Monthly Archives: July 2013

Bitten by the bug

I started to itch moments after entering the old – and beautifully cool – barn where the rugs were being sold. And more furniture. It was all in the mind. It had to be.

But still. The local paper had published not one, but two, articles on how people’s newfound fondness for fleamarket bargains lies behind the rise in lice infestations in their homes. ‘Bah humbug,’ I said to myself, thinking it sounded like some new version of ‘lets’ blame it on other people’s filthy habits’ kind of thing. Fleamarkets (what an apt name!) and foreign, exotic, travel.

Scratch.

The Swedish for fleamarket is loppis. It sounds friendly, buts still means fleas in some form or other. We like the one in Harplinge each July. This year we liked it for several minutes, before I had had enough. It was hot. It was full of people. We arrived just as the opening speech ended and people charged. (It reminded me of the post office on pensions day, when the OAPs used to run towards the counter, only to hobble out, once they’d got their money.)

I went left, into the nearby furniture tent. One woman bought and paid for a lovely old chest of drawers within seconds. I was glad I didn’t need anything. There were purple bookcases. Our television bench could be had for a mere £5. Not ours, obviously, but one just the same.

Didn’t buy any home made cinnamon buns, because by then I had been overcome by apathy. Looked at the rugs, but just itched. Went to stare at the car park and the portaloo, where one child, sitting on the grass with outstretched legs still had legs after the car passed her, but no thanks to her inattentive mother.

While the band played summery tunes, I rested my legs by testing the chairs for sale. I can recommend the ones that would have made perfectly fine Charles Rennie Mackintosh chairs if you’d only painted them. They were just right for watching people from. I enjoyed the three elderly friends who wore nicely matching (was it planned?) clothes in black and white. One plain white with black. One black patterned bottom with white top, and the other with black patterned top and white bottom.

And before we walked across the fields to meet the car again, I witnessed a local author walking past, clutching newly bought driftwood. Daughter bought a Christmas CD. The Resident IT Consultant and I bought nothing at all. There’s hardly any itching, and only that which can be explained.

Bye Ziva

My suspicions that Cote de Pablo was on her way out have been confirmed. There will be no more Ziva for NCIS fans, apart from what’s necessary to ‘get rid of’ her character. Let’s hope they can do it tastefully.

The dramatic departure of Kate was not ideal. Admittedly, it made for very good viewing, but I wonder if they’ve regretted it since. Death is so final, unless you are Sherlock Holmes or Bobby Ewing. And they way they have found Kate substitutes suggests they wouldn’t have minded a resurrected Agent Todd every now and then.

So what will they do about Ziva? We’ll find out at the end of September. I’m guessing the news about Cote de Pablo not renewing her contract came now, when they will be getting together after the summer holidays to film the first episodes.

Ziva

Personally I felt the role of Ziva was getting worn out. I like her, but something about all that happened to her and through her made me wonder how long she had left. Eight years is a big chunk out of anybody’s life, and I’m thinking she feels her body clock ticking. Have a family, or continue on what is one of the most successful shows until it’s too late?

Cote’s fellow ‘young ones,’ Sean Murray and Brian Dietzen, may share mid-November birthdays with her, but they have wives to do the pregnancy bit for them and they have been able to enjoy fatherhood, while still doing what they do on NCIS. The same goes for Michael Weatherly who has got married again and who also did not have to choose between bump or career.

I’m not sure NCIS has got that much longer to go before it’s grown out of what made it special. Better to leave while it’s on top. Recent casting for the LA spinoff makes me doubt they’ll get a Ziva replacement right. Clichéd characters, not to mention plot, have taken over from the freshness ten years ago. Come back Donald Bellisario, all is forgiven?

(Photo © CBS)

The Thor Affair

I knew this episode well. Possibly better than some I’ve actually watched.

Usually when we do the holiday watching of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. we end up with the same episodes over and over again. It doesn’t help if you choose deliberately, or make a random stab at some number.

So when we started on The Thor Affair, I braced myself for same old. And yes, I knew almost every line. When the teacher hears things in her tooth (which sounds even more stupid when you write it down). The shooting toys. The sneeze.

I’ve been there. Someone in this house has watched it loads of times. But not me. I thought I had, but found I recognised none of the visuals. Only the plot and the lines.

So it would seem that you can repeatedly not watch an episode, just as you can see too much of one.

Happy Birthdays to you!!

Once again, it’s time for dual cakes for Michael Weatherly and Rocky Carroll. Many happy returns to you both. We have been so laidback for a while, that your day almost got overlooked.

Almost. I’ll go and have some cake now, seeing as I missed it on my own day… Perhaps celebrate with an episode or two of NCIS. Have been almost too busy for that as well.

Sommartider

When Daughter got off the train in Halmstad on Friday night, half the town (a mere 20,000 to be truthful) was there to meet her. There were fireworks. The police were out, directing traffic and closing off lanes. People were happy, and wandering all over the place. Even the weather was nice, and warm, considering it was 11pm. Still almost light, too.

She’d been travelling for eleven hours by then, and was more than pleased to be getting off the train, seeing as half of half the town seemed to be wanting to get on. I expect it got crowded for a while there. We eventually managed to squeeze our borrowed Saab out of the parking slot we had miraculously found right outside the station (only possible because the big American classic car took up so much space that no one else had attempted the squeeze. The Resident IT Consultant had to breathe in to get out), and it only took half an hour to leave town, as opposed to the normal five minutes.

Gyllene Tider, Halmstad

It wasn’t only Daughter’s arrival that caused the mayhem. The primary reason for the other 19,998 people was the Gyllene Tider concert, a stone’s throw away from the station. Personally I’d been hoping for more concert to be left when we arrived, as it would have meant not only quieter streets, but I could have listened in for free while waiting. But we met the Hot Dog Man as we approached, so worked out it was all over now.

There was piped Gyllene Tider music on offer, however, and the fireworks display was pretty good. The station was long closed, but its café was open, as was the Seamen’s Church along the road. It was not our normal Halmstad at all. I doubt I’ll see the like of it again. (Although, the next concert is on the 7th of August.)

Gyllene Tider, Halmstad

Not sure if the concert dates were known (to me) when Daughter booked her travel tickets. No matter; we couldn’t/wouldn’t have attempted the concert anyway. I feel sad to have missed it, but standing up for several hours with 20,000 happy fans is not my idea of comfort.

Sommartider hej hej, sommartider, hej…