I'm so tired, of playing, playing with this bow and arrow

An evening with Richard Armitage, and what a fine evening it was. I'd actually had no more hopes than setting the recorder thingy, popping a few pills and nodding off, but instead I found myself happily lost in the viewing/perving experience, quite entranced until I realised it was only four hours away from gettin' up time. Ooops. But he was so very lovely. We had PoncyRichard, ActionRichard and SleazyRichard, all very charming and not the sort I'd kick out of bed for eating biscuits, n'est pas?

I'd not actually seen The Impressionists before (and given that I was Manet'd/Monet'd to death in the 90s, there's probably a good reason for that) but it was actually quite charming, in an extraordinarily low budget kinda way. Looks like one of those proto doco/drama things, ie as well as feasting on the eye candy of Mr Armitage, there were vistas galore and they insisted on educating me on all the history that I missed out on going to a poor school that never taught art. Gosh, but I actually learnt stuff. I did want to slap Monet though, whining about being penniliess, then admiting he was on an allowance. Poncy middle class bastard. Ahem.

Dear Freddy Bazille was slightly distracting, being played by that wanker from Absolute Power. Shame to see him snuffed out, I do so hate wasted lives of extraordinary promise when perfectly useless lives just carry on. It's just so unfair.

Btw, Impressionists slash: too soon? Discuss. (cf The Yellow House).
( more: 'I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw' )