How late it was, how late...

...except actually it isn't late at all.  It's just really vilely dark outside, because the clocks went back.  The sodding clocks went back.  It's autumn. 

It's also about to pour with rain, yet again.

On the plus side, it's Samhain on Wednesday.

Had another happy Saturday helping TCI and G with their DIY.  They're on to the decorating stage; paint rollers and dustsheets and toning sealants going in around fitted and finished white goods....  Large chunks of their flat now look glorious; like a real home!   Some bits do still need a little work, e.g. the half-plastered wall in the kitchen.  They should be very proud of themselves, though, as they have done a tremendous amount since they bought the place.  DIY heroes!

What else?  I'm still writing; Villain A (the Really Bad one) is now arguing with Villain B (the unpleasant but naif scientist) and threatening him with an automatic pistol.  Villain B is being sarcastic, which may not be a good idea given that he is not the one with the gun.  My heroine has made herself invisible and is trying not to feel trapped and out of her depth, seeing as she cannot get out of the room and there's a Nasty Piece of Work with a gun standing a few feet away from her, losing his temper rapidly...  Yep, it's all fun and games at (what's left of ) the Droit Institute.

I'm very worried by the weather reports from across the Atlantic.  Good grief, it sounds as if half the east coast of America is in danger; they are apparently facing a similar combination of factors as caused the famous floods of 1953 in Britain and Holland - with the addition of a bloody hurricane...  The most powerful country in the world; but Mother Nature can still be far mightier.  The US will be in my prayers tonight.

 

Another week gone and by gum! -

By gum, the Olympics are upon us at last.  After all the years of planning and money worries and bad press (and the odd touch of chaos and old night), we're there.  The Opening Ceremony is tonight; and I don't care what anyone says, I am looking forward to it.

On Tuesday the Olympic Torch came through Kew Gardens; a very jolly occasion, festal and crazy, with boiling sun beating down on everyone.  This morning it came by again, but in conditions that could not have been a greater contrast; classic English summer rain, misty skies and startled cormorants on the Thames.  The royal barge Gloriana slipped by, oars swinging, white-and-gold banners flying, with the flame burning in a sort of giant teakettle in the bows; accompanied by assorted rowing club teams, a lot of police divers in rubber dinghies, the Port of London pilot boat and the RNLI.  They glided past me on the river bank and on towards Kew Bridge, sirens echoing, to vanish under the central arch in the quiet drizzle.

What more?  I managed to write the love scene I had been brooding about, and am pleased to report that it came off fairly well, so far as I can tell at the moment, anyway.   I also watched another of my sale dvds; "Inception".  I do love a good bit of Science Fiction, and this is more than good, it's corking.  I won't try to describe it though, as on top of having a good cast and some stonking special effects, it also has a plot that is deliciously complex and requires a proper degree of mental engagement.  Go on, treat yourself, engage with this one; it's worth it.  So far the three films I bought for a total of £12 a couple of weeks ago have been one rollicking good fun (MI4) and one terrific (Inception); let's hope "The Town" scores as high (no prizes for guessing one of the reasons why I bought that - but I had been on the lookout for it turning up in a sale anyway, as I do love a good policier, and this one got really excellent reviews.  If as I suspect the Man of the Moment turns in the sort of bottled-up raging intensity he seems to specialise in, playing a murderous nut-job,  I'll probably end up trying to hide behind the bed).

The bad news is, tonight I have a stomach ache, and am promised to help TCI with more decorating this weekend; I'm hoping the stomach ache goes away, so that I will be useful to her rather than gripey and ill, and consequently slow with a paintbrush.  But for now I am thinking, hmm, a plain supper, watch the Olympics opening, write a bit, and bed at a civilised hour. 

Getting hotter...

 The story runs on; and runs, and runs.  I realise I’m going to have to do a love scene in the next couple of weeks, and start brooding about this.  I find love scenes pretty tricky going.  How is one to find that perfect line, between embarrassing low-grade porn and dripping Tyrian purple? – how is one to avoid every tinge of sugariness, yet still show that there is more than mere bathetic lust involved?  There’s no point in worrying about it, since I’ll have to write it whether I worry about it or not; but thinking it through in advance may help.  I hope. 

I am helped a bit by a growing additional head of steam.  Having proclaimed myself to have a new hero, largely on the grounds of some electrifying acting, I’ve subsequently been registering the fact that the man in question is also undeniably hot in, ahem, the other sense of the word, too.  Dear, dear, I must be getting slow on the uptake.  Well, the Muse seems to like hanging around with me when I get steamed up, so a bit more heat can’t hurt, I guess.   

This dawning of the light has occurred largely through the purchase and enjoyment of the Dvd of “Mission Impossible 4: Ghost Protocol” (for £4, in a sale – I’m a cheap date, me).   As well as revealing said hotness to my poor flabbergasted eyes, it’s very enjoyable in its own right; probably the best of the “Mission Impossible” movies, with just the right balance of daffiness and excitement, great gadgets, some corking set pieces, even a good tough heroine who isn’t really a pool of mush waiting for Ethan Hunt to fall for her (which he doesn’t, being, rather pleasingly, still thoroughly attached to his wife).  And, oh dear oh dear; let’s just say I’ll never hear the word “lunge” with quite the same mental picture again...

After writing a very kinky email to someone about exactly how this realisation dawned on me I have pledged myself to a penance of helping some friends decorate tomorrow evening.  Nothing like the smell of gloss paint and the noise of hammering to clear the head.  The only thing is, isn’t a penance supposed to be difficult and uncomfortable?  I like decorating.  I must be not only kinky and slow to realise I’m in lust, but weird as well. 

Cape Town Opera’s “Porgy and Bess” last night knocked my socks off.  Okay, some of the acting is of the “sincere” rather than the subtle variety; but with a strong production and a cast who can sing like this, one can forgive the odd mild shortcoming.  Otto Maidi’s Porgy was simply breathtaking; what a voice!  This bloke ought to be at the Royal Opera...   While Victor Ryan Robertson, the guy singing Sportin’ Life, should be on Broadway; and Arline Japhtha’s Serena had me in tears.  It runs (at the Coliseum) for a couple more nights - go if you possibly can; you won’t regret it.