The Windy City ain’t got what we’ve got…

It’s nine am Sunday, no work today.

Wide awake since six I’ve watched the first three episodes of Deadwood, it’s great, but it’s dark.

Toast lent me the box set. It’s a Western, a study of greed and general bad behaviour. The bad language I’ve got already. The drinking whiskey, cheating, killing and whoring will hopefully not infiltrate my daily life. On the off chance that this is a danger, I’ve purchased Calamity Jane to watch as an antidote.

We just have to hope I don’t start bursting into song.

My mother in law doesn’t like it when an actor appears in a role where their appearance differs greatly from previous roles. Different facial hair, a different accent for instance can set her off. She knows actors pretend but still she doesn’t like it.

Lovejoy stars In Deadwood. I can’t imagine what Cornflake’s Mum would say about his Deadwood persona. I’m shocked and horrified and loving it. He is no longer a cheeky chappy, he’s grown bitter and his moral compass has been lost in the wilderness years between hit tv series.

I sat behind him at a do in a jazz club back in the early 90’s.

Lisa Minnelli, who was somewhere else although physically present, was introducing a pianist friend to a select audience of celebs. You’re right, I didn’t belong there. My friend Beeby and I were amongst only a handful of people in the room that I hadn’t seen on tv. Lionel Blair skipped between tables, a word and a smile for all. Lovejoy looked bored, he fell asleep. He appeared to be wearing a corset that by a lucky happenstance kept him vaguely upright in his seat.

I’ve thought of him fondly ever since. I’m very pleased that his career has picked up a pace but I’m sure 1980”s Lovejoy would be horrified by his language and behaviour towards the ladies.

Come on Doris, give us a song.