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Welcome to the world of the Vincent D'Onofrio obsessed - and a bit of real life thrown in.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Puzzle Solved

When I looked at this picture, I found myself wondering why Vincent's look was rather familiar.

This is why - my ex, the opera singer Sean Rea. Funnily enough, he was a well-built 6'4". Course, he was younger then. He looks a bit scrawny in this much more recent picture, but I can't be bothered to find one of mine and scan it in.

Happy 77th Birthday for Sunday

I know I've posted before about how David McCallum has worn very well since his days in The Man From Uncle. But I had no idea how well.

Today in the newspaper birthdays column for the weekend, there was mention of Mr McCallum as being 77 tomorrow.

Not only does he not look anything like it, in my opinion, he doesn't act his age either, being apparently as sprightly as ever, if his appearances in NCIS are anything to go by.

I hope I can say the same 20 years from now!

Actually, I already can't...

Seeing Eye To Eye

Oh, those expressive, beautiful, big brown eyes.

And just for Sixtwosue - and me - one from Albatross:

Friday, September 17, 2010


I was taking my friend Pat to London Zoo today. I was running things a bit close when I saw three of my cats trying to squeeze on to one cat bed, and just had to pause to take a snap. Jaspa is auditioning for the offspring of Ceiling Cat and Basement Cat. Mitzi is ensuring her place by grooming Beano, who is in danger of sliding off the edge. This is his bed by default, and someone is always trying to share it with him, but this menage-a-trois is a first.

At the zoo, Pat spotted three new young meerkat babies trying to summon the courage to set foot in the outside world. They didn't quite manage it today, but I'm sure tomorrow they will venture forth.
Clicking should increase your picture-viewing pleasure.

Hair of the God

There's the early Season 1 longer locks that they foolishly tried to straighten.

There are just a few speckles of grey.

Next come the later Season 1 shorter curls.

In Malignant in Season 2 Bobby's hair starts out as if he's taken it on holiday.

Then it returns to its previous shorter, more sober style...

...before going off on another holiday.
And his sideburns are getting greyer.

In Season 3 his hair is short and sweet.

It took some of us a while to warm to his Wellesian locks in Season 4.

By the end of Season 4 he's been good and clipped again, with that cute little quiff at the front.

At times in Season 5 they seem almost to have scalped him.

Then there is the perfection of Season 6, the best Bobby hair ever, as far as I'm concerned.

Season 7 is all over the place, from the almost shaven head of Amends... the rather more unruly locks of Vanishing Act.

Season 8 episodes having been shown all in the wrong order, I just can't follow what was happening to Bobby's hair. And neither could they!

Sadly, Season 9 was too short for us to work out where Bobby's crowning glory was going. But it was looking pretty good.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

By the Hairs on my Chinny-Chin-Chin

Be it stubble or full beard - or anything in between, or no growth at all, you can't ignore that strong, characterful chin.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

New Season 5 - Acts of Contrition

Dick Wolf said of Vincent's screen test that everyone stopped what they were doing and watched the monitors, because even in repose he was so interesting.

You forgot, Dick. We didn't.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

You Need Hands

This should be set to the awful song I grew up with, sung by Max Bygraves (who lives on, I believe, in Australia, even though I saw him from my push chair over 50 years ago, at the height of his fame, outside the New Cross Empire - a music hall). Sadly (luckily?) I was unable to get Movie Maker to recognise it.

This slide show takes about 50 times longer than the clip the pictures come from!

Monday, September 13, 2010

Not Forgotten

When I lost my sweet little conure Rio, you offered me your sympathies. The same happened when my darling Henry died last year.

But when I had my first pet bereavements, there were no digital cameras, no blogs, not even many PCs.

Biggles was my second cat, whose heavily pregnant mother I had rescued and rehomed with my neighbour. He was an affectionate, very naughty not-so-little boy who loved nothing more than to tease next door's boxer dog from just out of reach on the other side of the fence.

He used to come and sit on my lap when I was on the toilet and tuck his head under my arm.

He was treated for kidney failure for 18 months, but finally his health was so poor, and he was so unhappy, that I had to have him put to sleep. He was nearly 15, and he remains the only fur friend that I have ever had to make this decision for. This was in 1992.

Puddy, my first cat, was a stray who arrived, pregnant, when my then husband and I moved into our new flat. As students, we did not feel it appropriate to have kittens to rehome, and Puddy (as in Puddy Tat) had an abortion when she was spayed.

She was dedicated to my husband, and used to follow him up and down the street when he was delivering neighbourhood leaflets. She would also follow me as far down towards the main road as she dared until the noise of the traffic made her stop. She would then look up at the next person walking back up the street, miaow at them, and to their astonishment follow them back towards the house. She always knew when we were coming home. She would wait in a car park at the bottom of the street and come out to accompany us home.

Puddy was a really sedate lady, as compared with Biggles, who was a little menace to her. He would lie in wait for her, then pounce. She never got used to it, and they never got on, in all the nearly 15 years they were together.

I still can't talk about the freak accident that took my beautiful Puddy from me. I had had her for 18 years, and she was probably 20. It was just three months after I'd lost Biggles. I'd already rehomed Shelley and his half-brother Byron.

So it is that, until I lost Shelley three weeks ago today, I had kept cats for 36 years; I had never been without a cat; I had shared my home with 10; and I still had 7 of them. Now just 6.

These Lips Were Made For Kissing

And that is what I'll do.

If I ever get a chance.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Cute Little Button Nose

Vincent said that for FMJ, everything got fat, even his legs were fat.

Your nose wasn't darling:

It's perfect, and kissable, and perfectly kissable.

After Major Case New Episode

As promised, Lynn has sent a new, super-duper episode of her strand of the story.

Hold on to your hats - Bobby's on one!

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