Entries tagged with sherlock

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What I did on my holidays #3

Anyhoo, the exhibitions. First stop was Nude at the Art Gallery of NSW (and stop sniggering up the back). That was okay. Actually, I kinda loved it, the first few rooms anyway because it had a few nice pieces from the Tate (it was all from the Tate) , including a few I confused myself as having seen recently before remembering, oh yeah, back in ’15, in situ. Love the lush high Victoriana. I know it’s uncool, but I can’t help myself. I love a fine bit of vaguely homoerotic classicism on a summer’s day. I love a Fred Leighton (Have you seen his house? If that’s the house, imagine what the parties must have been like?).

Then we moved onto Modernism, and that was pretty cool, too (though you have to ignore the cultural misappropriation of all that African and Islander imagery). Abstraction, not so much. Here, women are just reduced to the Republican ideal of a woman: all fanny and no head (see also that Chris Pine photo, tsk).

Finally got to see The Kiss, and that was a bit meh, mainly because they had it positioned wrong and the proportions were all off. And I did snigger, at the David Hockney, which was such a bad look, because I do really love them, but the line drawings of the blond and the brunette in bed with their 1966 aesthetic was so much like a certain tumblr feed o’mine I couldn’t help myself, dammit. So much like that series of Academy drawings I can’t even.

Also got to see some OMFG surviving examples of Turner’s hardcore hand drawn porn. Oh, to have seen Ruskin, the world’s greatest prude, discovering his worshipped hero’s secret smut stash of shame, oh, to have seen his little face, heh heh heh.

The modern stuff was meh meh meh, though I did finally see a Freud I didn’t loathe, and they had Bacon.

Also popped in to Manifesto again (with all the angry Cates), and then a small room of Japanese art, containing a wall of blinking numbers by Tatsuo Miyajima, which had me entranced.

So it was over to the MCA for the Tatsuo Miyajima exhibition, which was quite wonderful. Who knew you could make numbers so pretty, or mean so much, or nothing. Loved the goldfish pond one, and the rooms of blue and red. The train set with the coal was upsetting though.

( more: The Canberra Exhibition Expedition )

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What I did on my holidays #2

So I finally watched the less than lauded Sherlock episode, possibly the last ever, and if the mission was, somewhat oddly for a commercial enterprise, to leave us not wanting any more today, thank you, then mission accomplished?

I wasn’t as outraged as some, but then I knew where it was going the moment I saw the sword come out of the umbrella (fancy yourself Steed? Think again). As Himself remarked, about halfway through you were thinking Emma would have figured it out by now, and (and he really should have popped in a pipe or started pointing with it as he carried on with his comments) if they had to rip off The Avengers, why chose two episodes of the colour series not held in terribly high esteem by the fans (House That Jack Built, Superlative Seven) when there are much better bland and white episodes to dabble with.

I know, everyone’s a critic these days. Everything is so damn derivative. When I was trying (and failing) to write as a kid, I hated myself for how derivative I was. If I accidentally borrowed a scene from a film I’d seen six years before I’d rip myself for it, for months. Now, well, anything goes (not me, of course, I just edit articles about dog shit, yes, really).

Take La La Land (please). Look, I was in Canberra on a Friday night, so bored and alone goes without saying, and the telly and interwebs at the hotel didn’t work, but I was curious as to what all the fuss was about. I remain so. Bold choice, staging a musical with leads who can’t sing or dance. And they really don’t know how to sing at all – I seem to have had more training just for a school choir in a poor suburb (they always think choirs are so improving for impoverished urchins). Charmless, too (Ryan Reynolds was totally robbed). But the fact that the whole thing was a badly stuck together mashup of Singing In the Rain and Funny Face? As a fan of both those films, I have to say ‘hey, now’.

Then again, Rogue One wasn’t entirely shiny and new either, slamming somewhat haphazardly between reprising scenes from Star Wars with the sort of dogged devotion one used to only find in fan films, you know, the really humourless ones, and those old WWII films they used to always screen on Channel Ten (Dirty Dozen et al).

