Doctor Who went all Actor's Studio last night and it was suitably excruciating to sit through, as you'd expect any 'experimental' (read painful) performance piece would be. Yikes, and yikes again. I can't wait for the Web Planet [rolls eyes].
Fortunately Encore dished up Bulldog Drummond circa 1966 (a very good year) and there's nothing like a good 60s spy movie to make me unreasonably happy. This was nothing like, well, no, that's no fair. It started very well, in fact it started exactly the way 24 started, which made me go hmmm, but soon devolved into tedium, backdrops and a not terribly commited attempt to copy Bond (I've seen some 60s European spy films that win on heart alone).
We had fabulous music, even more fabulous fashions, 60s London, murderous bikini babes and a super villain who gave the traditional tour of his castle lair, but Drummond just didn't seem all that interested. In fact he didn't seem to care about anything but his young blond "nephew". Ahem.
Still, who cares. It was a 60s spy film and it made me happy after a hard, trying day at work (now Grima is reporting all my phonecalls, ie, one, from my mother, to Fearless Leader) and that's all I wanted.
After that there was a shitload of Stargate.
The currawongs said it might clear up today and we've certainly been spared the driving sheets of rain of yesterday. I've even seen the odd patch of blue. I am so going to be burned as a witch. I can't help it if my birds sing about the weather every morning and I've started to recognise patterns.