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

So I did see Hell or High Water last night (always a close run thing given my unexpected deadlines in this 24-hour news cycle life we lead now).

Oh boy, golly and gosh (and please don't show CWP my original tweet, I was having a fit of the vapours).

So yes, I should have said Hell or High Water was a jagged pic of the souring of the American dream and not just CP being gorgeous. Chris Pine was gorgeous though. How did no one notice those blue eyes? Should have put an APB out on those eyes. Bank robber with the bluest of blue eyes, ever.

It was a perfectly judged and understated, very quiet performance, and I loved him dearly for it. I have faith in him as an actor again, a damn fine actor.

Because I wasn't sure, knowing he went from this straight to Trek, if it was because the role, as written, required Kirk to looked tired and as if he was just phoning it in, or if Chris was just tired and phoning it in. Maybe both, I dunno. Not that I mind angsty, miserable Kirk (it makes for much angsty teenaged fic, all There Is a Light That Never Goes Out), but still.

But I loved Hell or High Water. It is one of those classic old noirish westerns where you want the bank robbers to win because the world ain't fair or right. And a Nick Cave soundtrack. Bonus. Proper.

And man, I am missing Justified so bad right now. I would not have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, but I think Chris actually out-did Timothy Olyphant's Raylan Givens for sleek, bruised cool, and that is saying something, because, man, does Raylan make me go weak at the knees, still, so you can imagine what that last scene did for me. (Still, it'd make me the second person in my family tree to spontaneously combust, not the first). I like my boy being all intense and more than a bit bad and dangerous.

Not that I don't love him being all gosh darn sweet and heroic - how many times have I watched The Finest Hour now? Love the accent. Pretty spot on with accents (except British, ouch).

So, yes, great film about the current American dystopia. How the west was lost? And how dumb is the SMH saying we should look to US re housing when I've just seen a film about brothers robbing banks to save the farm. Seriously. No one should be looking to America as anything but a horrible warning, not a shining example.

Speaking of hard times, ran into my favourite Big Issue seller on way to Quay (I walked across town, yay me). He's doing it tough too since they sacked three whole towers of government workers (including me) over the last couple of years (they switched out the lights just the other month).

It's not just the government employees who lost their jobs. The coffee shop, sandwich shops and newsagent are gone, too.

I told him the survivors are down the skanky end of town. There's only a few here from my old offices that made it, so I didn't do too bad, coming through some extreme elimination rounds. Of course it's only because I'm easily pushed into working long days for no pay, but still, I get paid for half the time I work, which is better than none.

And it's good to have a few old mates here - startled a co-worker down at the coffee shop when I was hugged from behind. Oh, that was just the Head of X I explained, to her further astonishment. I knew Y when we were girls together in Dept Z (and bless her, she still treats me like we're still girls together on that old floor). That's nice.

But, yes, basically, saw Hell and High Water, it was amazingly good and Chris Pine was totally rocking that porn 'tache (which means he can't play a Qantas pilot anytime soon). That was some mighty fine Pine.

Tuesday: I am having such a terrible time with liars, thieves, brutes and despots, I will instead tell you about my night at the theatre. Yes, due to losing my calendar, firewalls and pretty much having to rely on stuff I'd scrawled on scraps of paper, I'd severely overbooked myself this week (and I'm doing it again, though they brought out the Big Guns, in my defence, stuff I just can't say no to), and I wasn't looking forward to another grim piece of theatre, but you know what? I didn't mind it.

I do think the bad boy wunderkid of local theatre has his days numbered though, as the theatre was empty past my row H, which was unfortunate, and, yes, hello, bare, enormous, empty stage again, and the patrons either side of me did complain that it was a bit bleak for a Monday, and so it was, watching a nice, ordinary, nothing special but not a bad person middle aged woman suffer, go slowly mad and try and kill herself. Bleak isn't the word. And yet Kerry Fox was so good, so damn bloody good, she filled that cavernous space and made me weep.
( more: crazy ivan )

After a particularly rough day, because I just love judgemental twats getting up in my face, it was a cheery evening with a barely bloody drinkable red and a big episode of Buffy (the one where Angel gets happy) and an episode of Law & Order UK, which wasn't cheery at all, but it had cute as a button Jamie Bamber in it, and they were wandering around my favourite streets (unlike other shows set in other cities, I could see them stroll past just one shop and know exactly where they are, hello shop, a couple of doors down from my Cafe Nero and I need to go back, I'm a few cups short of a freebie) and it's all old L&O episodes in English drag, which adds a further layer of meta hilarity to the proceedings, and there's Bill Paterson popping up to growl something in his brogue and, well, I am very easily amused.

Finished off with Once Upon a Time, which is freaky and does not bear close examination at all but I'm happy to waft along for the ride. It's all very daft but with the same sort of soapy stuff that kept me bouncing along with Buffy, so it tweaks that kink and I'm happy.
( more: roman in the gloamin' )

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 )

Hey ho there. Trip stuff later, cause I haven't got my pics organised yet and what's a picture post without pictures, right? The Space Needle: A study in 10,000 pictures, coming your way - heh.
( more: they seek him here, they seek him there )