My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

Last night, for some reason, I dreamt I was trying to watch Soldier Soldier on TV, but even in my dreams the universe places 999 obstacles twixt me and destination couch. I’m only really bemused because dear old subconscious had picked up on the fact that I’d seen a splendid number of chaps with Soldier Soldier on their CV, even though I’d not really noted it, in shows as far flung as Turn, Grimm and Game of Thrones.

Sharpe is also making a strong showing this week, guest cast wise, but clearly the subby only has room for one lot of squaddies at the moment.

I hardly blame it. I’m surprised the old noggin is working at all. It certainly hasn’t been up to factory specs this week. In fact today is the first day I’ve been coordinated enough to attempt to tell you about it.

Last week, in a rare early mark (that is, only leaving an hour late) after an entire zoo of a week, I managed to get a seat on the bus, but my smug was short-lived as the lunatic driver (can they not hire anyone who can actually drive these days?) lurched to a sudden stopped and I had a seven kilo bag swung in my face at about 70kph (okay, maybe 5kg at 50kph, but still). It rang my bell good and hard. Damn nearly broke my nose and glasses and I saw stars and I though a smashed up noggin and nose that still feels stunned and squishy and not right was the worst of it. Although I felt ill, that’s nothing unusual given the overcrowded bus and bad driving of the madman behind the wheel. But when I tried to get off the bus, and for hilarity’s sake there was a cop car lurking on the corner, but clearly they must have had bigger fish to fry, I staggered, fell over several times, threw up all the way home and all night, and am still suffering the mad swirls five days later (and as for my 12 hour work day on Monday where I was not at all right but nevertheless left to manage a late running urgent media job, let us just shake our tender heads and say no more about it).

I’m fairly sure I’ve concussed the old noggin, which is weird because I’ve had my bell run before, but they copped me right on the spot, and so, not good. No, no medical attention, no money to do so, have to pay for flood damage and Himself’s bills. Yeah, well, if I keel over it won’t be my problem anymore (I’m really beginning to understand my father’s mindset, what he was thinking marrying that ludicrous fairy tale awful woman I’ll never know).

Meanwhile, speaking of always being smacked in the head, I finally finished Daredevil (there’s something to be said for a soaking wet Saturday and a complete inability to sit up, let alone stand up). I liked. I liked a lot. Typically, because either I’m a girl or weird or both, I liked Nelson Vs Murdock best, because of all the flashbacks to the buddy and sore tried bromance of Foggy and Matt. Reviews I’ve read have not been kind, and anyone who doesn’t get how betrayed Foggy is, and how for years he’s helped where he didn’t have to, how he was made an utter fool of, and lied to, well, clearly they’ve not had enough one-sided friendships to wince the way I did. Poor Foggy.

I also really like the way Foggy has been made less the 2D idiot sidekick, as he did suffer a rather dreadful case of the Watsons in previous versions (that is, as in some versions of Holmes and Watson where Watson is portrayed with an IQ of less than 70 and more likely to stick his foot in a bucket than find a clue – see Kate Beaton’s comic). So Foggy not being a legal idiot and having hurt feelings was a big improvement.