Working weekend

I thought of so many clever things to blog about today, as I hauled ass to work after lunch (yes, on a Sunday --- such injustice), did the damn work, played my new favoured white-noise-radio-station-of-choice Gruvsonic loud enough to keep myself going, and eventually traipsed home at about sundown.

But now that I'm home, and T made a good dinner, and we watched Two Weeks Notice --- which, despite its chronic grammatical fault, is a highly digestible movie, even when I've seen it twice over two days --- well, I just don't feel like being snarky about work anymore.

Instead, let me alert you --- as I alerted T when we finished the movie just now --- that what with renting Two Weeks Notice and Bridget Jones's Diary this week, and About A Boy a couple of months ago, and the sweet flavour of Notting Hill some time last year, I just might start my own Hugh Grant DVD shrine of worship. That man waltzes so well with charm and irony that every other actor alongside him is instantly reduced to a fumbling, dreadful boor.

Blog updates likely to be infrequent over the next 7 days. In Chandler-style, I put it to you: Could there be any more work and deadlines loaded onto me?