Life On Mars, episodes three and four
I'm still at it. The last episode is downloading as I speak. I love it when an episode of total fannishness coincides with a whole week in which I don't have anything to do. I am, after all, supposed to be resting. If for "resting" you read "getting manically fannish for the first time in six months" then we have achieved something.
I watched episode three yesterday ( and )
Moving on to ( episode four )
Unrelatedly - well, maybe a little relatedly - looks like I'm going to Manchester on Thursday to visit![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clareyperson and purplerainbow. I don't know what we're going to do, but I leave it in their very capable hands; they're still in the swing of things, because apparently all real universities won't finish for Easter for another three weeks. I've got to get my tickets from Freshfield today or tomorrow, but looks like I'm going at nine in the morning and coming back at about sevenish. This is important, because Pedar is going to London for the day, and my mum is getting upset that her family are leaving her. But, as I have yet to break to her, she's doing on-call nights from Thursday. We will be back before she is. In the meantime, she's continuously staring at her bleep as though she expects it to bite her.
Um, what else? I am still sitting at home doing nothing, as I was when I started writing this ooh, about an hour ago. It's good to be home. Away from the south, my accent has come back. Not that I ever had much of one, so I think I might blame Life On Mars a bit, or Forder. Actually, scratch that, I blame Forder. The man makes me nervous. Put more precisely, he scares the living crap out of me. Therefore for some reason when I'm in tutes with him I revert to four-year-old kindergarten Scouse. It is bizarre. And now I'm here it's really sticking.
Okay, I am boring, I am going away now. I am watching VH1 doing "the magic of 1996" and I know every song. ("How deeeeep is your loooooove?") I don't deserve to live.
I watched episode three yesterday ( and )
Moving on to ( episode four )
Unrelatedly - well, maybe a little relatedly - looks like I'm going to Manchester on Thursday to visit
clareyperson and purplerainbow. I don't know what we're going to do, but I leave it in their very capable hands; they're still in the swing of things, because apparently all real universities won't finish for Easter for another three weeks. I've got to get my tickets from Freshfield today or tomorrow, but looks like I'm going at nine in the morning and coming back at about sevenish. This is important, because Pedar is going to London for the day, and my mum is getting upset that her family are leaving her. But, as I have yet to break to her, she's doing on-call nights from Thursday. We will be back before she is. In the meantime, she's continuously staring at her bleep as though she expects it to bite her. Um, what else? I am still sitting at home doing nothing, as I was when I started writing this ooh, about an hour ago. It's good to be home. Away from the south, my accent has come back. Not that I ever had much of one, so I think I might blame Life On Mars a bit, or Forder. Actually, scratch that, I blame Forder. The man makes me nervous. Put more precisely, he scares the living crap out of me. Therefore for some reason when I'm in tutes with him I revert to four-year-old kindergarten Scouse. It is bizarre. And now I'm here it's really sticking.
Okay, I am boring, I am going away now. I am watching VH1 doing "the magic of 1996" and I know every song. ("How deeeeep is your loooooove?") I don't deserve to live.