I keep saying that I'm going to post more, and yet somehow it never seems to happen! [personal profile] corvidology recently came up with an interesting idea, however - making February "Things I Love" month. This has potential. On the other hand, I doubt my ability to think of twenty-eight things that I love. Twenty-eight different dinosaurs? Well, we'll see.

But in the meantime, Festivids happened! And this year, some wonderful vidder has come up with an utterly perfect MacGyver vid (proper MacGyver, that is, not the remake). It's here. Two and a half minutes of bouncy fun, and things blowing up. What more could you ask for? (Except possibly dinosaurs.)

I was also very much amused by this one, which is a celebration of the gloriously hokey 1955 movie It Came From Beneath The Sea, in which an unfortunately six-tentacled octopus is driven up from the depths by hydrogen bomb testing, and terrorises San Francisco. And it's a Ray Harryhausen octopus, which makes it even better. And look! I found this awesome Danger 5 one, that I somehow missed at the time. I loved that show. It was utterly barking.

Hope everybody has had a good weekend.
Has it really been two months since I last posted? Blimey. I can never think of anything to write about though, and it's more interesting reading about you lot than it is writing about anything that I've been doing.

Ran out of episodes of Lucifer, and have no idea when season four is likely to appear, but The Gifted came back, which sort of filled a hole. It's been brilliant again, but it'll be finishing soon, as it only has short seasons. Cold Feet has come back too, and I recorded episode one, but haven't watched it yet. Which is awkward, as it will soon be time for episode two. Can't seem to summon up the enthusiasm though. No more Doctor Who until early 2020, but I did remember the other day that I started watching Heroes season one a couple of years back, and didn't get past about episode five. So I suppose I could go back to that at some point. I was enjoying it. It's just a question of a: remembering, and b: being bothered to get the DVDs out.

Reading-wise, I've just finished a book on Irish history, which was pretty lightweight, but interesting enough. I've been wanting to read something on general 19th century Irish life for a while, since family history research showed me that most of my family seem to have come from there. I wish the rest was as easy to read about (Slovenian history tends to be swallowed up by Habsburg stuff, since Slovenia technically didn't exist until comparatively recently, and 'modern' Alexandria, despite being a multi-ethnic metropolis until the Suez Crisis, seems mainly the preserve of literary writing, rather than historical. Italy is a bit easier, if lacking on the history of ordinary people). It's nice getting a bit of historical context. Going in an entirely different direction, I'll probably read Neil Gaiman's take on Norse mythology next.

Beyond that, there has been work, trying to get stuff done in the garden, and Fandom Stockinging. 2018 came to a complicated conclusion, and I'm rather glad to have got it out of the way. Best book read in 2018? Either The Dinosaur Hunters by Deborah Cadbury, or Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari. I would have said that the best album of 2018 was Who Sold The Moon? by Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds, but apparently that came out in 2017. So... As Long As I Have You by Roger Daltrey perhaps. Best film would have to be Infinity War I guess, as it's the only 2018 film I watched. Although The Greatest Showman was released in the UK on Boxing Day 2017, so that nearly counts. Damn it, it counts. That's the best film of 2018 (and I don't make my book choices be from the year, so why discriminate!) And best telly is obviously Lucifer, although many hurrahs for the Thirteenth Doctor. Doctor Who has been so good this year.

I'm not sure if the orange lump on my lap is a cat disguised as a teddy bear, or a teddy bear disguised as a cat, but either way, it makes it very hard to type! I am being kneaded and dribbled on. And now I have to go and do stuff. Fandom Stocking reveals should be later today, so have a good time, everyone. And then it will be Festivids! Huzzah.

