Being Human - So long Mitchell. (contains spoilers)

I've been very neglectful again, haven't I? Truth is I've been busy writing, revising, inventing dishes out of leftovers and juggling bills. Now, the novel has gone back to the e-publisher following revisions, the novella is in the knowing hands of beta readers and the new story is tugging at my sleeve. So, I really have no excuse. I need to kick the old blog back to life, yet again.

Where better to start than the recently concluded third series of 'Being Human'.

Oh, bloody hell, she's not rabbiting on about that again is she?

Why yes, yes I am.

I don't even know where to begin. This series has been a wild ride, showcasing all that I love about BH - clever writing, brilliant acting and a make-up department let loose with the fake blood. There was the usual deft mix of humor, tragedy, sorrow and drama, enhanced by some stellar guest appearances, including Robson Green at his most manly as the werewolf McNair, Michael Socha as his 'son' Tom, a delightfully dotty performance by Nicola Walker and the long anticipated reappearance of Jason Watkins wreaking havoc as Herrick.

The regular cast were at their very best, led by Aidan Turner portraying Mitchell as a vampire whose unraveling throughout the eight episodes was the main thread running through the series. The chemistry between Russell Tovey and Sinead Keenan was even stronger and they provided some memorable moments - my favorite being a scene at the police station when both Nina and George were moments away from transforming. Lenora Critchlow, as Annie, was finally brought to the fore a bit more in this series and I suspect more of Annie's powers will be revealed in Series 4.

Jason Watkins was remarkable, as always as he slowly transformed from the creepy 'Uncle Billy' in the attic to a dramatic and horrific return to Herrick in ruthless form, leaving a bloody trail of dead police officers in his wake. Watkins really gives the impression that he loves every moment and his performance in this series really stood out.

The final nod really has to go to Aidan Turner playing John Mitchell for the last time in this series. The die was cast with the massacre of the Box Tunnel 20 and the main thread that ran through all the episodes was the acceleration of Mitchell's unraveling, kick started by Lia's false prophecy in the first episode about a 'wolf-shaped bullet'. His final moments tear at the gut, a heartbreaking exchange, which ends with George plunging a stake into his best friend's heart out of love. I usually get burny eyes and sniffles when I watch something sad but this scene had me sobbing. It really was the right true end to Mitchell's story and kudos to all involved for making that bold leap in the dark.

So, yeah, that's my take on this season of Being Human. I know there's many a red-blooded female rending her clothes and wailing at Turner's departure and forthcoming dwarfdom and there's a few wondering how Season 4 will shake out without Mitchell but I have every faith that, this time next year, I'll be writing yet another blog singing Being Human's praises.

Thanks guys.

Possess!

Today I have the honour of being able to share the cover of my friend, Gretchen McNeil's book with you. It's called Possess and it's released on the 23rd of August this year.

When it's released, I'll review it. Until then, I'll give you this link and you can read what Gretchen has to say about it all.

I'm so thrilled for Gretchen and, when you read the book, you'll be thrilled!

Possess

New Year, new life.

I'll say it right here and right now, I loathe New Year stuff. I have no resolve therefore I don't make resolutions. I can't drink more than a couple of glasses of wine or champagne without getting a thumping headache. I can't stay up much past 10.30 most nights. So, I don't do New Year.

However, there's one thing I don't think anyone can avoid at this time of year and that's reflection. New Year's Day is one of those fixed points in time where I just can't help looking back and thinking...'this time last year..' and wondering 'where the hell will I be this time next year?'.

So, here I am, literally thousands of miles away from where I was this time last year. 2010 was a year of upheaval for me and my family. After 8 years in Arizona, the rug was snatched from under our feet and we had no choice but to walk away from everything we'd built up over those years. I'm not going to dwell on that because it's done and dusted. We can't do anything about it, we have to move on. Move on, we did. I'm writing this from the living room of a 250 year old cottage in one of the loveliest villages in Wiltshire. We love this house. No, it's not ours, we rent it but we love it nonetheless. It's a cozy refuge that we found at the end of a turbulent year.

So that's the rambling, blathery bit over with. I think I'm supposed to write what I intend to do this year, which I won't because I don't trust life to go in a straight line any more. Instead, I'm just going to post a list. To those of you who find your way to this blog, feel free to add a list of your own. At the very least, just sign in and say 'hello'. Statcounter is a Big Tease, I see that I've visitors from all over the place. Just make yourself known, satisfy my curiosity. I don't bite...much.

