kowarth was up for the weekend, having planned his trip around a signing at Tenth Planet. I drove over to Barking and having checked in with Paul decided to stick around, because it's miserable queuing on your own and because I wanted a squiz at Jacqueline Pearce. I have long resisted having a crush on Servalan because it would be so cliché, my dears. But damn, it's difficult. The woman exudes pheromones from every pore. She has one of those deep, gravelly, growing-old-disgracefully voices that makes me melt (q.v. Honor Blackman; Dame Judi Dench) and the sexiest crewcut ever seen on a female (yes, I am fishing).
She calls everyone 'darling' and when we requested a photo, invited me to perch practically in her lap. How Paul could be more interested in Sarah Sutton is beyond me.
Former power-dressing galactic presidents aside, the rest of the day was quite jolly too. Conveyed Paul back chez nous by way of the Woolwich Ferry and we walked up to Blackheath, acquired Frappuccinos and lay about on the grass watching the kites. Back home, we manhandled the table and chairs out onto the balcony and dined al fresco. Candle, bottle of red wine, all very continental only without cicadas.
It was all so fine I wouldn't have cared at all about the rain today, had I not been on the A12 when most of it happened.
