual: Daniel Craig, Javier Bardem On Alleged Homoerotic 'Skyfall' Scene
Parra turns Japanese, with all eyes on Jackman
Joss Whedon Brings Clark Gregg's Agent Phil Coulson Back for ABC's S.H.I.E.L.D
HUSBANDS #1: DRAWN IN
HUSBANDS #2: THE WELL-INTENTIONED-BUT-OBLIVIOUS PRINCE AND THE JUSTIFIABLY BELLIGERENT PEASANT OR EQUALLY EVER AFTER
Matt Bomer to Guest Star on The New Normal as Andrew Rannells' Ex-Boyfriend!
Matt Bomer is the New Normal
Matt Bomer Pops White Collars Bonerz On Ryan Murphy's New Normal
Matt Bomer to Play Bryan's Ex-Boyfriend on The New Normal
Matt Bomer's Magic Mike Deleted Scene Gives Us A Bomer Boner!
Tim DeKay: Matt Bomer is Funnier Than He Is Good-Looking
Matt Bomer Shafted As Superman Because He's Gay?!?!
Matt Bomer Missing Magic Mike Ken Doll Images Surface
'The New Normal' spoilers: More on Matt Bomer's appearance
Joe Manganiello Praises Matt Bomer For Coming Out Gay
Glimpses of Matt Bomer's deleted stripping scene surface
Matt Bomer to Guest Star on The New Normal
Jackie Collins: 'Matt Bomer lost out on Superman because he's gay'
Matt Bomer: The Real Reason He Never Played Superman (No, It's Not Because He's Gay!)
Matt Bomer's New Normal Character: Scandalous Details Have Arrived!
Matt Bomer & Matthew Morrison: '8' Performance Pics!
Patrick Wilson, Matt Bomer & Liv Tyler Go Into Orbit For Sci-Fi Dramatic Comedy 'Space Station 76'
Patrick Wilson, Liv Tyler And Matt Bomer Front Low-Budget Sci-Fi Feature
Matt Bomer's 'White Collar' co-star talks Christian Grey role
USA Announces Winter Premiere Dates for Suits, White Collar and Necessary Roughness
'White Collar' Winter 2013 Premiere Date: USA Schedules Return Dates
'50 Shades of Grey' Movie: Matt Bomer's 'White Collar' Costar Talks Casting
White Collar Italia Daily
* Safe place means somewhere so obscure and out of the way it will never be found until archaelogists unearth it thousands of years hence.