Woke up this morning as per usual, with the cat purring on my head and kneading WAKEUPWAKEUP into my scalp. As per unusual I threw her off the bed (and damn near pulled my shoulder) because she’d taken me from a dreamy dream involving my hotscot. Nothing was happening in this dream. Yet. YET, cat, y’hear me? If momma’s a’dreamin, don’t come a’meanin to wake me up WAY TOO GODDAMN EARLY. Jesus Christ, cat. The scene was set. I can only assume that at some point there would’ve been fewer articles of clothing and actual speaking (perhaps not in that order) because I have seen it in movies. Goddamn cat.

So now I must offer tribute to the legions of nom fans (and I mean LEGIONS), in a doubtless poor attempt to make up for our inexcusable silence. I will NOT be offering tribute in the form of any sort of undead vamper; a lady knows when she has met her match and Effbit would have my canines for even attempting to match her skills. But I do have offerings nonetheless.

Ok, I’m not looking at the dog. Seriously, is ANYONE looking at the fucking dog? Does he need to sell himself to 11-year-old’s? What the fuck. More to the point, why am I angry at him for looking so fucking adorable? Because he can also look like this and I want THIS.

Ahem. That is all.

And for the sexiest whatthefuck looks on the planet, we must of course bow down before the master. Any time, any place. Seriously. AR. Just call us. Even both of us. We’ll get freaky witcha. But to be perfectly honest, I should get first dibs because at least I’ve SEEN The Barchester Chronicles. Seriously, Eff, wot teh eff?

Now is the time on Nomness when we dance, for there are brand spanking new crushes of which to speak! Gather the kids around, go ahead and give Grandma that third gin, and check out my two finds from the land of the BBC. For I crush Brits hard (oh, would that I were only given the opportunity). The first one’s a total cheat because it was really just this one scene that gave me the naughty thoughtys, but he was my favorite Boosh even before I started checking out his back catalog (*gunfingers*) so this was just a bonus. I give you…Julian Barratt.

And now, the most obvious man I should’ve offered to this site from Day 1. I can only plead ignorance, even though Eff & I once worked with a guy who’s the spit of him and she TOLD me this at the time but c’mon now, really, who listens to Eff half the time, am I right or am I right? Totally right. So I didn’t know. And then I came upon Mr. Capaldi (*gunfingers*), and in doing the waaaay too deep Netflixing of his professional soul, realized I would need to watch Dr. Who. From the beginning. Because I am more than just a lady who appreciates a fine britarse. Not much more, but just enough to also appreciate seeing a series from the very beginning, and I am NOT entering into the argument of “this show’s been on for nearly 40 years, how’d you start at the beginning,” because anyone who knows enough to bring that point knows exactly who I’m talking about and should really just shut their nerd mouth right now before things start to get real. I give you…(but I wouldn’t)…Mr. David Tennant.

Whew. For. Real. Unfortunately I’m now done with the Tenth Doctor episodes. Fortunately I have moved on to Torchwood and, ultimately, my lovely hotscot. Unfortunately I will miss David Tennant. Fortunately Netflix understands this about me, and is more than willing to enable.

Thank you, Netflix, for understanding.

So with episode 1 we have a cabinet reshuffle, the main point of which is to formally replace the previous DoSAC MP. Whatever, I give two shits about the politics, you know why I’m there. The maniacal charm of Malcolm Tucker is adjusted only slightly in the face of a female minister but it’s fun seeing him kinda flirty and then go STRAIGHT into bollock mode. There’s certainly no will they/won’t they thing going on but at least this new chick can hold her own with him and he definitely wasn’t expecting that. Not many other changes except for Glenn who seems somewhat redesigned and more well put together (and wholly invisible to me whenever Tucker’s in the building).

Also, since last we spoke I’ve been fangirling Capaldi’s entire body of work (and yes, BODY of work is appropriate). I sat through this one absolutely shit horror movie to get to the last six minutes which were outrageously well-acted on his part. The fact that his entire backside was on-screen shimmying into a pair of boxers has nothing whatsoever to do with my appreciation of those final minutes I’m sure. Nor the fact of his chest being roused from post-coital rest by the call of one of his charges crying, “Father Steve!” Little bit of Catholic naughtiness with the farm lady. No, I think it was actually the emotions flitting about his face while sitting at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of the previous night. Like, really. He may be my latest pretty obsessive but damn the man can also act.

(ok it might’ve been the shimmy)