Bye.
swordznsorcery: (jack)
( Sep. 5th, 2018 19:58)
Back in the spring, I was cleaning out my parents' garage (so that it was possible to actually get in through the door), and I found a plastic bag that said 'Dahlia Bulbs' on it. Somebody had obviously bought them some years ago at a supermarket, but I only really had the label's word as to what was in there, as it was really just dahlia soup. One of the bulbs was still intact though, and had started to sprout. Bearing in mind that it hadn't just been in a bag in the garage, but in a bag, in a box, in a cupboard in the garage, the shoots were pale enough to make an albino look suntanned. So I planted it in a nice big pot, and put it outside in the sun. Where a slug promptly ate half of it. Still, I coaxed it on (the dahlia - most emphatically not the slug), and now - hurrah!

Look look look! )
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swordznsorcery: (Default)
( May. 20th, 2018 17:21)
Hello. I've been rubbish at this lately, haven't I! Work's been a bit mad, and there's lots of stuff that needs doing at home/in the garden/at the allotment at the weekends, so there hasn't been much time for Dreamwidthing. I think I've read everything everybody has posted, more or less, but I've not had the brain for sensible commenting. I must try to catch up with Obscure & British though! I love Obscure & British.

Madcap weekend this week. Got the tomatoes, the courgettes, and the beetroot planted. Did the runner beans last weekend, and the onions the week before that. Lots of weeding to do too, and basic maintenance here and there. Whoever said Sundays are a day of rest was either lying or had staff!

Other than that, been winding down at the end of the days by trying to fill in the last few holes on the family tree that I've been doing for my mother - trying to make sure that everybody has a date of birth and death. Some of them have been a struggle, tricking me with their use of alternative names, or being sneaky about dates. One great-great-aunt was listed on the births record for the first quarter of 1899, so I was assuming she was born in 1899, but it eventually turned out she was born on December 28th 1898. Given that she had quite a common name, the DOB was important, so that one took a while to sort out! Thank you 1939 Register. Although with my blinking awkward family, where apparently picking a DOB at random is considered de rigueur, you can't count on anything too much. Sigh.

One guy was really giving me problems though. I eventually found him in Southampton, which was quite a surprise. No sign of him on the 1901 census, but turns out he was a ship's fireman, so presumably he was at sea then. Found him in the 1911 one, but then he vanished. I wondered if he'd moved away, although his children had all stayed in Southampton. There were a couple of possibles in other parts of the country, but nothing to prove that it was the right man. Then I wondered about his career, and checked the deaths at sea record on FindMyPast. And there he was. Missing, presumed dead, April 15th 1912. He was aboard the Titanic. That was a bit of a wrench. You always know, on one level, that these people are long dead. I tend to get a bit attached to them though, as I track them through the files. Premature deaths are always sad, and that one somehow seemed even more poignant. I could imagine how pleased he might well have been to get the placing; and of course we all know the story. He was thirty-seven - older than many aboard, but still.

So that's been the last few months. I will try to get back to a normal routine soon, and acknowledge people better. This is a nice community, and I miss it.
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Has anybody else here read The Meaning Of Liff? I feel we need a new word to describe that very particular kind of frustration that comes when awaiting an historical death certificate, in the hope of filling a hole in the family tree. Or birth certificate, if you want to be a bit less morbid - it's just that it's mostly been death that I've been investigating of late. I don't know if you've noticed, but our ancestors are especially good at dying. They're almost as good at it as Anton Lesser. Or David Collings.

I'm feeling rather pleased with myself anyway (frustrations notwithstanding). The story so far: My maternal grandmother never knew her father. She knew who he was, but she last set eyes on him when she was about two years old; grew up several thousand miles away, on a different continent; and emigrated to the UK in the forties to find him dead and gone. The fact that she was illegitimate made her unwilling to talk about it all to the rest of us, but my mother has always wanted to know where she comes from. She had no idea where to begin though. Enter the internet, stage right. Armed with an unhelpfully common name, an estimated date of birth (we know he was 25 in July of 1922), and a vague idea of where he was living in 1920 (narrowed down to three counties, probably), I dived in and began to cross-reference. And hit obstacle after obstacle after obstacle! Dates that didn't match, names that changed spelling with the weather. Trails that led nowhere. It was like I was chasing The Man Who Did Not Exist. I was quite sure he and his parents had never filled in a census form, or registered a birth or a marriage. Nothing added up, anywhere.