Anyway, *harummph* ... my list:

1. My family, here and in the US. You are my anchor and my solid ground. Thank you;
2. My friends, both real life and online. You have all been incredible and restored my faith in humanity. In no particular order: My Purgies, My Pervies, My Purple Place pals. Extra special love to: Louise, Scarlett, Becky, Gretchen, Amy, Lisa (California), Joyce, Lisa B, Lisa C, Cath, Alice, Kimmi, Cindy, Richard B., Jess, Deb, Deborah, Dys, Sirayn and others...you know who you are.
3. Four seasons a year.
4. Writing. It's what I do. I can't help it. I love it and I hope I never run out of words.
5. Music. It's fuel for my imagination.
6. Good television, at long last: Being Human; Downton Abbey; BBC News; Doctor Who.
7. Eye Candy. Richard Armitage; Aidan Turner; David Tennant. If any of you are available when my books are adapted for film/TV, let me know. :D

Right, I'll stop here otherwise you'll all find out what my favorite cheese, chocolate, cuisine, coffee, etc. are. You really don't need to know that.

So...here's to 2011, may it suck less than 2010. :D

Christmas songs - what's your favorite?

One of the things I really missed when we were in the US was decent Top 40 Christmas songs. I can only listen to 'Rockin' round the Christmas tree' or some soppy Country song laden with maudlin sentimentality so many times without screaming. So, one of the good things about being back in the UK are the great songs on the radio this time of year. This old grump is very slowly getting into the Christmas mood, a mood knocked back only by the price I paid for a single sad string of lights for the tree, and the endless, sodding perfume adverts on television.

There are quite a few Christmas songs that cheer me up but the one that gets me singing loud enough to frighten the cats is 'Fairytale of New York' by The Pogues and the late, great Kirsty McColl. It has one of my favorite lines of all time. Those of you who know me will probably figure out what line that is. I ain't sayin'.

So, what's your favorite Top 40 Christmas song?

Being Human - Thanks for kicking this writer.

By a route too tortuous to mention, I stumbled on 'Being Human' a few months ago. I'd heard about it on the 'net but, because I was living in the US at the time, I didn't really think I'd have a chance to watch it. My lap top can't handle video streaming without overheating and I didn't want to watch the programme in ten minute snippets on a certain video sharing web site. So I resigned myself to saving up the pennies to buying the DVDs. Then BBCAmerica decided to show the first series. I watched all 6 episodes of the first series in a one day marathon and I was hooked.

All right, I have to confess, the initial attraction was the delicious Aidan Turner. I mean, really, how can any female with a pulse resist those eyes, framed by those birds-wing eyebrows?

*sighs*

Where was I?

Oh, yes...the programme.

Harumph.

The premise of a werewolf, vampire and ghost sharing digs in an ordinary terraced house in Bristol is a clever one and a tough one to pull off with any kind of credibility but full marks to Toby Whithouse and the cast for making it work so splendidly. BH is a compelling combination of brilliant writing and top class acting. The story carries humor, pathos, tragedy, darkness and light with no effort at all. There are moments that made me cry, moments that had me giggling helplessly and moments where all I could do was stare, open-mouthed, at the screen. I can't remember the last time a television programme has done that to me. It's also rare for something I've watched to linger with me long after the closing credits have rolled.

Apart from the main characters, the others who come into their lives leave their mark. The supporting cast are equally memorable and there are incredible turns from Paul Rhys as the ancient vampire, Ivan, Donald Sumpter as Kemp and Adrian Lester's Herrick. The on-screen chemistry between Lester and Turner crackles and sizzles - the first season is worth watching for that partnership alone.

Being Human is that rarity, a bright gem hidden away on a satellite channel. it deserves far more exposure than it currently receives and the prospect of an American remake has me reaching for the bucket. It's a story that doesn't need schmaltz, touchy-feely introspection or santitizing. It packs enough emotional punch as it is.

So, why did I revive my cobwebby old blog to bore you all with my thoughts on a television series?

Because it is so bloody good that when I finish watching an episode I want to hide myself away and write the best stuff that I can. Inspiration has been hard to find for me these past few months. Being Human has kick started my writer's brain again and, for that, I am truly thankful.

Roll on Season Three.

Thoughts on being home

Well...we've been back in the UK for nine days now, although the first day doesn't really count because I was only half-conscious after the Flight from Hell with the Flight Attendants from Hell. It was not a one-way trip we'd ever planned on taking, unfortunately, my former employers, easily baffled by bullshit, chose to let me go. Having read recent articles in the local paper, I suspect they let the wrong people go, but that's for another blog, when or if I ever get over my anger at such misguided stupidity among management and certain council members.

I'll just say this. If a certain supermarket on the south end of that town ever caught fire, I'd not pee on it to put it out.

That's enough of that.

I knew, when I returned to England, that I'd appreciate the little things I'd taken for granted before. So, indulge me while I list them:

1. The constantly changing sky - after years of relentless, cloudless blue skies, it's a real treat just to sit in the back garden and watch the clouds. Sometimes they're leaden, grey and heavy with rain. At other times, they're thin wisps of white horsetails stretched out across a silvery evening sky. On warm, muggy afternoons, the puffy cumulus idle across the sky, threatening to darken and bring rain. Now, the sky is something to gaze at and appreciate because, like snowflakes, no one day is ever the same.

