Saturday, February 25, 2006
Hands like a washer-woman
They say a man's work is never done or somesuch and today has been all about that!
Having felt a bit like The Shat on a Hot Tin Roof (a pun/play on words which doesn't truly work as I am trying to convey a sense of illness) over the last few days I figured my best bet this weekend was to do nothing. Take it easy, lay in, kick back.
The day started well. I slept, which is a novelty when compared with the rest of the week. And I guess I managed to get out of bed at about 10:30, so a fairly decent lie-in. Followed that up swiftly with some coffee and an apple and a sit down in front of the zombie-box for a watch of Tony Scott's film "Domino", which I thought was going to be just-slightly-less-than-a-bunch-of-shite. And to be honest it's not a great film, but it is a good film. Some really great turns by the majority of the lead actors. Mickey Rourke proving he's excellent at playing the same character over and over again. He's an uglier version of Bruce Willis really. Always in a dirty vest, covered in blood shooting at people, but he's just not as pretty as Brucie. Of course, the only thing that was asked of Keira Knightly was to look like a stroppy madam who's bored of everything. May as well play to your strengths then love. I guess I recommend it as simple entertainment. And that leads me to suspect I'm getting soft in my old age.
Whilst the film was on, washing load one was in the machine. Film over: empty washing machine and shove another load in.
Meantime, tidy my bedroom and hoover up. Ah, my hoover. I think they only ever made one of these things. It's bright green and most of the time tends to suck like an asthmatic in a vacuum. However there was this itch at the back of my brain and it eventually formed itself in to some words. And these words were a question. And this question was a jolly good one, as I couldn't remember the last time I had.
Ten minutes later, having removed the hoover-bag and emptied out the rest of the machine which was clogged up with historical finds that the Time Team would like to have got their muddy mits upon, I suddenly found that my hoover could clean. Yes. My carpets can now be admired (so long as you don't look too carefully) as being clean and fresh.
So, second load of washing finished, the third lot gets thrust into the machine and set off. This is when I go looking for my ironing board. Passing Indiana Jones on my way, I discover the ancient instrument of torture leaning up against the Ark of the Covenant. That is when the Ironing Marathon began, as did two-hours of "24". Oh yes. It's still as daft as Uncle Cyril, but worth every real-time minute. Having said that though, I have noticed that in this series they do seem to just occasionally piss the whole "real time" thing right out the window and hope we don't notice.
Example: Jack's in a lift. He's on the top floor. He presses the button (lots of times in a very urgent manner as he's a very busy man) and waits for the doors to close. Cut to Chloe who's monitoring the other agents in the area. "Hurry up Jack!" she says. Cut back to Jack, he's already on the second floor and out of the lift. No sign of trauma from the freefall drop he's just experienced; no puddles of sick on the floor. Just grimly determined Jack. Bless him.
And that leads me to now. I've still got loads of ironing to do, but 3 hours' worth is more that enough to cope with in one day. And, unlike all the nice things in life, it'll still be there tomorrow. With today's washing added to it.
Bast.
Having felt a bit like The Shat on a Hot Tin Roof (a pun/play on words which doesn't truly work as I am trying to convey a sense of illness) over the last few days I figured my best bet this weekend was to do nothing. Take it easy, lay in, kick back.
The day started well. I slept, which is a novelty when compared with the rest of the week. And I guess I managed to get out of bed at about 10:30, so a fairly decent lie-in. Followed that up swiftly with some coffee and an apple and a sit down in front of the zombie-box for a watch of Tony Scott's film "Domino", which I thought was going to be just-slightly-less-than-a-bunch-of-shite. And to be honest it's not a great film, but it is a good film. Some really great turns by the majority of the lead actors. Mickey Rourke proving he's excellent at playing the same character over and over again. He's an uglier version of Bruce Willis really. Always in a dirty vest, covered in blood shooting at people, but he's just not as pretty as Brucie. Of course, the only thing that was asked of Keira Knightly was to look like a stroppy madam who's bored of everything. May as well play to your strengths then love. I guess I recommend it as simple entertainment. And that leads me to suspect I'm getting soft in my old age.
Whilst the film was on, washing load one was in the machine. Film over: empty washing machine and shove another load in.
Meantime, tidy my bedroom and hoover up. Ah, my hoover. I think they only ever made one of these things. It's bright green and most of the time tends to suck like an asthmatic in a vacuum. However there was this itch at the back of my brain and it eventually formed itself in to some words. And these words were a question. And this question was a jolly good one, as I couldn't remember the last time I had.
Ten minutes later, having removed the hoover-bag and emptied out the rest of the machine which was clogged up with historical finds that the Time Team would like to have got their muddy mits upon, I suddenly found that my hoover could clean. Yes. My carpets can now be admired (so long as you don't look too carefully) as being clean and fresh.
So, second load of washing finished, the third lot gets thrust into the machine and set off. This is when I go looking for my ironing board. Passing Indiana Jones on my way, I discover the ancient instrument of torture leaning up against the Ark of the Covenant. That is when the Ironing Marathon began, as did two-hours of "24". Oh yes. It's still as daft as Uncle Cyril, but worth every real-time minute. Having said that though, I have noticed that in this series they do seem to just occasionally piss the whole "real time" thing right out the window and hope we don't notice.
Example: Jack's in a lift. He's on the top floor. He presses the button (lots of times in a very urgent manner as he's a very busy man) and waits for the doors to close. Cut to Chloe who's monitoring the other agents in the area. "Hurry up Jack!" she says. Cut back to Jack, he's already on the second floor and out of the lift. No sign of trauma from the freefall drop he's just experienced; no puddles of sick on the floor. Just grimly determined Jack. Bless him.
And that leads me to now. I've still got loads of ironing to do, but 3 hours' worth is more that enough to cope with in one day. And, unlike all the nice things in life, it'll still be there tomorrow. With today's washing added to it.
Bast.