And then, finally, I caught the little beggar. A wholly unexpected spelling of the surname, found in a wildcard search, a bit of patient checking back through the censuses to see what matched, and presto! Suddenly, in just a few days, the whole family finally fell together. Consequently I've spent the last week buried up to my eyeballs in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, in a world of penniless, itinerant Irish labourers, centered around Glasgow and the north of England. It's been quite a surprise to look up and see twenty-first century Gloucestershire out of the window.

So, from being Mr Mysterious, my great-grandfather has now coalesced into a fully formed family man, the eldest of nine children. Four of them didn't make it out of childhood. One remains as frustratingly elusive as he himself was last month, and has consequently become my latest obsession. I will find her. In the meantime, I've been able to give my mother a family tree going back to two sets of her great-great grandparents, including an 1860 marriage record for one set. Basically I'm AJ Simon. In a wig, obviously. I think I've probably also gone cross-eyed, and seem to be suffering from some sort of time displacement syndrome. So if I've missed anything major - sorry. It's not easy reading DreamWidth in 1911. I'll do some catching up, if I can coax my brain back to 2018. In the meantime, yay! It's only taken me two years.

Have a good long weekend. :)

PS: If you're looking for any ancestors in Scotland, this site is brill: https://www.scotlandspeople.gov.uk/advanced-search. They certainly have stuff that isn't on findmypast.co.uk, and they don't just have the bmd records uploaded - they have the actual birth, marriage and death certificates, so you can see all the details, without having to wait for the government to send them to you (over one hundred years old only). It costs, but not vast amounts.
swordznsorcery: (Default)
( Sep. 25th, 2017 19:17)
I'm really bad at this journal thing. More work = less brain, apparently. Still, a general catch up... )
swordznsorcery: (face)
( Jul. 31st, 2017 20:56)
I don't think I've done one of these in a while. I don't seem to have done much of anything in a while, except race about the countryside in a whirl, attempting to Get Things Done. Still, on the plus side, one of the Things to get Done is the allotment, which has just started to produce profusions of runner beans, courgettes (bright yellow ones this year!) and raspberries. So I'm tired, but also well fed.

Anyways, I'm reading an especially good book at the moment. I don't really know what it's about, although I'm more than three quarters through - or, that is, I have absolutely no idea where it's heading, or why, but I do sort of know what it's about. Something Awful just happened, and I'm frightfully annoyed, but still loving the book, and looking forward to getting back to it. Seriously, the prose is an utter joy. It's called Golden Hill, and it's by somebody called Francis Spufford. It's about a young man who arrives in 18th century New York, and it's entirely written in 18th century style - so it's a sort of pastiche, in the same way that Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is, although set rather earlier. Apparently it won the Ondaatje prize (I don't believe I've ever heard of that, but Google tells me its quite prestigious). I recommend it unhesitatingly, if you are not scared off by meandering prose, and sentences that can go on for months.

Telly-watching-wise, I've now seen the first episode of Marchlands, so can claim to have actually seen our new Doctor in something. It's an ITV drama from a few years back, set in three different time zones (the 1960s, the 1980s, and whenever now was at the time). A young girl dies in the sixties, and her ghost makes friends with another young girl in the eighties. It clearly has some knock-on effect for the modern lot, but I haven't found out what yet. That will presumably come later. Jodie Whittaker is the dead girl's mother, and has dark hair, so I didn't recognise her at first. A Yorkshire accent - I wonder if she will keep that. So far it's diverting enough. If you're in the UK, she'll be on the BBC from August 8th, incidentally, in a new series. Trailer here. It also stars Emun Elliot who - after the eternal Paterson Joseph, naturally - was my first choice for the 13th Doctor, so I can amuse myself watching them both being doctors together. If I remember to watch it. Eagle-eyed viewers will of course recognise him from Paradox, The Paradise, and Los Malvados (cough).

