{ Spooks, 9x01. }

[delga]

So. HomeSec was responsible for the bomb that killed Ros and Baby!Homesec? And then Harry Pearce killed HomeSec. And then-- I don't know? I don't know. I am looking forward to seeing more of The New Guy (and his linguistic range, apparently?), and listening to Tariq talk about things in his lovely, lovely voice, and I liked that Ruth had a lot to do (Nicola Walker carried the episode for me), and I guess Lucas North is a basket full of fuckery unto himself, so who knows what that is going to be about. I wish I didn't find Sophia Myles so fucking annoying, but I'm willing to give Beth a shot, and I was less irritated by the character than I was by the actress' notable quirks. I just. Ugh. I don't know. It is difficult when only one of the four surviving cast is actually doing something and it turns out I don't care so much about them. (Sorry, Lucas? Sorry.)

I need to re-watch. It wasn't bad! They hit their usual bullshit buttons - undercover as a prostitute; coloured girl lacking any sort of autonomy; Lucas North has History and Issues - but there was nothing terrible about it. There just wasn't anything particularly brilliant about it, either. I remember something in it made me laugh, but I can't remember what exactly triggered it.* I thought it was a fairly solid stand alone, and that the new cast all had Things to Do, which is always commendable. I-- yeah, okay, I really don't know.

(I don't even know what to say about Harry and Ruth. The blocking in that early scene was awkward, but the end was lovely. The only thing I really know after this episode is that I will forever be referring to HomeSec III as Trip.)

*) AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA: TARIQ CO-OPTING MOST OF THE UK'S COMPUTERS AND HARRY'S USUAL BLASE ATTITUDE TOWARDS THIS SHIT. Shutting down the internet! Again!

And now I am going to sleep because I am still ill.

--

edit: a-ha! I knew it was Pope.

Solitude
by Alexander Pope

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield shade,
In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind;
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mixed, sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.