Again, and it might just be me being old, grumpy and permanently concussed, but I didn’t dig that as much as I’d hoped. Maybe I didn’t have enough red wine. The Dendy Canberra brought in two enormous art house sized glasses of red (I’d forgotten I was in an art house theatre, they give you enormous glasses that hold half a bottle instead of the usual tiny capful, so it was a very rosy viewing) and so, despite all my misgivings, I was actually enjoying La La Land, though the next morning there was a lot of regret and what-did-I-do humiliation.

Speaking of red wine, lil Chris Pine should ease up on it a touch, if some recent interviews are any indication. Either that or he’s letting his freak flag fly, which is equal parts adorable and alarming, depending on my mood (sometimes I get distressingly maternal and wish he’d smarten himself up).

My plan to watch all the dvds in my Twelve Days of Chris festival never happened because of a heatwave/concussion nexus of please just let me die, but there were a few of the standard staples on telly (Star Trek, Jack Ryan, etc.), so I did get a Chris fix. And fix is the right word. I don’t know why I decided that Chris Pine was going to be the opiate du jour of this mass, but it works, mostly, and unlike his British brethren (Tom Hardy, Benedict Cumberbatch, etc.), far more likely to be somewhere on the schedule (unless, of course, they’re in the same movie as young Chris). I mean, I’ve obsessed before, ahem, once or twice, over a jolly little actor, but it’s never been the three films daily scheduling that some Pine Nut at Foxtel manages to schedule. So it’s a steady drip feed, which I suppose keeps me slightly sane.

Harder after yesterday (I’m going to need something special, Chris). Well, it’s this whole week, really. Back at work, heatwave, over an hour’s wait just to get on a crowded bus. I fainted on Monday and caught my hip on the shower stall. I fainted again yesterday while holding a cup of peppermint tea (which I’d only fetched because poorly) and ended up dripping with peppermint tea. At least I don’t have any meetings, thinks I, gazing down at myself sopping self. Oh yeah, I suddenly do, to be told I gotta apply for my own job, and I can’t even manage a cup of tea without passing out. Fine, ok. Even better, the job I was doing that afternoon took me to my old site (what have they done) and I saw the project I was working on two years ago finally got up and done. It made me sad. And dripping with tea. And soon to be redundant. Again.

So, you know what? Not going to apologise for the Chris Pine and red wine. I need all the help and comfort I can get, and it’s just a flickering screen and a few tannins, so be it.

The one thing film did cheer me up over the last couple of weeks was Fantastic Beasts. Not a Harry Potter fan, at all, but it had Colin and Eddie in it and was set in a version of 1920s New York so I went along expecting Bedknobs and Broomsticks and it kinda was, but with an odd dollop of Peaky Blinders thrown in as well, which was startling but pleasing. My goodness but Crooks Like Us has a very long tail these days. I mean, I’ve loved that book since forever (signed, my copy, been to two author talks) and I know it off by heart, so when I see it clearly being used as a reference on a film set, which it is these days, so often, I can giggle when I see a gaggle of men on film, like oh there’s p43 and p27 standing with Mr p73. So that was funny.

But I liked the film, it made some pointed anti-Trump speeches (good old JK), most of the characters were kind of sweet, and yeah. I was only a bit sad walking home because I missed my friend (I have hardly any friends, so I miss the few good ones I’ve lost along the way).

Articles of interest from the Interwebs: https://plus.google.com/u/0/113197665355692280218/posts

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What I did on my holidays #1

There’s probably a sad cockatoo, sitting in a sad gum tree, missing his morning tea.

I know, don’t feed the birds, but that ship had sailed (I didn’t teach him how to rattle a door knob, or the joys of biscuits) but I’d been working home/being home a lot lately, and, well, I miss that. I miss the company. And, he, no doubt, misses the free feed.

The possum is his fine frisky self again, in case you were wondering. Something must have been in fruit just that little bit too far, as there were many, many walks of shame in the morning (most spectacularly on 25 December, I swear the wee rascal was out gorging himself on the ‘reindeer carrots’ a local supermarket had insisted on marketing). Had to hit him with the Chris Pine last night, because he was being really thumpity bumpity noisy. Yep, the infamous ‘I Will survive’ clip. I did warn him. I wasn’t messing about. Did the trick though, one possum free night (thank you, Chris, keep rocking).

