Oh the weather outside is frightful

The snow is coming down again now, and our back flowerbeds are entirely filled with slushy freeze. With enough cola syrup and a large straw, I could get the biggest brain freeze / sugar high combination ever going. Might taste a bit, er, soily though.

Took a break from channel One tonight, the programming schedule of which looks like this at the moment:

7:15PM: Olympic athletes eat lunch, live from the cafeteria.

8:00PM: Geoof Bryant waxes lyrical, inserting as many fatuous references to Greek history or culture as possible.

8:45PM: Synchronised swimmers vs. dressage riders for the 'Silliest Olympic Sport' title.

9:45PM: Continued coverage of Ian Thorpe scratching his arse. Commentators: Keith Quinn and John Macbeth.

...to watch Ocean's Eleven. A pretty cool movie, you'd have to say. The word is snappy. An exercise in snappy moviemaking, lots of style and daily minimum requirements at least of substance. But I really do wonder what the premise of the upcoming sequel, Ocean's Twelve (natch), will be:

George Clooney: You know, that 13 million dollars each we bagged in the first film just wasn't enough.

Brad Pitt: You're right. What kind of decent superyacht can you buy with that? Let's plan and stage another high tech robbery of, say, Fort Knox.

Matt Damon: Agreed.

Julia Roberts: Can I have my paycheck now, please?

Tales of devious toi-toi relocation and the worst RTD known to man to come tomorrow sometime, but for now it's somewhat frigid, Brigitte, and I must away to WINZ in the early morn, a task for which I need at least an eighth of my brain functioning. So off to bed, it's tenterhooks for you lot I'm afraid (or not).

Box on.