LJ is for posting in as well! I forgot this. Am also now attempting crossposty business with my Dreamwidth (where I am also pontisbright, in an uncharacteristic moment of consistency, FYI), since LJ continue to be faily. Oh Semagic, you are...confusing. And your pen is purple: INSERT JOKE EVERYONE ELSE MADE IN ABOUT 2004. But your little lj-cut button has a little pair of scissors on it, so I will give you a go.

Um.

I grew my hair? (A bit. Only this is my hair, so I now have - in the words of a former hairdresser of mine, after he'd cut it - SO MUCH HAIR. It will keep me warm through the complete absence of summer we appear to be having, and if I happen to become imprisoned in a thorn-surrounded tower of any kind, I'm golden. Or 'Dark Chocolate', like it said on the box.)

There is Doctor Who! I love it like a fool. I don't think Simon Nye should be allowed anywhere near, well, anything, but my giddy adoration is such that my brain just goes 'fuckit, there's another one next week!' I suspect those rumbling about The Moff not having the script-editing experience of Rusty may not be off the mark: that's two sizeable dips in quality with guest writers in (though I liked this more than Victory of the Daleks, and both have lots of good bits: they just didn't stick together). Amy's Choice is still confusing me a bit. I can't think of another onscreen example of a DW ep starting with such a 'literalisation of a metaphor' premise: something where the location and villains are there solely to serve as conduits for character development. And I like when they fiddle with the format a little: love Midnight, like the idea behind Love & Monsters (if not...you know) - but this felt off. When Farscape did it at least we got lisping, Max Headroom, and Shakespeare. But FUCKIT, THERE'S ANOTHER ONE NEXT WEEK! I bet I shout 'Tractators!' madly at the telly at least once.

There is Ashes to Ashes! I love that like a fool too, but more of a conflicted fool who is desperate for Friday to come but also so so sad that it will all be over. It's like waiting to watch the final episode of The Prisoner (the real one, not that THING) for the first time, safe in the knowledge that the ending wasn't written by Patrick McGoohan. I will miss it absurdly.

Probably some other things have happened which don't involve telly or hair. But, yknow, feh.

And now, I am going to read the portion of my hard drive marked WIPS, aka Stuff I Wrote Ages Ago And Have Forgotten About, Presumably For Good Reason. Don't worry, I have alcohol.