So, what did I do on my not-holiday? (Well, it should have been sick leave but we’re having yet another effing restructure so I took it as rec leave instead, because yikes). Not a lot, truth be told. A lot of sweating into the couch (thanks, month-long heatwave), not a lot of fic writing as hoped (too much headache, but no doubt the universe approves, even though my muse is ever so chatty, and foul-mouthed, and I love him, the impatient little cranky-pants).

Mainly, as it was too hot for dvds (dammit) or laptops (and Himself had hoovered up all the bandwidth anyways) I was reading books, and old favourites, as I remembered the last time I’d hurt my head this badly, it lasted for ten years, and most of what I’m hitting now is from that time, when I used to hang off my bed upside down because the light was better and I couldn’t bear to have my head touch a pillow. Douglas Adams kept me halfway sane then, so I asked it of him again.

I know some folks frown at me re-reading favourite books, to which I say, firstly, favourite and old familiar friend of comfort. Secondly, you can never read the same book twice, the way the old saying goes you can never enter the same river twice. I am not twelve or fourteen or fifteen or whatever anymore (oh, so not), so I’m not the same person, so I’m reading different things, taking different meanings, getting jokes and references that floated past me before, by way of being an ignorant, untravelled child (at least I know what a Pizza Express is now).

So I read a couple of Dirk Gently books, mainly because I was excited by the new series and I adore Samuel Barnett (such a sweetie at the NT stage door that time) but it left me cold. So, back to the books. Which made me wonder why so many books I’m reading have Thor in them, just because, often for no really adequately explained reason, and is it because I was born on his day, I really have a thing for Norse gods (don’t answer that) or is he popping up in my books like a viral meme and I can expect the Asgard boys at the Netherfield ball the next time I crack open Pride and Prejudice?

Also, why do Sherlock, Doctor Who and Lucifer all feature extensive quotes from the Dirk Gently books, but of the actual Dirk Gently series, nada? Just curious. It’s the sort of question best put to Dirk himself really, I’m sure it’s all connected, somehow.

Also been hitting the Le Carre (which makes my post US election Twitter even more scary, since Our Kind of Traitor is very, shall we say, foretelling). And the Agatha, because nothing is as cosy as a nice murder or three. Does anyone ever wonder that Dame Agatha spent most of her time on train trips, at dinner parties or faffing about on her husband’s archaeological digs thinking up exotic ways to kill people? Just asking.

Imagine sitting across the train carriage from Agatha, and her beady eye falls upon you, and you just know she’s measuring you for a coffin. I, of course, would never do that.

Articles of interest from the Interwebs: https://plus.google.com/u/0/113197665355692280218/posts

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a wrinkle wrinkled

Real shame the markets at Hyde Park Barracks were rained out last night. I'd been looking forward to that all year, because last year was so unexpectedly fun and I'd run into some dear friends. This year it was sitting on a bench under a tree, mostly sheltered from the wall of rain, eating oysters and drinking gin. Oh yeah, that East Ender ancestry is showing its petticoats again.

So it was fun, but not super amazing fun, though the desperate store holders were all chatty and sweet, and I did come home loaded with pies, chutney and cordials. Now I'll have to cook a dinosaur-sized turkey as I seem to be anticipating an unhealthy amount of leftover sandwiches.

This year, thanks to be hit by that 4WD, I've successfully pleaded my case for not working over the break (I have a note) so I'm looking forward to leftovers, gin cocktails, and good books.

Which is why I've had to go buy a couple of new editions of old beloved books because they're so damn old (35+) that they're almost too fragile to open, let alone bouncing around on the commute or whatever. Ouch.

( more: beloved old books and heroes of yore )

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aren't you the 'good' man?

Angry possums can move really fast. I had the territorial Ms Possum growling and hissing at me through the crawl space in the bathroom, and I told her to rack off. Later, still pitch black, I went out to fill the seed tray for the forever annoyed at me parrots when a very large and growling possum raced across the yard, up the macadamia tree, shaking it like a thing possed, leaping from that to the shed to the house to lean over the gutter and snarl at me, before flicking her furry tail and scuttling off over the laundry.