There are probably other things, but I do not remember them. So I may just go and collapse in a heap. Albeit a slightly satisfied and accomplished-feeling one. With a nice book.
swordznsorcery: (Default)
( Jun. 6th, 2017 19:04)
Here, have a fun link: http://www.plot-generator.org.uk/.

You plug in some parameters, and it writes you a short story. It all sounds reasonable (and sane) enough when you're filling in the little boxes, but once you click "go", somehow it all falls apart...


Two Reserved Uncles Ski-ing to the Beat
A Short Story
by swordznsorcery


George Smith was thinking about Humphrey Hubert again. Humphrey was a funny juggler with swarthy fingers and blue-eyed toes.

George walked over to the window and reflected on his empty surroundings. He had always loved loud Liverpool, with its creepy, crispy confetti. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel angry.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the funny figure of Humphrey Hubert.

George gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a noisy, upbeat tea-drinker, with red fingers and tanned toes. His friends saw him as a tasty, tender tiger. Once, he had even brought a hard choirboy back from the brink of death.

But not even a noisy person who had once brought a hard choirboy back from the brink of death was prepared for what Humphrey had in store today.

The wet teased like fighting koalas, making George quiet. George grabbed a flat walking stick that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As George stepped outside and Humphrey came closer, he could see the fried glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want bananas," Humphrey bellowed, in a quick-tempered tone. He slammed his fist against George's chest, with the force of 7685 mice. "I frigging love you, George Smith."

George looked back, even more quiet and still fingering the flat walking stick. "Humphrey, squeak," he replied.

They looked at each other with happy feelings, like two soft, spewmungous sharks running at a very moody barmitzvah, which had rock music playing in the background, and two reserved uncles ski-ing to the beat.

Suddenly, Humphrey lunged forward and tried to punch George in the face. Quickly, George grabbed the flat walking stick, and brought it down on Humphrey's skull.

Humphrey's swarthy fingers trembled and his blue-eyed toes wobbled. He looked sharp, his body raw like a flat, forgotten flower.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Humphrey Hubert was dead.

George Smith went back inside and made himself a nice cup of tea.


The End


Alas, poor Humphrey, and his blue-eyed toes - led astray by his love of bananas. The less said about the hard choirboy though, the better. Most likely.
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A week or so back, [personal profile] arnie1967 asked about favourite songs, and how they make us feel. It was an interesting question, but I didn't get around to answering it at the time. Kept thinking about it though, and with my usual inability to come to a decision about favourite songs, I shovelled a bunch of them into a folder, and then wrote down the first ten titles that resulted from a random play. This is the result, and it's a playlist that I'm very happy with. As to how they make me feel... Well, they're good songs, so I suppose the obvious answer is "good", but there is a bit more to that, at least occasionally.

... )
swordznsorcery: (whitecollar)
( Apr. 10th, 2017 20:56)
I keep forgetting to do this, although admittedly it doesn't change much from week to week. Since last time, I've watched a fascinating mini-series that, like Boy Dominic, I picked up in a Network sale a couple of years ago, and have only just got around to. It's called Wolcott, and was apparently Britain's first police drama with a black lead. I wish I could say that it distinguishes itself! First the good points: it has a great cast. George Harris is a charismatic lead, and heads the cast well as the titular Wolcott. He's supported by a shedload of British character actors, many of them familiar from other police dramas, including Christopher Ellison (Burnside from The Bill as - surprise! - a crooked detective). Rik Mayall also features as a loathsome, racist PC. It also has very funky music. That's where the good stuff ends. Apparently the cast hated the show, and I can see why. It's trying very hard to be Shaft, but what worked for New York City in the seventies, is not going to work for London, and certainly not in 1981, the year of the Brixton Riot. The characters are dreadful stereotypes. Wolcott himself is impossibly good; everybody else is either a racist, or a two-dimensional Jamaican gangster. Jeepers. I've since taken refuge in a rewatch of the final season of White Collar, which I loved so much at the time. It's still good. If you've never seen White Collar, I wholeheartedly recommend it.

