sam wilson. mcu. captain america: brave new world.
Jun. 29th, 2025 02:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Friday:
Saturday:
Tomorrow I think we'll do a couple of brief museum things at the historic dockyard, and then perhaps go for a wander through Southsea. I'm going to watch England v Jamaica tomorrow afternoon (I think R has less than zero interest in football, women's or otherwise) and we've a reservation in the Spinnaker Tower for sunset cocktails tomorrow evening.
physical issues
My leg muscles, especially the ones that stabilise hips, knees and ankles, have been giving me some grief since I went clubbing after the Kodiaks won playoffs at end of May. I'm reasonably sure it's muscular fatigue and not joint/ligament damage. Rest helps, but so does gentle movement: if I sit still too long everything has seized up a bit when I stand up, but loosens up again as I start moving. Skating and hockey are fine once I'm warmed up. Yoga and general stretching seem to help, as do hot baths and sauna. Steady walking is a lot better for me than the stop-start of museum walking, as the last two days have made clear. I love museums but right now the spirit is willing and the flesh has Had Enough.
I didn't get as far as Sparkle on its first day today but I did go to the Village for a meal with a local disabled group (moat of whom are also queer/trans) which I'm adjacent to, with a friend who needed a PA.
(I was glad to learn that I can still queer this friend/PA binary; it used to make up my whole employment for like five years.)
I got to my friend's house before we went out. They had glitter on their face and offered me some. I love glitter but it was the kind of hot day where I started sweating as soon as I got out of the shower. After having to hustle over to their house, my face was so sweaty I told them not to bother putting it on my face because I'd just sweat it off. Of course I had a sleeveless t-shirt on (the one D bought me at last year's Sparkle!) so they offered to put it on my shoulders. Pretty soon both my upper arms were covered in pink, purple and blue glitter, it was great.
When I got home, D saw me and pointed this out of course (as well as my "painted for the first time in five years" fingernails (chrome with rainbow sparkles over them).
I said it'd be the perfect time to flex my biceps, now that they're extra gay.
"Guy-ceps!" he said. "Guy for guy-ceps."
But this is just plain bizarre: reading the AI summaries rather than watching the series or presumably, reading books.
What is even gained thereby?
It's so massively Point Thahr Misst about why one consumes story-telling that I can't even.
Why not just go straight to: this work manifests [whichever of the whatever the allegedly number it is of standard plots it is] tout court?
I guess these are the people that live on Soylent and pride themselves on 'rawdogging' airflights?
Have they completely eliminated enjoyment and fun from their lives, and if so, WHY????
Conversely, and in the interests of pleasure, there has recently opened a bookshop entirely dedicated to romance, in Notting Hill. (I do cringe a bit at calling it 'Saucy Books'.)
Back in the day, in Charing Cross Road, there used to be a dedicated Romance section alongside Murder One and the SFF section in the basement, all in one bookshop, but that has long been one with the dodo.
And there was Surgeon-Major Hicks, that had devized a system of exercizes – began to think upon these matters when I was in the Punjaub – fancied one might bring wounded men back to nigh about full capacity for service – learnt a deal from certain native practices – that came about to ameliorate matters. Along with occasional champooing by that fine woman Sister Wilson, that had learnt the art from the Dowager Duchess of Humpleforth’s ayah.
Dr Ferraby was greatly reassuring – did not in the least recommend that she should spend the next months lying upon a sopha, but walk in the gardens – and sure, a little gardening would do no harm at all, would be beneficial. Conceded that she might have some particular trouble when eventually brought to bed, but that these days, we had that fine new invention, chloroform.
It was also delightful that dearest Mama, on receipt of this happy news, had declared that of course, was this agreeable to Jimsie, she should move to Trembourne House rather than reside with the Grigsons. Indeed this was a time when one wished the presence of one’s mother – sure, there was Grissie Undersedge, mother of two adorable infants and the most sensible of women, quite in the capacity of an elder sister – entirely superior to Rina! – but even so.
So they were quite the happiest establishment. Oh, even in mourning there were certain duties of rank – especially for Jimsie, that had no desire to imitate his father’s very lackadaisical notion of his duties as a peer of realm, and intended to be conscientious about those. So was having certain quiet meetings with the set about the Duke of Mulcaster and Greg Undersedge’s father the Earl of Nuttenford, as well as reading the newspapers and the reports of the undertakings of Parliament a good deal more closely than he had been wont.
Besides, he – along with Grissie, that had effectively been managing the Trembourne estates for some years – were now able to look them over and think about how they might best be run without having the constant drain of the expense of pandering to the late Earl’s hypochondria. Traveling about spaws all over the continent – visiting quacks –
When Dowager Lady Trembourne retired to the continent following the funeral, it was not said in so many words but there was a belief that there was some highly-placed foreign lover – possibly also had a lucky hand at the tables – able to cover her dress-bills by being known to set the style – 'tis a known thing, Grissie had said – so she was not a burden.
Oh, Grissie would sigh a little over the books, and say that even would it not be somewhat unfamilial to turn Mr Grigson’s uncle and mother out of Carlefour Castle, that was let to them on very agreeable terms, was a still prudent thing.
But indeed, they were all a deal happier.
In particular, Nora – Lady Eleanor Upweston, Jimsie’s younger sister – was positively blithe. Revealed, following her father’s death, that he had been considerably inclined to approve the union being proposed to him by Myo’s father Lord Saythingport, between Nora and his own heir, Viscount Talshaw.