So, nobody's ever been killed by a possum, right? She really does not like me, especially this week. Been home with the wotsits for a couple of days, real bad, and she's been snarling at me through the bookcase, even when I didn't have the tv on. Does not like me at all (adores Himself though, the coquette).
( warning: contains dairy products and traces of nuts )

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fire in the hole

You know, I do try to support my local bookstores. They don't make it easy. Ordered a couple of books on the weekend, from the meta rec list (that is, a book or author is mentioned several times in one week, I decide I should take the hint and read it), well and good, but now they've cancelled my order because none of the books, which were listed as being in stock, are in fact, in stock, or even in print. Not good, Dymocks. Not good at all. Hello, Amazon...

You know, there will come a point, and I'm passing the signposts already, where I just go straight to Amazon without even bothering. Lift your game, Dymocks. Lift. Your. Game.

Mind you, Amazon are in my poo books right now because my Kindle app has ceased functioning on my Samsung and I was halfway through several books, which I will have to probably try and source in print form, only to have Dymocks cancel my order due to sloppy stock-keeping, then back to Amazon again, only to have my order lost, stolen, backed over several times by heavy machinery, half eaten by a wild animal, recycled as firelighters...

So, ya wanna hear about the fillum I went to the other night? Tom Hiddleston's latest. Avoid at all costs.

It wasn't that it was bad, per se, and, as the women behind me were saying, one expects a certain level of wank, but...
( more: making bad choices )

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big tents, giant ducks and card sharks

Before I get dragged down by today, I have to tell you about last night. Rotten day, but, oh, the night. Ended up at The Spiegeltent in Hyde Park (our one, not their one) to see the one and only Amanda Palmer, who only just made it, having been snowed in oop north. For a girl who just got off the plane she was rather glam and very nice. She even came out to sign the merch, barefoot and in a yellow silk dressing gown. Gotta love her.

It was grand, too. Himself even broke out the red velvet jacket (how very Pertwee of him), the one that stopped traffic in London, but which I'd not yet seen, and the red embroidered waistcoat (whereas I was making do with my M&S dress, the one I loved but was put down so thoroughly at that other place, being told that if she wore it, the little miss, it'd be much too much and attention grabbing with her good figure and posh shoes and perfect hair, but scruffy old dowdy me dressed it down so much it was barely noticeable and very ordinary. Thanks for that).

So, red velvet, circus tent (eventually, and fie and fie on that ridiculous old woman who let an entire bus load of people in front of us in the queue, who'd never even heard of AP and would be better off sticking to box seats at the opera, harumph, but at least I could bitch and moan and talk Sherlock and Who and Hobbit with the girls I was squashed into behind me) and Amanda Palmer. On stage. At last. (well, it seems an age though it really isn't).

In she walked, just in yellow silk, ukulele in hand, to knock us back in our seats for a (mostly) one woman show with just a keyboard and the ukulele. What a set! What a performance! Sad songs to break the heart, silly songs to smile over, lots of Australian songs from her Australian set (she does seem to love it here). Himself hurf derfing over the Vegemite song, me nearly breaking down during the really downer song.

It was just a magical moment. Back in time for tea and Jack Whitehall on the telly. Ok, that was the best birthday treat ever.
( more: magic, rubber ducks, dwarves and dragons )

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post-seasonal blues

I just loved the Grimm xmas episode. Best xmas tv episode in a very long while. Just silly enough to edge out the sweet, and even 'the message' wasn't ott, just a bit about treading a middle path re xmas expectations and making the best of whatever your deal is, which is kind of nice and practical, rather than all those 'best xmas evers' one has to sit through that just make one wrtetched. Yeah, I liked it. And Nick beat up Santa, twice. Well, once was the Krampus, and kudos for using real mythology, and, better yet, having to actually tone it down a touch for telly.
( more: holiday photos, travel grumbles, holiday fugue )

