she sings and sighs as the shuttle flies

A terrible thing has happened to me.

My favourite grown up book store in Melbourne is called Readings. On my last visit there I bought a beautiful illustrated ABC for a child, a Leonard Cohen DVD for exactlyhalf (DVD of the concert we went to!), CD of the same for my dad, and the final installment of an Australian fantasy for myself (excellent series by Alison Croggan, a Melbourne poet. Plot is a trifle derivative, but the prose and characters are lovely, she has the opposite of race fail (and it's taken me this long to appreciate how great that is) and features some quite beautiful poetry/song) 
While I was there on a Tuesday evening it was full of all these urban looking people were drinking red wine from tumblers to celebrate the launch of a picture storybook. One such lovely person was one of exactlyhalf's oldest family friends, and being there was like a glimpse of heaven - books, music, red wine and lovely company.

Anyway, I've loved this store for a decade. And given the context of its being a bookstore, it's pretty obvious how the name should be pronounced, only...

I CAN'T STOP CALLING IT RED-DING. LIKE THE EFFING CITY.

DAMN

The truly embarrassing bit? I teased exactlyhalf mercilessly the first time he did that on a visit home. I've done it EVERY SINGLE TIME I've referred to it. Oh the shame *exaggerated woeface*

I'm sure many of you know the song of The Wild Rover, and most of you in Oxford will know this has been adapted to The Wild Punter, telling tales of river exploits. Well, while strolling down the canal yesterday, exactlyhalf made me a gift of the following verse:

I've been a wild Bunter for many's the year
But I've changed all my ways now that Lord Peter's here.
He needs a good man since that hell that was War
So I never shall play the wild Bunter no more.

And it's no, nay, never,
No nay never no more
Will I play the wild Bunter,
No never, no more

____

We have now got 8 verses to our ditty, telling the much needed back story of Bunter. For those who don't know him, Bunter is valet to Lord Peter Wimsey, an man of immaculate presentation and utmost propriety. Our song tells of Bunter before the war, tales of wildness that begin with brandy drinking and stolen kisses, and end up with the buckling of swashes! It still needs some polishing, then we'll post it. It was wonderful to wander through the sunny evening composing verses about Bunter the poacher!

If the third episode is mainly happy (if bitter-sweet) times, that suddenly go bad, then the fourth is the sad times, finally relieved by the conclusion.

( cut for minor spoilers and my only 2 criticisms of a very good series )

I'm watching this in instalments with shanith, so, in instalments come reviews.

I should preface this by saying that while I had high hopes for this production (being an adaptation of my most beloved novel), I did not expect them to be met. Partly this is because the two that I have seen failed to really move me. William Hurt and Charlotte Gainsbourg didn't have time to do much, and Timothy Dalton and Zelah Clarke seemed a little period piece by numbers. Besides, is it really possible to 'do' such a story in film? I think most adaptations of novels struggle when it comes to internalities, and falling in love is perhaps one of the most profoundly internal processes. Sure, Andrew Davies did a good job for Elizabeth and Darcy with lingering, smouldering glances, as well as contemplative mirror gazing. But then, P&P is a story of appearances, albeit deceptive ones. Jane Eyre is a story of, well, we'll get to that. But a first person narrative, the first person narrative of a reserved person, this is a difficult thing to film. How can this be done?

( very minor spoilers beneath )