They had all been shocked. Myo had no opinion at all of her eldest brother, that as the heir had been indulged all his life. Lord Gilbert Beaufoyle’s reports of his conduct on the Grand Tour had not been prepossessing, and he had now obtained throughout Society the reputation of a boor and a drunkard. Marry Nora! Quiet, shy, very pious Nora! It was quite horrible.
It also argued how very desperate Lord Saythingport was growing: for Nora would bring no great portion to the match, and it was still being gossiped upon how he had sold Cretia to Cyril Grigson, of no rank at all but exceedingly wealthy from his family’s China trade. However, Cretia seemed very well suited with that match – Grigson a very amiable fellow –
But they could now offer the argument that Nora was in mourning for her father and it would be entire improper to entertain thoughts of marriage for some several months yet. By which time Saythingport might have contrived to find some wealthy but more lowly born heiress prepared to trade her gold for the eventual rank of marchioness.
So Nora sometimes sang at her lace-making until she came to the realization of what she was about, and blushed at the impropriety.
This particular afternoon the weather was so very fine they had taken their work to the summerhouse in the garden – Nora with her lace-pillow, Grissie with her lap-desk and Edmund and Adelaide playing at her feet, while Myo was about embroidering bookmarks that she might present when solicited for the next raffle or charity bazaar.
For was a day when they were in some anticipation that Lady Pockinford and Thea might call, and 'twas very like that there would be some good cause or other that Dumpling Dora was about!
It was Thea alone that was ushered into the summerhouse.
Mama, she said, has had a message from Rachel Demington that there is some muddle to do with the preparations for the Seamstresses’ Summer Workshops, so rushed off quite willy-nilly to convoke with her on the matter.
She disposed herself in a comfortable lounging chair, and looked about at 'em, and smiled. La, 'tis wicked unfilial in me, but is Mama not here I may enquire whether you, Nora, go visit Aggie and Hughie and see aught of Sister Linnet?
Nora put by her lace-making, so that she might give a lively account of how matters went in the parish of St Wilfrid’s, and add that there was a deal of asking after Lady Theodora.
Thea sighed. Would that I might visit 'em, but I had ado enough over pursuing my singing lessons at Zipsie’s –
At this moment arrived, very welcome, lemonade, just what one would desire on such an afternoon, along with an array of dainty sandwiches and cakes.
After they had refreshed themselves with these, and were still idly nibbling, Grissie remarked that no-one could object to Thea’s joining a married woman friend in her own house for singing lessons.
Thea sighed again. Entirely not, one would suppose. And Mama has come round – but. She looked down into her empty glass.
She looked up again. I am in somewhat of a dilemma.
That was intriguing, thought Myo. Was there some matter of a friend of Lord Rondegate that had spied Thea singing and taken a notion to her?
Thea put down the glass, clasped her hands together, and commenced the tale. Her Grace of Mulcaster had approached Miss McKeown about certain songs that had been composed by Lady Jane Knighton’s late cousin Grace Billston, that she was very desirous of hearing once more. Miss McKeown declared that her voice was no longer fit for the performance – still had copies – mayhap did she ask Zipsie?
So, she had taken the songs to Zipsie, that had been very impressed, and said, why, she could, she dared say, sing 'em, but seemed to her that they were better suited to Thea’s voice. And had tried 'em over with Thea, and they were very lovely songs –
But.
She looked up at her auditors. The words are from poems by Sappho, and was not Sappho a pagan poet?
I apprehend, said Grissie, that she was an antient Greek and thus would not have had the benefits of Christian revelation. But Thea dear, you would not be performing these songs publicly, would you?
Thea shook her head.
Nora gave a little gulp, and cleared her throat, and said, is it for Lady Jane, that is so noted for her good works, and wishes this remembrance of a departed friend, I am not sure one can see any harm. But mayhap I might ask Hughie – and Sister Linnet –
Thea jumped up to kiss her cousin. That would be an immense kindness.
She desired 'em to tell her of their own news – was there not some matter of looking over one of Myo’s brother’s Oxford friends that might suit Jimsie as a secretary?
Oh, indeed, said Myo, a Mr Averdale, second son of a country squire in the Midlands somewhere – has his own way to make in the world one understands – a very clever fellow that has won scholarships and prizes – already shows a grasp of what the position would entail – proposed that he should come for a probationary period over the summer –
Do you not spend the summer at Worblewood?
Quite so! Will provide a quiet retreat – well, moderately quiet, Mr Chilfer has writ a very kind letter saying that he would be at leisure to come explore what he fancies is our buried Roman villa, and are we having excavations I am like to think Lucie and Lewis will both be very ardent to come and dig – quite aside from the attractions of the trout-stream – Grinnie may have other invitations but of course would ever be welcome –
I wonder, said Grissie with a grin, whether Lady Balstrup intends pass the summer at Attings.
Myo gave a little groan. Though I am more concerned about any gatherings my father purposes at Roughton Arching. At least we shall not be obliged to attend any revels there.
But, she thought, Worblewood was perhaps a little too close to Roughton Arching for Nora’s peace of mind. They had not considered over this problem yet. Mayhap she should go to Monk’s Garrowby with Grissie and Greg though one doubted whether she would find the Merrett uproar congenial.
She would doubtless be happiest with Aggie and Hughie but, the East End, in the height of summer? However, did she stay with the Pockinfords, she was like to feel a persecuted martyr, even was that prig Simon about his travels by then.
I have been resisting buying a number of great hoodies from the assorted Historic Dockyard museum shops, on the grounds that I already have More Than Sufficient Hoodies, related to either ice hockey or musical theatre. R said obviously I need to wait for an ice hockey musical and get that hoodie.
Suggestions welcome for the topic / plot of such a musical.