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The Brit(ish) List

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( This week: Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman spotted filming Sherlock, First Look At Rhys Ifans As Mycroft Holmes And Sean Pertwee As Lestrade, Daniel Craig wants to lighten up Bond 24, Tom Hiddleston Wins Anglo Fan Favorites for Second Straight Year, David Morrissey to star in new AMC drama, Idris Elba's Luther to get big screen prequel, David Tennant and Paul McGann to appear live on stage, Ben Miller on Tony Hancock, Andrew Garfield turns 30, David Oyelowo delves deeper for role in The Butler, Luke Evans Talks About Filming, Daniel Radcliffe and Dane DeHaan Front the First Poster for Kill Your Darlings, Dan Stevens on the unbeatable buzz of an insect killing spree, Bill Nighy Calls Richard Curtis Rom-Com About Time His Own Wake-Up Call, James Corden Is Paul Potts In One Chance, Martin Freeman to play dad in autobiographical short Little Crackers, Tom Hardy set to scale Everest, Michael Caine Slams Sean Connery Alzheimer's Rumor, Henry Cavill Tops List Of Famous Men Most Women Want To Vacation With, Paul Bettany recruits wife for directorial debut )

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(no subject)

You find me miserable and sniffly today with a nasty horrible post holiday bug, and especially miserable as I had to miss something last night I had tickets for but there was nothing to be done (I was in no fit state and the weather was shockingly awful), but still sulking/grieving and annoyed, because, by hell, I didn't let anything stop me on my holidays.

Oh, that holiday. Loved it. Brief, too brief, but I packed in a lot for my limited time and though I missed hooking up with some friends and family, I had fun, I met many nice, kindly folks (especially north of the border) and I saw things I never dared think I would.

History happened, too. I always wanted to be in the UK the day She died, and so I was (and I have the souvenir editions to prove it). The experience on the street was entirely different from the way it was reported, just a lot of people talking quietly about how they or a loved one had had their hopes and dreams stolen. No wild parties, just on going lives, rudely readjusted.

I will type up the diaries later, but basically, wow. Just, wow. Landed at 1.35pm, was on the steps of the National Portrait Gallery at 4.15pm to see the Man Ray exhibition, whom I love. Sadly it meant trying to see tiny, tiny images over the shoulders of a rugby scrum, and they were built like rugby forwards, too, so I didn't see much, but what I did see I loved. I love his symmetry, his play of light and dark, his quirky. Also saw an exhibition of Native American portraits (only fair after last year) which were competent at best but as a record, outstanding, then I rippe through the rest of the gallery before cloding time. Hello, Drake, Byron, Jane, Charlotte, William...and, and the most adorable pic of Roger Moore from the set of the Saint.
( more: boys keep swinging )

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The Brit(ish) List

( This week: Tom Hiddleston talks Loki, Top Gear saw Matt Smith become the fastest Doctor, Set Photos Show Benedict Cumberbatch Battling Spock, Henry Cavill reveals his Superman diet for Man of Steel, Dominic Cooper Signs On For Brian De Palma's Passion, Fassbender becomes web film festival judge, David Morrissey to join cast of Walking Dead, Jason Isaacs explores nature of reality in Awake, Ewan McGregor has a new ads Korea, Jude Law and Jason Robert Brown launch National Youth Music Theatre season, Linus Roache joins ABC sci-fi pilot, Simon Pegg Will Be Dengar, Gerard Butler's Oscar comeback, Andrew Garfield discusses The Amazing Spider-Man, Martin Freeman to star in new music industry movie Svengali, Daniel Radcliffe's The Woman in Black sets British horror record, Patrick Stewart and Simon Callow tackle Shakespeare the man, Paddy Considine cover star of debut 'Industria' iPad mag, Oldman keen on Tinker Tailor sequel, Idris Elba Set To Play Nelson Mandela, Hugh Grant heads to Sydney )

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sinking the slipper

Is that a banana in my pocket? Why yes, it is, indeed. Finally, I can afford a banana. Rejoice.

Sorry, needed to lead off with a lame joke. Some people had said some very cutting remarks which utterly destroyed my sense of worth, and, which were also measurably, empirically and factually untrue, so I was seething and outraged as well as distressed beyond measure or description and it's been a long, grinding wait for a bit of karma, but when it came, it was break out the popcorn time. Oh yes, that'll do nicely. Thank you, universe. I feel much better now, so much better it's almost a struggle to stay seemly. I might have been more sympathetic to the blow to their pride had they not so mortified mine. Ah, screw that. In your face! Mwahaha!

Mind you, they've been taking it out on me ever since, ow, ow, ow, thump, sock, kapow.

