My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

You know, the whole time I was waxing bucolic on Sunday there was a half eaten pigeon hidden amongst the scatter of leaves behind my chair (which I swept up later). The leavings of my hawk, I'm afraid. I should be revolted, but she's such a wonderful looking creature, I reckon she can have a pigeon or two, if she must. Would that I could train her to the lure. I've seen it done. It looks like fun.

Meanwhile, still beastly and grim lunchtime in the park imperiling weather, but not a drop in the garden. Grizzle.

And finally, I'm wondering if somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something, well, I don't know what I did, but...

David Hasselhoff is now following you on Twitter!
( more: we don't need this fascist groove thang )

This week mobile phones ring, as do wedding bells, FlashForward debuts (most number of UK actors in a US show?), Mr Owen and Mr Bettany have new films out and Mr McGregor is spotted filming in Glasgow. As always, a heroic effort by sleeper_frost in finding the greater part of these links for your perusal.
( more: Richard Armitage to play Special Forces soldier in Strike Back, The softer side of Clive Owen, Bond beauty Eva Green and Scots heartthrob Ewan McGregor turn heads with Glasgow shoot, Jack Davenport on FlashForward, Joseph Fiennes glimpses the future in hit new show FlashForward, Paul Bettany is a Bloody and Bruised Priest, Paul Bettany on stepping into Charles Darwin's shoes for Creation, Ian McKellen on The Hobbit, Scots star John Barrowman reveals all about his amazing rise to fame, David Tennant guest stars in Sarah Jane Adventures, Love is just magic for Merlin star Colin, Mobile phone disrupts Jackman and Craig's Broadway show, Macdonald's regrets over McAvoy, Filming begins on Ashes to Ashes' final series, Resurrection for Primeval series, Actor Gleeson grabs gong at annual Emmy awards, Claire Danes and Hugh Dancy Marry in France, Jude Law requests DNA tests, Stephen Moyer's Dog To Be Ringbearer, Butler 'obsessed with blackberry jam' )

This week is brought to you by The Man Who Was Thursday. Even Lewis namechecked it: "I've heard of that story - The Man Who Was Thursday." (Dexter 1994, Daughters of Cain)

It's just one of those freaky coincidences where a song or name will just pop up everywhere until you're quite sure you're going mad, like Sam Tyler mad. So for me, this week has been wallpapered by The Man who Was Thursday. I suppose it befalls me to now actually read the bloody book (good luck find a copy in this bookshop shy town - better dead than read).
( more: dogs and monsters )

Ack, I keep having Tudors flashbacks. Not good. Can't help it, the insomnia is back and the mind wanders (especially with no side trips to gossip pages to focus the mind while I wait for the dozen or so folks holding up my projects to pull their respective digits out. I can't even browse that scurrilous rag also known as The Times) and I shouldn't have binged on Sunday arvo, but I was knackered and the IQ was in desperate need of housekeeping (that's the poor man's Tivo that we've got out here).

Oh yeah, I'm officially, quantifiably, scientifically proven, allergic to housework and gardening. Yep, got my allergy test results back and I got top scores for dust, seeds, pollen, chemicals, and my own personal favourite: moggies (so no, I'm not putting it on when I burst into sneezies at the merest whiff of a cat hair, so there to all those who insisted I was indeed putting it on and then piled six of the creatures in my lap. To paraphrase Mr Socrates, the supercomputer: Get that cat out of here!). Alas, it's not like I can waive a doctor's note at the mess/chaos/installation (after Emin)/wildlife reserve etc, but I wish I could. At least it explains why I spend the weekend evenings feeling woozy.

Or why I end up on the couch watching more Tudors than is healthy or sane as the sun goes down.
( more: recycle, repackage, resubmit )

Hullo. Yes, still here, just. You'll have to excuse the lack of post but I'm still drowning in backlog and also that flu I was fighting off dropped me like a sack of potatoes the moment I tried for some sleep. So yeah, kinda walking wounded this week, and I have a sackful of pills to prove it. Finally dragged myself to the nearest quack on Friday and while he was v. amused at my misfortunes (flu in Venice, sprained ankle in Budapest, sun burn in London, food poisoning in Singapore) he asked if, after all that, I'd had a good time.

Well, yes. I'm a complete wreck and my eat, drink and be merry before the wheels fall off holiday has taken its toll, but yes.
( more: bitching and moaning, with pics )