serinde

naudia were off to I-CON, leaving

sweh and I to spend a quiet anniversary weekend mostly at his place. It was a veritable sampler platter of a few of our favorite things, including toy shopping, the pub, Tea & Sympathy, cheezy-with-a-Z TV, and of course teh kinky sexx0r.

Also, I got to see the first three episodes of the new (by which I mean "most recent", or "eighth", or if you want to be that way, "Christopher Eccleston") Doctor Who. My heart runneth over with woobie. I do not think this pretty boy they have lined up next for the role is in any way going to compare, though I'll give him a chance, I reckon.

Saturday night, we watched Personal Services, a Terry Jones-directed film loosely based ("NO, WE SWEAR IT ISN'T, EVEN THOUGH SHE'S LISTED AS CONSULTANT") on the life of Cynthia Payne, the famed London brothel-keeper. (Well, famed to everyone but me, apparently.) It had its issues, primarily with pacing--bits of it really dragged--and there is a good 20 minutes at the beginning where I hadn't the foggiest what was going on; but it's worth your Netflix attention.

All Bond movies still suck ass--AMC was running a marathon, y'see--and only make me want to go back & read the books again. Which is difficult since a whole bunch of mine are MISSING AGKGKGKGKGK. Time to troll the street book vendors, I guess.