Meanwhile, related to the events of last week, I'm having to lodge a development application to prune the trees with the council, in person, and pay cash. They don't even do faxes, let alone have an app for that. It's all so excruciatingly mediaeval I shall be very disappointed if they're not sitting there in their big cloaks and puffy hats and wielding quills and parchment. Get with the 21stC, mutter, mutter, mutter.
( more: Oh, carrots! )

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The Brit(ish) List

( This week: Tom Hiddleston on his best picture double, Michael Fassbender named best actor at Evening Standard Film Awards, Jack Davenport is ready for good time as bad boy, Jonny Lee Miller to play Sherlock Holmes in US series, James McAvoy films Filth in Edinburgh, Rafe Spall to be romantic lead, Rufus Sewell relishing vampire role, Garfield scared of Spider-Man, Matt Smith made patron of Royal Court Young Writers Festival, Dominic Cooper replaces Clive Owen in Cities, Benedict Cumberbatch to star in new Rumpole adaptation, Tom Hardy's massive transformation, Gary Oldman embraces awards season, Lewis nearly turned down Homeland, Daniel Craig in Glencoe filming new movie Skyfall, Henry Cavill In Talks for Great Wall of China Movie, James Corden set for big chance in USA, Eddie Redmayne acquires his very own set of groupies, Simon Pegg chooses palatial LA apartment with old-fashioned wood ceilings, Brian Cox to film TV comedy series in Dundee, Strong in the hunt for bin Laden, Caine tunes up with chart hits, Andrew Lincoln puts accent on drama, Billy Connolly lands dwarf role in The Hobbit, Bloom proud of model wife Kerr, Havers signals rocky Lewis return, John Hurt honoured at Evening Standard awards, Neeson tops Valentine's Day poll, James Purefoy joins Kevin Bacon in Fox serial killer pilot, David Tennant and Kelly Macdonald Walk Up The Aisle for Decoy Bride, Bettany eyes 3D film by Popogrebsky, Bill Nighy attacks Britain's treatment of the elderly, Alan Cumming backs campaign to save Aberfeldy cinema )

Current Mood: bitchy
Current Location: back patio
Current Music: noisy neighbours

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Girls & Boys

Mr Hiddleston posted this on Twitter this morning and it's so cute, the way the boy is actually star struck and comes over all fanboy with Miss Piggy. It is adorable.

Sorry, I was in sore need to a giggle. Key word being sore. The competing perfumes yesterday sent me tailspinning into such a headache I spent all night and all morning being most unwell. If only they could be persuaded to wear Charlie like that girl on the bus. I have a tolerance for that, at least. Oh yes. I was given a bottle as a gift once, cheap Avon toilet water that it is, a last ditch gift before everyone decided I was most likely to end up driving trucks for a living, probably, and I never really liked it but I must have been trying it on or playing with the bottle or something, I can't remember how, but old fumble fingers, as always, and let me tell you, my old dresser and room reeked of Charlie for two to three years solid. Solid being the opertative word. I remember the Charlie miasma being so thick you could carve it every time you opened the door.
( more: big hats, breeches and beards )

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that's what you get for falling for a cowboy

Remember the days of summer, both of them, snarked the Peanut Gallery. It's turned rainy and cold again.

I know I do keep on about it but I'm not used to it being this rainy and cold, especially in February. It's not right. The last time I remember it being either wet or cold was when I was five. Wet, as everyone else had gumboots except me, and cold because it was the one time I wore the woollen hat my distant grandmother had knitted and posted to me. I loved that hat, but I never really wore it, Sydney winters not being quite on the same scale as Aberdonian ones. But I remember wearing that lovely hat that winter, it was blue, and of wool so soft, and I remember the wind pinching my cheeks. Oh yes, it had little ear flaps that tied under my chin. Yes, it was an ear hat, and there's nothing wrong with those (the only other ear hat I've ever owned I bought in Edinburgh for one Scottish winter and it did remind me of that wee knitted hat, and never as good).

Sorry. So, yes, wet, cold, February. What's that all about?

