TV Coma

I HAVE SKY!!!! I'm so very excited, it really speaks volumes about the somewhat sorry state of affairs which is my social life at the moment. Also, having been swearing for years that I don't need Sky, it does feel like something of a defeat to finally have it installed. But, frankly, I'll get over it - I can now watch Lost! I can watch Sawyer getting his kit off on a regular basis! Woohoo! So many channels....it's truely amazing!
See, the main problem with living up here on the edge of the world, is that there isn't really that much to do. I leave the house in the morning to go to school, and it's dark. Depending on the weather it may or may not reach proper daylight at some point in the day, which means I may or may not get to appreciate the actually quite lovely views out of my classroom windows, and then by the time I get back home again, it's dark. And usually blowing a gale. Which does, somewhat, impinge on the possibilities for extra-curricular activities. In fact, the favourite at the moment is going to the gym (yes, me. Going to the gym, And - even stranger - enjoying it!) - and even though it's at the bottom of my road getting there through the rain and the wind is a bit of a struggle.
On the weekends, the prospect of going outside is always hugely dependent on the weather, and evening activites pretty much involve going to one or more of Lerwick's pubs. Which is fine and all, but if you don't fancy the pub, you're pretty much scuppered. And so I have Sky. Happy days.

Also...why is it that I can't seem to change the font/colour/size/etc? What's that about? Answers on the back of a postcard please... (as you might have noticed...I've now sorted this...tres bizarre...)

Saturday night in Lerwick

Tonight I witnessed the true levels of excitement that Shetland has to offer.

I had decided on a sensible, quiet, peaceful weekend in this weekend, largely because I haven't been able to catch up on the tiredness that comes from thinking that getting the boat up one night and going straight in to school the next day really is a good idea. I'd even designated today to be a 'pyjama day'. That cunning plan was somewhat scuppered by the realisation that I had very little food in the house, and none that I could combine into something I actually wanted to eat. And it's a bit nippy up here to pop to the supermarket in your jammies. So I had to get to dressed. Nevermind. There's always tomorrow.

Anyway, so I'm in my living room, in a semi-coma of TV overdose brought on by Strictly Come Dancing (come on Smillie - it's national pride at stake now!), bits of X Factor (am I only one who just doesn't care who wins this series?), NCIS (Michael Weatherly is just lush - don't you agree?) and assorted bits of other channel hopping. Half-way through Special Victims Unit, possibly the most anti-climactic piece of potential excitement occurred. What began as a bad joke (how many attempts does it take ot land a helicopter?) turned into potential excitement as it became clear that said copter was, in fact, engaged in a search of the loch. Six times the copter slowly flew the length of the loch, circling Lerwick to come back and look again. Helicopters, as I'm sure you're aware, are a bit on the noisy side, so pretty much everyone who lives around the loch, and a fairly large number of passers by, had come out to watch the drama unfold - in very cold weather I might add. And then the helicopter just went away.

I have no idea whatever it was they were looking for, but they didn't seem to find it. I'm assuming it was a training exercise, but quite why they had to disturb/wake up half of Lerwick at 11.30 on a Saturday night, I'm not sure...

Reader, she married him.

I'm well aware that this post is nearly two weeks late, but as I was on a boat at the time it aired, today was, in fact, my first opportunity to watch the final episode of the BBC's Jane Eyre (thank the gods for programmable VCRs).

And so, I now find myelf sitting in my living room, not giving a hoot that my fire is stubbornly refusing to catch, with an utterly ridiculous, probably bordering on the fatuous, smile upon my face, my whole faith in true love utterly reaffirmed. So much so, in fact, that I'm only marginally irritated by the fact that the iconic declaration of female empowerment that is "Reader, I married him" did not in any way, shape, or form feature in the episode. Give me time to come out of my 'true love conquers all' bubble of happiness and I've no doubt I'll find it in me to be truely outraged, but at the moment...couldn't care less! Likewise, I have no qualms whatsoever with their rather un-proprietous getting jiggy in the meadow at the end. I mean...Toby Stephens...who could blame Jane for wanting to finally get her rocks off?