Oh, and also in the world of telly - Sleepy Hollow finished. No decision yet on whether there will be a fifth season. I ended up really loving season four, against all the odds. It was nearly as much fun as season one, and the new cast were all great. Jenny got to be properly awesome throughout, and the last scene of the final episode was proper silly grin stuff. A nice place to leave the show, if it turns out that that was it.

In reading, I've just finished A Symphony Of Echoes by Jodi Taylor, the second in her time-travelling historian series. It's all about an institute called St Mary's, which houses a band of historians, who travel through time to witness famous events. Think time-travelling history nerds, fuelled by tea and explosions, and you're pretty much there. The books are fast-moving; a bit shallow, admittedly, but fun. Sentences like "We're St Mary's - there's something wrong if something isn't on fire", will give you some indication as to why it appeals to me. I've heard that the series gets better as it progresses, so I shall certainly hunt out some more. Otherwise still scrambling through a complete Sherlock Holmes readthrough, and am currently on The Valley Of Fear, which is an interesting one. Don't think I've read it before. Holmes books are always oddities. Nothing happens in them - absolutely nothing at all. They break all of the "show, don't tell" rules. We're told about everything after it happens, and never witness anything exciting. And yet somehow you never mind. Conan Doyle's prose is a thing of beauty. (Although if you could stop with all the "You can tell he's a criminal by the shape of his head", and "It was clearly a woman's handwriting," Sir Arthur, that'd be good, thank you kindly.)

Also a thing of beauty (corny links, I has them) was the weather of the last few days. My mother's weeping cherry tree exploded into life quite magnificently (she's only had it a year, and last year it only managed one flower!). It's properly settled in now though, and it looks stunning. Spring is nice. I do wish this one particular wasp (I'm assuming it's the same one, purely because they look alike, although I admit that that's hardly damning evidence) wouldn't keep flying through my window though. I have to keep leaping madly to the kitten's defence to stop her trying to eat it. *sigh*

There are pictures under the cut, of springy colour. It's all grey again outside today though. You're a killjoy, April. Give me my sun back.

... )

Oh, and top five artists of the last seven days, courtesy of last.fm:

Queen
a-ha
Blondie
Joe Jackson
Pet Shop Boys

(a-ha just put out a new album in 2015, so that list is more modern than you might assume, honest.)
It's been a fab day today. I got the lawn mowed, and did some pond tidying up. Also planted some stuff that will hopefully be tasty eventually. Then I retired to the iPlayer, and watched some programmes about Top Of The Pops in 1977 and 1978, and terrified myself by remembering all of it. I was two in 1977, for goodness sakes! Why do I remember every twist and turn of the UK's pop music scene back then, including still being able to sing along with most of the songs?! If I could remember a few useful things as well, I wouldn't mind so much. Blimey, things were scary back then though. Wall to wall Boney M! Also Brotherhood Of Man, in pink nylon, singing a spectacularly cheesy song called Angelo, in which two young lovers commit suicide. Sung complete with synchronised "waving goodbye" dance moves. I don't think it was meant to be funny.

Boney M, though. Forty years on, I still haven't quite figured out what that was all about. Ra-Ra-Rasputin indeed. I went to YouTube, with the intention of posting an illustrative video on the horrors of the likes of Rivers Of Babylon or Brown Girl in The Ring. I wound up getting distracted by the "Recommended for you" thingy at the side of the page though, and hit on this, so you got lucky:

... )
It's the song Style, from the 1964 film Robin And The 7 Hoods, performed by Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. The film isn't perfect, but it's good fun, and this song always makes me smile.

And here, have some bottled spring:

... )
The first is tulips, the second is my mother's Magnolia stellata. I bought it for her several years ago, as she's magnolia mad, and doesn't have space for a tree. It was tiny, and this year it flowered for the first time. Also, my first ducks of the year!

