It was a long weekend and thus it was a wet weekend. Perfect shiny viewing weather, which is just as well as I wasn't even up for that much. I spent my happiiest moments snuggled under quilts with a nice hot cup of tea, a hot water bottle and old Audrey Hepburn films on the telly.
Friday was such a pig of a day that I ran away early, knowing I'd get in trouble (urgent work came in @ 18:15 on the Friday before a public holiday, I mean, I ask you, and I'd worked nearly a week in unpaid overtime) but I was melting down to a big blah, a dummy spit, an anxiety attack, whatever. I was awash with hormones and as shaky as sweaty gelignite.
So I ran away to the flicks and some shopping afterwards. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, naturally, as I've been an obvious longtime fan of the comic. I thoroughly enjoyed it, inspite of the horrid children kicking the seat behind me, and in spite of half the screen being out of focus, and to be honest, the trailer for Master and Commander was worth the ticket anyway. Whoo! (Though the idea of people with the personality of bilge water being introduced to my very favourite books makes me queasy).
So, The League. Sean was brilliant, let me state this up front. I've been a Sean fan since I was still shitting in nappies so I absolutely adore the man anyway, but I really loved him in this. Sure, it was Sean being Sean, but the fact that he was all class on screen in spite of the well documented crappy shoot is a testament to his professionalism. The cast was rounded out by fave Brit boys Tony and Jason, and Richard gnawed the scenery again. Stuart was a very vain, foppish and insolent Dorian. I loved the Nautalis, though I quibble over it drawing too much to traverse the Ventian canals, but never mind.
This was fun and this time the fault lies with the ill-educated audience and not with the film. None of the ignorant little oiks behind me had obviously ever cracked a book, therefore they didn't know about Mina's extra-marital liasons, why Dorian's painting was missing, why Dr Jekyll had a repressed and split personality (and if I read one more review that calls Mr Hyde a Hulk ripoff I'll rip their bloody arms off - precedence, my dear boy, precedence) or Allan's back story. Nor had they ever heard of Captain Nemo, the Invisible Man, the Phantom of the Opera, nor did they possess a familiarity with the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (a Victorian super-villain named M? Who could it be?)
And yes, JJ, it was slashy. Allan and Tom sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. I tried to turn away, I tried not to look, but it was so there. I know they were trying for a father/son student/teacher vibe, but, well, I guess I've seen too many Greek vases not to join the dots - smirk. Hey, they're the ones who hooked up the literary characters, I'm just a not so innocent bystander. Even one of my film mags commented upon it, so I'm thinking maybe it wasn't entirely by accident. Hmmmm....
The demographic that dare not speak its name? Certainly Pirates was uber slashy, and I feel deliberately so.
Anyway, jolly good fun. I should be writing in that universe if I wasn't otherwise engaged (with another Alan). Certainly my solitary childhood spent in the company of my father's library would finally be put to ill use.
Saturday was spent enjoying a West Wing retrospective (thank you) and lovely it was catching up on episodes I'd missed (well they will schedule it against Angel). Then I potted up my battle shield sized pot of herbs, my little herb garden, aka a snail all you can eat buffet as they've already gone after the chives and corriander, bastards, then I retired for a good solid twelve hours of violent cramps and puking. To my distress I was not blessed with any fic revelations this time round. Dang it. I knew that medicine would kill my fic writing and it has. Into the bin it goes. I'd rather die a slow, horrible death than not write.
Sunday my Aunt offered to take me off to a nursery so I managed to get myself upright but we failed in all the mission objectives, as the crab apple tree I wanted was too big and muddy for their precious car. Oh well. (Please commend me on sucking up my 'but I want it!' tanty as I was shaking and sweating hormones at the time).
I did pick up a wall placque of an, um, Bachanalian scene. You're wondering just how naughty could something bought in Flower Power be? Pompei naughty. Truly. I'd post a pic only it's been bucketing too much to take digicam outside. I just had to get it, in spite of, or maybe because of all that elderly disapproval.
It was kind of my Aunt to take us though. She wants to be my bad movie buddy because all her friends are locked into the artsy fartsy black and white films in Chekoslovakian only please phase, and she knows I have no shame in attending truly cheesy films, in public no less. It'd be fun. I used to have a bad film buddy but she's too busy having a real life and while I wish her every health and happiness, I can't help but feel churlish and neglected, too. Especially as I need cheering up, and nothing would cheer me up more than seeing Sandro float past on the lilo on the big screen - grin. Ah well, a solo expedition is preferred for Sandro, anyway (byo newspaper).
Monday was spent sleeping, reading the papers and watching the telly. No writing at all (those pills are so binned). Roswell twice, Buffy, Dr Who, Now and Again and then I flicked between Dark Angel and 6FU because 6FU is so mega soapy these days and it was my fave episode of DA.
Tuesday, still no fic writing - arrrgh - and nothing but work, work, work. I wish I could have thrown a sickie because, well, I feel like complete crap, there's six hours of Sam Neill on cable today and Touching Evil, too. Sigh. Pout. Whimper.