(no subject)

Sleep's all messed up. No surprise there - I slept all day after the hospital, then all night, then long naps in the morning and afternoon, so ping, there I was at 3 am, on the sofa with a book light and The World's Greatest Stories For Boys And Girls, being stared at for hours by an eerily immobile demon-eyed cat who wanted his breakfast.

Anyway. I am of course a wreck today, so am on the sofa, watching the 1997 Cracker episode One Day A Lemming Will Fly on my mum's recommendation. You were right, mum - Eccles is pretty amazing in it. There's a misogynist* streak to Jimmy McGovern's writing which raises my hackles, but it's really something when he puts masculinity under the microscope, as here - the best scene, IMHO, is just three men sitting in a room, banging their horns together. And oh my gods, that ending! Bastard!!!

(btw, the IMDB cast for the episode is messed up - this is more useful.)

ETA: lol, mum emailed to say the episode of Eccleston excellence she had in mind was actually the following one, To Be A Somebody. Into the rental queue!

*In the original sense of the word, "woman-hating", not the fannish sense of "arguably slightly sexist".

(no subject)

Oh dear, I think I'm hypomanic, and we're watching Warriors Gate. I just delivered a two or three minute largely incoherent speech about randomness. Chaos Theory! Chaos Magic! Quantum forces operating on a macro scale! Altered Walter! Cross Purposes! Donald Duck in Mathemagic Land!

Oh no, Frankalike is back, mewing at the door. In a moment Tim will be enormous.

ETA: To get a sense of my current mental state, go to this page with illustrations of the Egyptian afterlife. If you cannot stop laughing at the pictures, you're where am I now.

(no subject)

The last time I had to go in for the dreaded -oscopy, many many years ago now, our normally standoffish cat Zaphod provided some much-needed comfort on the long, scary day before by - entirely out of character - sitting on me.

This week my terrible anxiety was, with the odd brief exception, firmly under control. Nonetheless, the ordeal of prepping for the procedure - which requires many hours alone with the bumper book of cryptic crosswords, if you take my meaning - was once again lessened by a cat. In this case, Frankus, a cat who looks and moves like a cross between a Boston terrier and a steam locomotive, whose blunt rectangular shape is punctuated by a comically short tail. Which he proceeded to chase, in an explosive series of rotations on the edge of the bathtub, for about five minutes. From time to time he lost target acquisition, then regained it, with a delighted shock and renewed vigour in his pursuit. Incredibly, he never fell into the tub. Eventually the inevitable happened: the quarry was captured, and suffered a thorough standing-on and washing. Quite frankly I was laughing so hard I nearly fell off the loo.