Now that I've spoken of sunshine and flowers, it'll hail tomorrow. Ah well.
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How are we already in week #2? It's going to be 2018 before we've drawn breath at this rate. So far I'm not achieving a great deal. I started the new year by beginning to read The Brothers Karamazov, but that's ground to a resounding halt. Yeesh. There is a not a character I don't want to strangle (and I'd quite like to throttle Dostoevsky while I'm at it). I think I'll give it up for a bit, and try again later. My tenth anniversary rewatch of Torchwood was rather more successful, happily. I was pleased to find that I loved it just as much now as then, including the ones that I hadn't seen since their first showing. It looks quite hilariously cheap at times though. You can certainly tell that it was made in a hurry. Strictly speaking I should wait until this time next year for the tenth anniversary rewatch of season two, but I want to watch the James Marsters episode, so that ain't gonna happen.

In other still-old-but-newer-than-is-usual-for-me telly, I haven't watched any more Heroes since I last posted about it, because stuff always seems to get in the way. I must get back to it (preferably before Trump gets bored, and blows us all up come the summer). I think I've forgotten which episode I watched last though. Damn.

In non-fandom related stuffs... nope, sorry, that's all very boring. I ate a very nice banana this morning, if anybody's interested. Spent the weekend mainlining 1983 episodes of Top Of The Pops on the iPlayer. Peter Powell! Stupid clothes! Peter Powell in stupid clothes! Also Wham! and Spandau Ballet (more stupid clothes). Took the kitten to be spayed last week. She's now sporting a bald patch, although major surgery doesn't seem to have slowed her down any. (Technically she's not a kitten anymore, as she'll be two in May, but she has stunted growth due to a bad start in life, and also she's quite convinced she's still a kitten).

Figure A: Cats (this being the internet, you're probably familiar with the species).

The 2016 Fandom Meme, plus cats... )
swordznsorcery: (Default)
( Dec. 31st, 2016 20:48)
Obligatory end-of-year post. I was going to do the meme that everybody's posting today, but it's got too many questions! I get bored after answering about ten. So instead I'll point you at this rather wonderful 2016 song, which nicely sums up everything we've all been thinking. Not safe for work; but then it probably couldn't have been. It's tempting to hope for better for 2017, but bearing in mind that Trump hasn't even come to power yet, my natural tendency towards optimism is currently feeling a tad wobbly.

2016, then. The good bits. Best telly (other than the mothballed old stuff that I usually watch) has probably been Lucifer. I heartily recommend that one to most of you. Season one was fun last year, but season two has been terrific, and Tom Ellis is a revelation. Here he is (in character) belting out a jazzed up version of All Along The Watchtower.

Best book... I wish I could say the final Temeraire, but it seemed a bit of a damp squib, somehow. Mind you, my expectations were probably set a bit high. Instead I think I'll go with The Tyrannosaur Chronicles by Dave Hone, because tyrannosaurs. Basically he wrote the book I've been wanting since I was about four. Now all I need is for somebody to write similar ones for all the other types of dinosaur! And Dimetrodon while they're at it. And listen! The first fireworks of the evening.

Best music is an awkward one, as I don't listen to much modern stuff. Lee Mead put out a new album earlier this year, called Some Enchanted Evening, which I like a lot. Nice to see him doing some old standards, as he always was good at them. And Holly Johnson had a new single out this year called Ascension, which was good. Even if did come from the Eddie the Eagle film. (Sorry, I grew up in Cheltenham. I have an Eddie the Eagle allergy.)

Best film is another awkward one. Pretty sure I've only seen one 2016 film this year, which was the live action (well, mostly CGI, actually) remake of The Jungle Book. Fortunately I absolutely loved it, which is just as well, as I guess it wins by default. Trailer here.

