53 Pickup

I was wakened this morning with breakfast in bed (a croissant from our wonderful local bakery, and coffee) and birthday presents: a flute-edged tart pan from YG, two designer chocolate bars in lieu of something ordered on line but not here yet from SG, and a mother-of-pearl earrings in the shape of turtles (in age I am probably more like a turtle than a hare, alas, although I'm sure that's not what Spouse was thinking when he bought them) from the husband. I have a school tour in about an hour, and then I am at liberty until 5pm. Whatever shall I do?

I know. Maybe I'll write. Failing that, maybe I'll go see The Queen, because I think Helen Mirren is fabulous.

Queens

So I went off with klages to see The Queen, which I thought was terrific. Helen Mirren is like unto a goddess in my book, and she's wonderful--you forget you're not looking at Elizabeth herself. It's also remarkably even-handed; the advance press I'd read suggested that it was an indictment of the Crown and of Elizabeth. I found it rather sympathetic, with Tony Blair (of all people) standing in for the screenwriter in terms of nailing down the idea of the film--that the source of the Queen's response to Diana's death was not hard-heartedness (whatever she might have privately felt about her former daughter-in-law) but her inability to understand how the world--the populace--had changed. She was operating from WWII stiff-upper-lip tradition and what her country needed was a public tear. There's one scene that made me cry. And James Cromwell (as Prince Philip) is immaculately horrid.

Then home, where Sarcasm Girl's present to me had arrived: a Marie Antoinette Action Ficture. Complete with push-button ejectable head and a fancy dress which comes off to reveal tattered peasant's garb. "Her Secret Weapon? Cleavage."