It's been sickish around here for fully a week. Just a cold, bad enough to slow a fellow down to idle speed plus maybe a hundred rpm or so. Yesterday I gave up and took to my bed -- couch, actually -- with the electric teevee on. The nap lasted close to 18 hours, broken only for the demands of biology, human and canine.
It ended around 2 a.m with a cheerful awakening, the bugs either in retreat or on a tactical stand down, leaving me with an appetite an an attitude tolerant enough to actually focus on the flat screen where I saw most of:
Among Giants, c. 1998, from the Brits and featuring an actress to whom I've never paid attention. She's an Aussie lass named Rachel Griffiths. Here she is Gerry, also an Aussie, a rock climber who hooked up with a crew of tower painters working in the British Moors. I spare you my plot summary. You can always Bing it if you want. But I foist upon you my view that Ms. Griffiths is a woman to behold, even though the skin magazines wouldn't be terribly interested. Not quite enough chin, nothing-much hair, an ordinary figure. So the attraction comes from what? I don't know and probably couldn't articulate it if I did. Probably just something unusually alive in her which the cameras can't help but catch.
In any case, I wish to thank Australia for producing her and the British film industry for bringing her to my tellie. For the latter it represents a great leap forward from The Barnicles of Wimply Street.
If you happen to be in my neighborhood, Ms. Griffiths ....