2. Rain - There's nothing more pleasurable than standing outside in a gentle rain listening to the drops whisper on the leaves and the lawn. They're tiny, cool kisses on a skin parched by eight years of desert heat.

3. Grass - standing on the cool, soft grass in my bare feet is absolute bliss.

4. The countryside - We're in central Berkshire at the moment. The landscape is a mosaic of gently rolling fields, hemmed by ancient hedgerows and trees. The wheat fields are beginning to turn to a soft gold as the crops ripen after an unusually dry and warm summer. The horse chestnut trees are growing heavy with conkers, which will drop in the autumn revealing gleaming mahogany seeds bursting from spiky pods. Then, there's the country lanes transformed into shady green tunnels by the trees growing over them. The grass verges are alive with flowers, Queen Anne's lace and others.

5. Driving a car with a manual transmission - I had a bit of a rough introduction because the rental place is in the middle of a busy town and I had to remember, very quickly, how to navigate a roundabout, while struggling to recall how to drive with a gear shift, without stalling in the middle of said roundabout. Now that I've got the hang of it once more, it's great fun, even on the winding, narrow country lanes. I have to say, the price of petrol is a bit of a fright, so for all of my American friends reading this, three bucks a gallon really isn't anything to whine about so...don't.

6. Pie and chips - yeah, all right, so the local chippy is run by Greeks, but they've nailed the art of frying potatoes. The Daddie's sauce is just the perfect finishing touch.

7. BBC One. Oh how I missed thee. The highlight of the viewing week is 'Sherlock Holmes', a modern reworking of the old stories. Beautifully written, clever plots and a wonderfully quirky Sherlock. Then, there's the news...no carefully groomed, plastic newsreaders, just proper journalists doing their jobs and doing it well.

I could go on and on. I know it's not paradise and I know if it wasn't for the incredible kindness and generosity of friends, it could be really tough, but when all is said and done, it's good to be back.

Stay tuned for more!

A friend remembered

Today I had to say goodbye to a very dear friend.

Almost eight years ago to the day, a colleague delivered a spectacularly beautiful, excitable, affectionate bundle of Australian mongreldom to our front door. Patches' previous owners had decided that they didn't have the time to care for her. We were looking for a dog for our son and there she was. I took one look at those anxious brown eyes and was lost.

She was a funny mix of a dog. Her broad forehead and stocky torso screamed Queensland Heeler, as did her need to protect everything and everyone in the household. That chunky body was perched precariously on delicate Australian Shepherd legs and her coloring was clearly a legacy from the Aussie Shepherd side. She was beautiful, with absurdly large, pointy ears and a kissable pink spot on her muzzle.

Patches also dispelled the myth that mongrels enjoy rude health. Her mixed parentage led to a damaged hind leg, probably from racing like a fool around the backyard. There was the time I was summoned home from work to take her to the vet when she was bitten by something and one side of her face swelled up so much she looked more like a pit-bull. Then, there was the arthritis in her neck and spine. A cruel ailment for such a lively dog. We were lucky there because she only ever had a couple of flare-ups. Our other dog, Otto, kept her young.

I had a host of nicknames for her. Fusspot was one of them, because of her fussy little anxious steps and her worried expression. Plus, if my husband and I ever argued she would push between us and bark at him, warning him to keep away from me. She loved to have her chest rubbed and would rest her paw on my arm to keep me from stopping while she sat there grinning.

Then, there's Otto, a lumbering, good-natured chocolate labrador who was twice her weight. Yet, when it came to rough-housing in the back yard, all Patches had to do to bring him down was dive for one of his legs, pull it out from underneath him and that was the match won. They adored each other. They slept side by side, they cleaned each other, fussed over each other but she was always the boss. Today, Otto is subdued and quiet. He saw his friend get in the car and saw me walk into the house with an empty collar and lead. He knows, somehow, that she's not coming home and his sad resignation breaks my heart.

I'm sitting here watching Otto sprawled on the floor without his fussy little shadow. My eyes are burning a little. The Valley Fever that he seems perfectly able to live with, made his friend cough, killed her appetite and left her lethargic. We're leaving in a few days, we can't take him with us and we're hoping to leave him with a good home. He's young, he has a chance. Patches wouldn't have had that chance. I hated the thought of her spending her last days in a crowded, noisy shelter among strangers. It wasn't right, it wasn't the way I wanted to leave my good friend. Luckily, our vet saw that letting Patches go quietly and peacefully in that special, quiet room in her surgery was the kindest thing to do.

Since I was the one who welcomed Patches into our home, since I was the one she protected and fussed over, it seemed only right that I be there when she left this world. I can barely see as I write this. I know, that somehow, somewhere, I'll see my little Fusspot again.

Love you, Fusspot.