![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jul. 9th, 2004 01:02 pmThanks for all the thoughful, caring comments yesterday! I'm running a bit behind today, after a too-quick readthrough of my F-list for the past two days, so if I don't reply to comments today, I will this weekend.
So M. made it home just in time; dinner at the Red Cat was lovely, as always, and he got lots and lots of presents he adored. His mum gets first prize, as she'd given him a copy of the One Ring, complete with elvish engraving, but my pressies to him didn't suck (The Office dvds, Blakes 7 first season, Big Fish, Tom Shippey's book on Tolkien, and the ROTK script); his brother sent him an England football shirt; my mom got him Spiderman on DVD (just in time for us to see 2); and his friend J. had gotten him some really nice Harlan Ellison editions but sent them a few months back when we were going to see Harlan at a signing. And he's got at least one more gift still in the post from England. Yesterday we had lunch at Tea & Sympathy, an English teashop but less high tea and more pub food, I guess. I had Welsh rarebit, first time, and it was yummy, and he had all sorts of English food he was missing -- bangers, beans and bacon, I believe. I've now had English bacon and understand why he's so whiny about not being able to find it here.
M. is now collaborating on the Alan Rickman filmfest; he pointed out to me last night that *Quigley Down Under* was on tv. It was a rather forgettable film (Tom Selleck as an American cowboy in Australia, need I say more?), and Rickman was playing his Standard Ca. 1990 Villain Role almost on autopilot, though there are indications that he's getting bored and ready to really chew scenery later in the film, when he trips an underling, for example. M. has Rickman's autograph on a playbill for *Private Lives*, which is one of those weird coincidence things, because it was got for him by one of the friends I went to the play with, several years before he introduced me to M. (I do not wait at stage doors, due to my inherent sense of awkwardness about meeting people in "fan" situations; the one exception was Ian McKellen a few years ago, before M. moved here. Proof of my love, 'cause I wouldn't have done it for myself.)
So M. made it home just in time; dinner at the Red Cat was lovely, as always, and he got lots and lots of presents he adored. His mum gets first prize, as she'd given him a copy of the One Ring, complete with elvish engraving, but my pressies to him didn't suck (The Office dvds, Blakes 7 first season, Big Fish, Tom Shippey's book on Tolkien, and the ROTK script); his brother sent him an England football shirt; my mom got him Spiderman on DVD (just in time for us to see 2); and his friend J. had gotten him some really nice Harlan Ellison editions but sent them a few months back when we were going to see Harlan at a signing. And he's got at least one more gift still in the post from England. Yesterday we had lunch at Tea & Sympathy, an English teashop but less high tea and more pub food, I guess. I had Welsh rarebit, first time, and it was yummy, and he had all sorts of English food he was missing -- bangers, beans and bacon, I believe. I've now had English bacon and understand why he's so whiny about not being able to find it here.
M. is now collaborating on the Alan Rickman filmfest; he pointed out to me last night that *Quigley Down Under* was on tv. It was a rather forgettable film (Tom Selleck as an American cowboy in Australia, need I say more?), and Rickman was playing his Standard Ca. 1990 Villain Role almost on autopilot, though there are indications that he's getting bored and ready to really chew scenery later in the film, when he trips an underling, for example. M. has Rickman's autograph on a playbill for *Private Lives*, which is one of those weird coincidence things, because it was got for him by one of the friends I went to the play with, several years before he introduced me to M. (I do not wait at stage doors, due to my inherent sense of awkwardness about meeting people in "fan" situations; the one exception was Ian McKellen a few years ago, before M. moved here. Proof of my love, 'cause I wouldn't have done it for myself.)
