(no subject)
May. 1st, 2010 08:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hathycolSo, basically, I wasn't all that impressed by this episode; I wasn't scared, not really. I liked the imagery of the treeborgs, and thought it was an utterly entrancing idea, but... meh.
I think the reason I wasn't impressed is that we saw the Angels move. The initial psychological terror of the Angels was that we, as an audience, didn't see them move even though we knew they did, so we too were forced to scream 'LOOK AT THE ANGEL' at the camera in a sort of a terror that it would eat us. Angels talking I could deal with, but seeing them move just spoilt the fear for me. It took me out of the action, and meant I wasn't afraid any more because I knew they couldn't hurt me.
The Crack In The Wall is intriguing, though, and I would like to know more. The Angels are afraid, yes, but why? We'll see how it goes.
I really liked the ending though! It kind of made me imagine what it would have been like if, say, Barbara had tried to sleep with One. (Obviously Two would have been well up for it, see: Jamie.) Clearly the Doctor is just a bit traumatised from Rose and everything. But it made me giggle, as an idea; the Internet is probably imploding around my ears, but hey, I got a cheap laugh.
Good lord, I'm tired. Work today was an unmitigated nightmare due to everything running behind from Friday so I had lots of people shouting at me; that said, I put the phone down on one lady not once but twice, so I felt quite empowered once I stopped shouting. To be fair, I gave her a chance. As she screamed that she wanted to speak to my manager, I said 'Look, I can't help you if you speak to me in that tone.' She screamed louder. I put the phone down. She phoned me back. I re-iterated that yes, I was Very Very Sorry, but I couldn't get the turf to her today. She started screaming (and by 'screaming' I mean 'the customer at the counter which is a fair distance from my desk and phone looked up in horror') at me again, so I put the phone down again. She didn't phone back. I cancelled her turf order out of a mild sense of malice. NO TURF FOR YOU EVEN ON TUESDAY SHOUTY LADY.
Anyway, with all that, I am very very tired now. I shouldn't complain, really, as Richie was here last night (and this morning, obviously) and has been to a job interview in Wales and not only is on his way back but I can't actually go and pick him up from Lime Street as promised because there are night engineering works all over Liverpool. So, um, I think I will take a pro plus and not complain about being tired when he gets here.
Today I have also bought an interview suit. I look bitchingly professional. That said, I should look bitchingly professional, the amount the bloody thing cost me. I nearly fell over at the till in horror. (It is from Marks and Spencers. I confess - I was tempted by the fact it was washing machine friendly.)
I think the reason I wasn't impressed is that we saw the Angels move. The initial psychological terror of the Angels was that we, as an audience, didn't see them move even though we knew they did, so we too were forced to scream 'LOOK AT THE ANGEL' at the camera in a sort of a terror that it would eat us. Angels talking I could deal with, but seeing them move just spoilt the fear for me. It took me out of the action, and meant I wasn't afraid any more because I knew they couldn't hurt me.
The Crack In The Wall is intriguing, though, and I would like to know more. The Angels are afraid, yes, but why? We'll see how it goes.
I really liked the ending though! It kind of made me imagine what it would have been like if, say, Barbara had tried to sleep with One. (Obviously Two would have been well up for it, see: Jamie.) Clearly the Doctor is just a bit traumatised from Rose and everything. But it made me giggle, as an idea; the Internet is probably imploding around my ears, but hey, I got a cheap laugh.
Good lord, I'm tired. Work today was an unmitigated nightmare due to everything running behind from Friday so I had lots of people shouting at me; that said, I put the phone down on one lady not once but twice, so I felt quite empowered once I stopped shouting. To be fair, I gave her a chance. As she screamed that she wanted to speak to my manager, I said 'Look, I can't help you if you speak to me in that tone.' She screamed louder. I put the phone down. She phoned me back. I re-iterated that yes, I was Very Very Sorry, but I couldn't get the turf to her today. She started screaming (and by 'screaming' I mean 'the customer at the counter which is a fair distance from my desk and phone looked up in horror') at me again, so I put the phone down again. She didn't phone back. I cancelled her turf order out of a mild sense of malice. NO TURF FOR YOU EVEN ON TUESDAY SHOUTY LADY.
Anyway, with all that, I am very very tired now. I shouldn't complain, really, as Richie was here last night (and this morning, obviously) and has been to a job interview in Wales and not only is on his way back but I can't actually go and pick him up from Lime Street as promised because there are night engineering works all over Liverpool. So, um, I think I will take a pro plus and not complain about being tired when he gets here.
Today I have also bought an interview suit. I look bitchingly professional. That said, I should look bitchingly professional, the amount the bloody thing cost me. I nearly fell over at the till in horror. (It is from Marks and Spencers. I confess - I was tempted by the fact it was washing machine friendly.)