It does mean I'm wearing my big boots and my old blue velvet jacket, just cause I felt like it, 'kay? Besides, dressing up has gotten me nowhere this week, so I might as well be happy, and the silly blue coat has caused a few people to smile (in pity or approval I know not).
( more: you can leave your hat on )

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boy, boy, crazy boy

It's like a week with two Monday's, this having a holiday on Thursday. At least, it sure felt like Monday this morning. So yeah, yesterday, yet another anniversary in my ancestor's forced resetllement at gunpoint. Yay. Stranded in the land of mega expensive airfares and no decent access to new releases. In other words, should have kept your bloody hands in your pockets, granddad.

As it was raining cats and dogs it seemed as good a time as any to do the old Hidden Tiger, Hounds of Baskerville double feature, especially as the interebs were as slow as and I was therefore far too grumpy and dispirited after a long strugge with the damn thing to do anything else. I needed cheering up, and quickly.

And it worked. What fun, and, putting them together, there was a lot more tonal and thematic similarities than I expected (it's been a wee while since I sat down to Hidden Tiger), more than I remembered, and that was fun, too. Who had the creepiest scientists? The flirtiest couple? The silliest resolution? Pretty much level pegging, imho. An excellent double feature.
( more: speed bonny boat )

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The Brit(ish) List

( This week: Kenneth Branagh nominated for Oscar, Hiddleston up for Rising Star gong, Cumberbatch's thrill with Star Trek, Cumberbatch excited by Hobbit role, Martin Freeman in The Hobbit, Jamie Bell Walks Runway For Prada, Jude Law hits out at hackers, Gary Oldman in line for Best Actor, Michael Fassbender wins at London film awards, Booth stars in Life At These Speeds, Jack Davenport's Derek Doesn't Care About Your Feelings, Eddie Redmayne stars in the moving drama Birdsong, Bale not worried about censorship, Downton Abbey sees off Doctor Who at National Television Awards, Paul Bettany's musical obsession, Ewan McGregor Is Ready to Rumble, James McAvoy turns bad boy cop, David Tennant walks down the aisle again, Irons opens fire on bank bonuses, Garfield dices with death on Spider-Man, John Hurt cast in Snow Piercer, D'Arcy shaves hair for Atlas role, New Image of Henry Cavill on set of Superman, James Purefoy in Romantic Role, Hardy prepares for Capone role )

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there and reichenbach again

Every time I go out into the office lobby, this enormous and bulging black bin bag has moved to somewhere else in the lobby and is skulking in a different corner or leaning against a different wall. I'm afraid I'm too much of a child of cheap and creepy British telly not to raise an eyebrow at this sort of behaviour, you know, from watching the sort of shows where they'd imbue a bin bag with dread and menance, because that's all the FX budget ran to.

Nevertheless, I'd have to declare their efforts most effective because I still can't but help find that independently mobile black plastic bin bag of unusual size rather unsettling.

Okay, yes, maybe that old wowser Mary Whitehouse had a point, but life would be so dull if there weren't any creepy deserted lobby wandering bin bags.
( more: a surfeit of Sherlocks )

Current Mood: lethargic

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wot I did on my holidays

Apologies for the in absentia. I've been busy/lazy/fighting aliens warlords in another dimension (delete as applicable).

Anyhoo, what have I been up to. Well, I'm so glad you asked. Are you sitting comfortably? Good, then we'll begin.

I think I told you about the sheep. Love those sheep. Rest of the week was pretty, well, you know, whatever. I even spent xmas eve trying to do the washing before it rained on me. No, not rained, poured. So that was half the wash bunged in the dryer and the rest decking the halls/dripping in the halls. Very merry.

Never fear. The big hamper from Fortnum and Mason arrived by magic, and double magic, I found out later, as I was one of the chosen few to get their hampers for xmas. The hamper gods did smile.
( more: cats and dogs )

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too many ponds

A surfeit of Ponds. A plague of Ponds. Still, it was rather funny. Walked in the door to find Matt Smith Doctor Who on the telly. Sadly, I'd missed the whole fish custard scene (which I still can't get over it being almost completely cut in the BBC America version, especially as it's an important scene, as in constantly referred back to, so nice one, BBC editors) but I did get my bum on the couch in time for the great 'I'm the Doctor' line.

So that was Pond #1.

Pond #2 was on Supernatural, of all places, with Jewel Staite from Firefly no less, using the alias Amy Pond. Coincidence? Homage? Severe drought in available character names?
( more: noodles )