Welcome to my perfumed garden

By all the love being heaped on Sherlock Holmes by the flist. I saw it yesterday and I've rarely been so bored by a film. Really, really bored, the kind of bored where you're writhing in your seat because your guts are twisting and you want to howl at the moon kind of bored. It was just one blasted idiot fight after another, over and over until you thought there couldn't possibly be another one coming - but you'd be wrong and they'd be off again. It was basically a Jackie Chan movie to which the names 'Holmes and Watson' had been amended. And was it really long, or did it just seem it? Gods, I wanted the bloody thing to end.

As for the slash - was there some?

Once again, I appear to be out of kilter with the flist.  Seems to be becomming a bit of a trend. I should probably just fold up my tent and slip away now.

Do these icy dunes on Mars look like weird alien lady parts - Or is it just me? :o)

Groovy and extreme and insanely bizarre!


I am not, for once, attempting to avoid work, in case you were wondering. We are having some strange, magical new set-up affixed to our televisual receiving apparatus today, something with vast hanger-loads of storage and internetly viewing and - oh, everything! Ask Mark, he'll tell you all about it. I am just moving what I'm asked to move and sitting quietly while Mark manipulates the wireage and doing as I'm told.

It is, however, hard to get anything else done in the meantime. I am an artiste, people! I cannot work in these conditions.