She married him. He's lush (just look at him - would you say no?) and he loves her desperately. All is right with the world. *sigh*

I'm off to daydream delightfully about Mr R/Toby Stephens (either would do) declaring their undying love and affection...*sigh* I might even finally be ready to re-read the actual book...

All is forgiven

I take back at least some of my pedantry towards the BBC's Jane Eyre - Mr Rochester is fabulous! Mad wife be damned, he can 'overwhelm' me any time he likes! Silly silly Jane - bollocks to morality, you just know that you'd run off with him to his 'whitewashed villa in the sun' if he asked...or is that just me?

*swoon*

I'm a Pedant, and I'm Okay

Poor, foolish BBC. It was all going so well, and then along comes that irritating thing called 'artistic licence'. What am I talking about? The BBC's current adaptation of Jane Eyre of course.

Those of you in the know will be well aware of my somewhat tyrannical approach to TV and film adaptions of favoured books. I have still not brought myself to watch the most recent film of Pride and Prejudice because, frankly, the thought of Keira 'I'm not anorexic, I naturally look like a malnourished stick-insect' Knightly as Elizabeth Bennet makes me come over all apoplexic. Now, I had high hopes for this Jane Eyre. The BBC has an excellent pedigree when it comes to literary adaptions. Pride and Prejudice? Brilliant. He Knew He Was Right? Spot on. Even the recent 'Shakespeare Revisited' series was really rather good. (Apart from the mind-numbing MacBeth, but three out of four ain't bad, and Much Ado About Nothing was inspired!) And so with an equal mix of excitement and trepidation I sat myself down to watch one of my favourite books. (I'm aware I haven't been able to bring myself to read Jane since the trauma of fourth-year dissertation writing, but I'm getting close.)

It started well. Granted, Mr Rochester is FAR too good looking, and when Jane says that she doesn't find him attractive I was hard pushed to resist throwing something at the telly while shouting "Are you blind???" quite loudly. But even if he is a bit pretty, Toby Stephens did manage to convey a suitably bastard-ish character for Mr R pre-transformation. And so, feeling considerably more relaxed I sat down to this weeks installment. And that's where it all went wrong. You see, I let my guard down. I really should know better, but I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security and so I was wounded by the travesty that was to come.

Now, exciting as a ouija board may be, as far as I remember it features NOWHERE in Charlotte Bronte's masterpiece (or, infact, in any Bronte novels). From what I do remember (and I am willing to be correceted on this [Chloe?] if neccessary) it is the much tamer, and more traditional, parlour game of charades which is played at the Thornfield house party. Now, the charades section is fairly lengthy, and I can understand that it may not make for the most thrilling of TV. And that I could have forgiven, had it not been for the next nightmare.

The Fortune Teller. This is an absolutely genius section and it ranks up there as one of my favourite episodes in the book. In it, Rochester rather dexterously, if somewhat meanly, dresses up as a fortune teller to spread a few home truths to his guests, and to try and get to the heart of Jane's true feelings about him. It's brilliant. It also has the added bonus of featuring a major romantic hero in drag. Kindof hard to imagine Heathcliff or Darcy donning a frock in his persuit of the heroine ain't it? And it's this donning of drag which helps make Rochester one of my favourite of literary heroes. And did the BBC respect this truely inspired scene?

Did they bollocks.

Instead we have Rochester lurking behind a screen in a fairly nancy-boy-ish manner. Vile. Yes, he's still pulling the strings of the [female] fortune teller, but instead of being humerous, perhaps even heroic, and being fairly impressive as a demonstration of how far he's willing to go, even at this early stage in the novel, to get Jane, in this version he comes of as fairly petty and almost malicious. It's just not the same. Gutted.

P.S. I also have to mention that the technological honeymoon is over - this is the second attempt to post this blog, and if it doesn't work this time, I just don't think I can be arsed writing a third!