(no subject)

After the heady relief of completing my list of character sheets for NWO, today I find myself curiously at a loose end.

It's a simple thing but it adds a certain piquancy to time wasting - a deadline to ignore. I haven't got one now. Although I expect there's more writing on its way, at this precise moment there is none.

So, having slumbered for much of the morning, I dragged out an ancient tape of The Masque of Madragora a Doctor Who adventure from 1976 and watched all four episodes. There is a certain interest to that story for a number of reasons: firstly it is early Tom Baker era when the story lines were quite gothic and often set in the past which is something the BBC does far better than straight forward futuristic science fiction. Secondly, it is set in the fictional Italian Duchy of San Martini around the time of Leonardo, and has masked culty types and a masque ball, which fits in nicely with the stuff I've been writing over the past few months. Thirdly, I am related to Norman Jones (my dad's cousin, I believe, although I don't think I've ever met him - Norman, not dad) who plays Heironymous the astrologer and cult leader splendidly over the top.

Of course, the special effects are rubbish, although in those pre-Star Wars days we didn't realise that, and the sets are suitably shaky, but the story is magnificently atmospheric and dark. And it is the first time we get to see the TARDIS secondary control room, complete with writing desk console and shaving mirror.

Splendid.

It is grey outside, and chilly. The wind is up and there is rain in the air. At the time of writing it is not quite 2.20 in the afternoon, and I am considering putting the light on, although it has brightened up a little in the past few minutes. BY way of a change, I have dug out a CD by a French artiste, Mylene Farmer which I picked up in Caen a couple of years ago. Very poppy and French but in a superior non-Eurotrash sort of way. I know nothing of Mylene Farmer, but the CD sleeve suggests that she might be a wannabe soft porn star in that way the French have which so beguiles and baffles the Anglo-Saxon mind set, even in these days of Britney Spears and Christina Aguillera and their spray-on, drape-off almost-clothes. The French manage it with far more panache; they seem to be effortlessly sexy without you ever wondering if they charge an hourly rate in the way such questions tip-toe across the mind when the Britney-Kylie-Christina-alikes do it.

It's a cultural thing, bless them.

Out of curiosity, I just googled Mylene Farmer (now there's a phrase that would have raised eyebrows ten years ago). It seems she is Quebecois and was born in 1961. So, Francophone but not French, which would explain the surname, I suppose.



I have to say that she's looking good for her age. Raaorr Ahem.

Having said that, this picture is about 20 years old, but she doesn't look that different now other than fashion wise.

Right. Off to hunt food, now. Which means a trip to the café rather than anything involving spears or shotguns.

(no subject)

After the heady relief of completing my list of character sheets for NWO, today I find myself curiously at a loose end.

It's a simple thing but it adds a certain piquancy to time wasting - a deadline to ignore. I haven't got one now. Although I expect there's more writing on its way, at this precise moment there is none.

So, having slumbered for much of the morning, I dragged out an ancient tape of The Masque of Madragora a Doctor Who adventure from 1976 and watched all four episodes. There is a certain interest to that story for a number of reasons: firstly it is early Tom Baker era when the story lines were quite gothic and often set in the past which is something the BBC does far better than straight forward futuristic science fiction. Secondly, it is set in the fictional Italian Duchy of San Martini around the time of Leonardo, and has masked culty types and a masque ball, which fits in nicely with the stuff I've been writing over the past few months. Thirdly, I am related to Norman Jones (my dad's cousin, I believe, although I don't think I've ever met him - Norman, not dad) who plays Heironymous the astrologer and cult leader splendidly over the top.

Of course, the special effects are rubbish, although in those pre-Star Wars days we didn't realise that, and the sets are suitably shaky, but the story is magnificently atmospheric and dark. And it is the first time we get to see the TARDIS secondary control room, complete with writing desk console and shaving mirror.

Splendid.

It is grey outside, and chilly. The wind is up and there is rain in the air. At the time of writing it is not quite 2.20 in the afternoon, and I am considering putting the light on, although it has brightened up a little in the past few minutes. BY way of a change, I have dug out a CD by a French artiste, Mylene Farmer which I picked up in Caen a couple of years ago. Very poppy and French but in a superior non-Eurotrash sort of way. I know nothing of Mylene Farmer, but the CD sleeve suggests that she might be a wannabe soft porn star in that way the French have which so beguiles and baffles the Anglo-Saxon mind set, even in these days of Britney Spears and Christina Aguillera and their spray-on, drape-off almost-clothes. The French manage it with far more panache; they seem to be effortlessly sexy without you ever wondering if they charge an hourly rate in the way such questions tip-toe across the mind when the Britney-Kylie-Christina-alikes do it.

It's a cultural thing, bless them.

Out of curiosity, I just googled Mylene Farmer (now there's a phrase that would have raised eyebrows ten years ago). It seems she is Quebecois and was born in 1961. So, Francophone but not French, which would explain the surname, I suppose.



I have to say that she's looking good for her age. Raaorr Ahem.

Having said that, this picture is about 20 years old, but she doesn't look that different now other than fashion wise.

Right. Off to hunt food, now. Which means a trip to the café rather than anything involving spears or shotguns.