1. We had almost a week of gorgeous summer and now it's lashing rain again. Oh cruel Irish weather, why must you taunt me so? If last summer is anything to go by, this manky weather will continue for the next year, so I suppose I should get used to it (as if the last 32 years wasn't enough time to get used to this country's horrible dampness). Last weekend's weather was ridiculously nice, and against all expectations it even lasted into the bank holiday Monday and, well, most of the week, which I had to spend cooped up in an office, but at least I got to lie out in the park at lunchtime. Oh God, it's thundering now. Brilliant.
2. The current series of Doctor Who is pretty great (I hope you've all been reading my recaps over on Pop Vultures), as is the increasingly deranged Battlestar Galactica. Last night Patsington and I caught up on the last three episodes of 30 Rock. God, I love Tina Fey. I MUST snag an interview with her to tie in with the European release of Baby Mama. By the way, can anyone think of another female TV character who, like Liz Lemon, is depicted looking scruffy and speccy sometimes and be-contact-lensed and foxy when she dresses up to go out, in the manner of an actual human being? Especially in a sitcom? Because I can't. Even the funniest sitcom ladies usually look either groomed and sleek or "comically" dowdy most of the time.
3. I just read Persephone's new reissue of Penelope Mortimer's 1958 novel Daddy's Gone A-Hunting. It's enormously readable but VERY bleak, the sort of novel about women's lives that makes me incredibly grateful for feminism. I've wanted to read her stuff since I read Valerie Grove's excellent biography of her onetime husband John last year, and I want to read more, but I think I might have to read something relatively cosy before I start another one, because two novels about despairing, frustrated suburban wives in a row would make me lose my will to live.
4. Lots of wedding guests very kindly gave us cheques as wedding presents, which had been irresponsibly sitting in a box in our kitchen for the last two months, and the other day Patsington finally went through them all and took those that were made out to him to the bank. However, as he discovered when going through them, all the ones from his relatives on his father's side were made out to Patrick and Anna [Patsington's surname] or even, in one case, Mr and Mrs Patrick [Patsington's surname]. He took them to the bank anyway and was told that the other person would have to sign the back of them before they could be lodged. Except that person doesn't exist. Anyway, apparently as a married woman my identity is so vague in the eyes of the banking system that I can actually sign my ACTUAL NAME on the cheques and that is enough. Hmmmmmmm.
5. I adore Coronation Street, but it's been a bit grim lately, apart from the joy that is the wonderful Becky. Actually, the average episode of Corrie is still funnier than a lot of sitcoms, even with upsetting storylines about babies dying, but still. And Silver Street, the radio soap on the BBC Asian Network, is also pretty depressing, what with Zak being unjustly arrested as a suspected terrorist and Fatima's horrific accident. I've got a couple of week's worth of Archers podcasts to catch up on - Lord knows what's been going on there, it seems to be a bad time in soap land. Although I must give a huge, albeit belated, cheer for Pat in The Archers and her wonderful turn in court last month. I almost cheered aloud in the park as I listened to her stand up to the snide prosecuting barrister without ever losing her cool. More uplifting moments like that, please, soap producers.