Looking back at my list, I see that the first book I read in 2016 was Immortal In Death by JD Robb. Sounds frighteningly prescient for the year that was to follow, so if all of that was in any way my fault, I apologise! Last book of the year was Is There Life Outside The Box? by Peter Davison. Less murder, more jokes. Also, a special pair of sentences for you, [personal profile] thisbluespirit! On page 196: "I was keen to make The Last Detective; it reminded me of a show I'd watched as a teenager called Public Eye that starred Alfred Burke. With its easy pace and gentle humour and world-weary central character, it had been a success for many years." (Yeah, he's not in love with punctuation. Sorry about that. ;) The index, however, is a thing of beauty.) But see! All you need to do is abduct Peter Davison, and extract the missing episodes from his brain! This is a faultless plan for 2017.

Um. And I shall leave it there. Happy 2017, everybody. Let's try to keep the NHS; try to stop Trump inadvertently starting a nuclear war with China via Twitter; and, I don't know. Hope that Trump takes his head off, and reveals that he was Hillary Clinton all along? Well, it's a thought.

See you in January.
So, in other news, 2016 is an utter bastard. Yes, I know. That's one headline that's shocking precisely no-one. The latest in its string of victims is Joe Mascolo, who is not terribly well known in the UK, I know. He was eighty-seven, which isn't bad going really, but I've been watching him for the best part of twenty years, and I really liked the character that he played on TV. Also, turns out he'd been fighting Alzheimer's for some time, poor man. Never have known it - he was recording new scenes until late last year, so I guess he found ways to cope as well as possible. Why didn't we just jettison this year back in January, when it showed early signs of going so badly wrong?

*sigh*

But behind all the grumbling, I did actually come here for a rather more cheerful reason than another 2016-flavoured moan. Somebody just pointed me at this video, and it's utterly marvellous. Christmas on Deep Space 9! The creator of this has put together the best edited video that I've seen in a long while. It's completely ridiculous - it's slightly scary that they even thought of it, let alone managed it - but trust me, you need it in your life. It even made me smile, and I'm allergic to smiling.

Simply having a wonderful... )
I know, I am a very bad poster. I've been trying to keep up to date with you all, but I apologise for the lack of comments. I don't seem to have had the brain for it recently. November was a heck of a month! But now it's December; and hey, Donald Trump hasn't blown us all up yet. Not necessarily for lack of trying.

So, what's been going on. Well, it got cold. I'm still sulking about that. I was mostly working outside this summer, and the back of my neck went the sort of colour likely to get it kicked out of the country by UKIP. It's well on its way back to its old, boring shade now though. Woe. I complained to my mother about how dull and pasty we are, but she did point out that it would have caused all kinds of problems with my father if I had come out a different colour. Which is true. But still.

In fandomosity, Laramie continues to be entertaining. Lucifer has become gloriously unmissable. I'm still occasionally watching episodes of Simon & Simon, because it is indeed the series that never stops. I've also started watching Heroes. I missed it when it first aired (can't remember why); and then everybody seemed to agree that seasons two and three were terrible, so there seemed little reason to start. I found season one for a quid in a charity shop recently though, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. And hurrah, it's fab. Or at least it currently is. I think I've seen four episodes. I see that episode four aired in October of 2006, so I'm only ten years and two months behind, which is quite good for me. Current thinking: Peter Petrelli needs to die, and quickly. And somebody get him a haircut, for Rassilon's sake. Suresh rocks though. Sadly it seems that Aramis will be mostly wielding a paintbrush rather than a sword, for verily there is no justice in the world. *heavy sigh* And Hiro is pretty awesome.

I say it's fab, and it mostly is, but it has made me think. As it started, I was quite impressed with the diversity of the cast. To begin with. But whilst the guys are all colours and shapes, and are professors and techies and go-getting politicians, etc, the women are both petite blondes. And one's a stripper and the other's a cheerleader. Hmm. (Incidentally, thank you all, for I probably wouldn't have noticed that once upon a time, and I do think it's better that it should register).

In the news today, I see that Peter Vaughan has died. This makes me sad. Partly because he was a larger than life character actor (ninety-three years old!), whose career spanned all kinds of things. But also partly because that pretty much leaves Colin Jeavons as the lone surviving Adam Adamant Lives! enemy; of the existing episodes, anyway. Chapters are always ending. C'est la vie, I know, but it doesn't hurt to be a little wistful.

