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smokingbootThe mist is thick and heavy this morning. I opened the back doors to let it in, give it a chance to pad around the kitchen for a while. It's not cold at all.
The recent winds shook all the fruit from our plum tree, and now the apples are beginning to fall, though not quite ripe yet. We have teeny tomatoes and two, yes count 'em, two are even the right colour. The giver tells me you can take tomatoes off the plant and they'll still ripen on a sunny windowsill. She says that hers don't get big either, she just eats them like popcorn. As ever, the scent is the magic gift. There's an awful lot that needs planting for next year. I want to do it, slightly mindful of pulling my arm about in that way that makes the doctors begin sentences with 'I'm sure I told you not to...'
And in a state of inactivity, I try to read, try to watch TV. Back to Fleabag!
I regard Fleabag Season 2 as my second favourite piece of TV ever, right behind True Detective Season 1. After that, we're talking West Wing. Fleabag's so clever and such a mess. The series is very much a satire of a familiar demographic though I belong to an earlier generation, somewhere between the Godmother and Belinda. Only flaw with Fleabag 2 is the use of the same piece of music too often.
But yes, Fleabag comforts me. The Bear does not comfort me. I had to give up part way through episode 2 hating that he hates the work he does, the narrowing of his ambitions, the pain of all that underachievement. The shouting and the claustrophobic sense of that cafe/kitchen is so well depicted I can almost smell the grease, but the shouting debilitates me right now. Another time perhaps.
'A Perfect Couple,' hmm, touch from The Knives Out films I think, with less humour and more the Rich Are Weird vibes. I found myself thinking 'Nantucket looks glorious, are they really that fussed about hydrangeas?' Then I recalled how downright necessary bougainvilleas are to my fantasy Mediterranean retreat. All this proves is that one doesn't need money to be weird. Nicola Kidman does that beautiful malevolent doll thing she's so good at, Dakota Fanning's excellent, in fact there are no bum performances here, though the writing gets a bit sticky at times. Easy watching, not perfect but OK.
The sun is burning the mist away, slow but bright. Time for coffee.
The recent winds shook all the fruit from our plum tree, and now the apples are beginning to fall, though not quite ripe yet. We have teeny tomatoes and two, yes count 'em, two are even the right colour. The giver tells me you can take tomatoes off the plant and they'll still ripen on a sunny windowsill. She says that hers don't get big either, she just eats them like popcorn. As ever, the scent is the magic gift. There's an awful lot that needs planting for next year. I want to do it, slightly mindful of pulling my arm about in that way that makes the doctors begin sentences with 'I'm sure I told you not to...'
And in a state of inactivity, I try to read, try to watch TV. Back to Fleabag!
I regard Fleabag Season 2 as my second favourite piece of TV ever, right behind True Detective Season 1. After that, we're talking West Wing. Fleabag's so clever and such a mess. The series is very much a satire of a familiar demographic though I belong to an earlier generation, somewhere between the Godmother and Belinda. Only flaw with Fleabag 2 is the use of the same piece of music too often.
But yes, Fleabag comforts me. The Bear does not comfort me. I had to give up part way through episode 2 hating that he hates the work he does, the narrowing of his ambitions, the pain of all that underachievement. The shouting and the claustrophobic sense of that cafe/kitchen is so well depicted I can almost smell the grease, but the shouting debilitates me right now. Another time perhaps.
'A Perfect Couple,' hmm, touch from The Knives Out films I think, with less humour and more the Rich Are Weird vibes. I found myself thinking 'Nantucket looks glorious, are they really that fussed about hydrangeas?' Then I recalled how downright necessary bougainvilleas are to my fantasy Mediterranean retreat. All this proves is that one doesn't need money to be weird. Nicola Kidman does that beautiful malevolent doll thing she's so good at, Dakota Fanning's excellent, in fact there are no bum performances here, though the writing gets a bit sticky at times. Easy watching, not perfect but OK.
The sun is burning the mist away, slow but bright. Time for coffee.
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Date: 2024-09-18 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-09-18 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-09-19 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-09-19 03:05 pm (UTC)Why don't more people rave about Fleabag? At least stateside...