1. It was entertaining.
2. I never knew werewolves could fly.
3. The gods don’t make many Kate Beckinsales. That was the enduring bit, and that’s why it bears repeating.
And the finale reminded me that I go through periods when I have to walk away from rare and precious people, and I seem to have entered one such period now. It always hurts a bit, but it has do be done. It’s never their fault. I think it must have something to do with my Grail fetish.
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I spent £2 in a charity shop on a Cherokee coat. It’s characterful rather than smart which makes it a bit special, and now I reckon I’m going to be the best dressed person for miles around. There’s a story behind it, to do with trying to find my new identity now that I have no sexual capital (#4, for those who are counting.) I’d ruled out baggy trousers, baseball caps worn backwards, sports jackets and flannel trousers, cravats, hombergs and hoodies. None of them were me (whatever that is.) The Cherokee coat seems like a step along the right road.
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I spent another £10 on a 15” high statuette of a Chinese lady dressed in Chinese finery (Tang, I think) accompanied by peacocks. She now has second pride of place in my living room after the North American Indian mother figure. It’s almost unheard of for me to spend money on something just because I like it.
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The woman from whom I bought my tomato plants had the squeakiest voice I’ve ever heard. I wanted to ask her whether she was high on helium, whether she had escaped from the Disney studios, or whether she’d been a rodent in a former life. We talked about the weather instead.