As a parting shot, courtesy of the excellent @Trundles_bot on Twitter, have a link to a .pdf of the Blake's 7 1981 annual. Hilarious costumes abound! If you're on Twitter, I very much recommend following @scorpioattackb7, incidentally. They're doing a weekly episode review, with some fabulous publicity shots, and snippets of background information unearthed from all sorts of places. It's a fascinating read. Up next is "Orbit", so prepare for Christmas to be ruined all over again when they hit "Blake" in a matter of weeks!

Um. Yeah, that's about all. Bye.
Dear Brain,

If there's some reason why I've spent the last few days singing a selection of songs from the BBC Radio for Schools production Queen Beryl & the Romans, which my school performed in 1982, then I'd love to hear it. Equally, if there's some reason why I can faultlessly sing a bunch of songs that I haven't heard in thirty-four years, when my memory regarding anything that might be a bit useful is pretty much non-existent, I would also like to know. Really, Brain. It's embarrassing.

Oh hey, look: Peter Davison's got an autobiography coming out! Sounds promising. We already know he can write. I like the write up at Amazon:

His fans have spoken, but despite their requests, Peter Davison has gone ahead and written his autobiography anyway. It wasn't the book they tried to stop it was more like the book they didn't want him to start.

I think I shall look forward to that one.
swordznsorcery: (manolito)
( Aug. 3rd, 2016 00:23)
So, [personal profile] heartonsnow said that I had to post something. That was more than a week ago actually, but I still haven't thought of anything worth posting. Still, let's see where this goes. I'll start with books, as that's easy.

... )
I have dug everything. Everywhere. If there was something you didn't want dug, sorry. It's too late now, you should have said. Everything is now planted in the allotment, but turns out that watering is accomplished by hanging over the riverbank, and dipping a bucket into the water. So that's my job, as there's no way my mother can do that. If you hear a splash, it's me.

Elsewhere (a different river), I was out walking again, watching the bouncing fishes, and look look!

... )
swordznsorcery: (littlejoe)
( May. 28th, 2016 20:45)
A book meme ganked off [personal profile] liadtbunny, and general rambling about life, the universe and everything stuff.

... )
I'm basically being trolled by cats now. I just cleaned out my keyboard, and there was at least one full cats worth of fur stuffed under the keys. They must get together to poke it down there when I'm not around. None of which is what I came here to post. What did I come here to post? Nothing. Something. I ought to post something, as I never do, and the rest of you lead interesting lives, or at least manage to make yourselves sound interesting, and I'm just here being me.

I read a book! It was a very nice book. It's called The Tyrannosaur Chronicles, by Dave Hone (except he's called David Hone on the cover, to make himself sound more serious and sciencey). It's all about the biology of tyrannosaurs, and what we know, and how we know what we know, and it's full of nice diagrams of skeletons. Also it's purple. 99.9% of you aren't remotely interested, but I'm recommending it anyway, as I promised I would. (I read some other books too, but this one was best).

I've also been watching films, on and off. I've been trying to watch one a week, as I haven't really watched films in years, and to start with I decided it was high time I got around to seeing the Back To The Future trilogy. It's supposedly one of those iconic 80s things, but despite seeing the first one at the cinema about two million years ago, I'd never seen the others. I shan't be bothering again! Although the third one wasn't entirely bad. Then I rewatched the Indiana Jones trilogy to make me feel better about 80s films (and indeed 80s film trilogies, I suppose). That was much, much better. Also 100% more Tip Tipping. The Last Crusade also featured surprise Julian Glover, which was nice. And then after that, I watched the proper Star Wars trilogy, because they actually put out the proper, non-fiddled-with version on DVD, and Amazon was nice enough to be selling it second hand for 12p. Han clearly fires first, sorry George. It was lots of fun, but sadly Return Of The Jedi left me with the Ewok theme song stuck in my head for three days. Here: click at your peril. Dear me, the eighties were a strange place at times.

Some pictures and things )
.

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