Warning: Scara is being a proper fangirl. And teenagerish. And severely inconsistent. AND I'm listening to the "Chicago" soundtrack, whilst humming and bouncing along. It's nice, folks!
I am now officially guilty of having fallen head over heels in love with all the leading men of BBC's not-so-strictly-period drama series "Robin Hood". This is, of course, a matter of reference to yesterday's lovin' my janitors-post; speaking of hunky men, lusting for visits, searching for soulmates and being overly enthusiastic; well, here I'm more like completely besotted. Especially with one of Hood's best buddies, Alan-A-Dale. I mean, all of them are gorgeous, charming, terribly attractive male creatures who live in the woods and always look clean, cool, fresh faced and newly shaved; there's the dear and kind-hearted Little John; whom I would like as a big brother or kind uncle, mostly; and the deadly adorable Much, for whom I'd gladly cook every day, seeing that he's permanently hunger-ridden, although I doubt he'd appreciate my cooking, and the younger protegés - Will Scarlet, oh dear - and, admittedly, even the baddies are highly desirable; Richard Armitage beholds enough mysterious darkness to kill a poor fangirl stone dead with a single glance. Keith Allen is pretty disguting, in character, and he's Lily Allen's dad, but he is a tremendous villain with lines and personality made of utter WIN. Still, there's something special about this certain mister Alan-A-Dale. Something to do with the first impressions and such. He was the one who made me watch the series; all due to the pre-opening credits sequence where he was running away from a bunch of evil knights and regardless he managed to be careless and...amazing. I didn't want to turn away from the screen after that, and have been glued to it every Tuesday at 8pm since. That's right, it's being regarded as children's telly here in Norway. Series One of "Doctor Who" was broadcast at the exact same time at an equivalent channel some odd years ago. Pretty inconvenient, and poorly promoted by the station in charge; no marketing skills, no reschpekt; but I get so very much attached nonetheless. Good timing. And, as I mentioned above, grrrreat eye-candy. Pleasure for soul and spirit, that goes for both these shows. Where the mind fits into this, however, I cannot tell. Then again, when could I ever? In short, and before I start babbling away about my darling Doctor, "Robin Hood" is yet another take on the rather old and outdated story about Robin of Locksley, returning from the holy wars to find his home county bothered by a ruthless sheriff, and his village occupied. A classic tale, redone many successful times by Kevin Costner and the likes, which the Beeb has now decided to revamp just a bit (more similarities to DW), touched up and spiced up and you name it - and with great luck; wonderfully received by the viewers. They've given it a modern feel with loads of humour, sass, great scripts, fighting, torture, action, überclever actors and - sexiness. Typical Superior Quality overall. It's pretty nonsensical, though, as for history and continuity; has a bit of homemade-feel to it. Not everything is as choreographed and edited as it should be, plus the extras are rubbish and the costumes were probably bought at Top Shop; Robin's wearing a hoodie, and I spotted Much with a tee from H&M, and it really is too clean-cut and polished; but when it comes to performances and effort, it's all incredibly genuine, with a tad of irony, and it's filled with raw emotion and basically...radiant with public appeal. Massive amounts of appeal. These guys just yearn to work their way straight into your heart and stay there; impossible not to like, anyway. So, yeah, I've kept watching. And made some new and interesting acquaintances. Jonas Armstrong is, as the critics have already stated, a superb choice for the lead character, as well as being cute as a button. Also, he surely knows how to work his brow. Did I mention, the stunts are awesome? I see hours and hours of sword training and potential bruisings; just perfect! Gordon Kennedy's Little John is brilliant - and kind. Yes. Sam Troughton I'd marry any way. And, finally, there's Alan - as played by the immensely irresistable Joe Armstrong; a typical, promising, BBC-housed actor who has been through all the obligatory rounds of training doing one-episode appearances in long runners; Midsomer Murders, Foyle, all the love, and Blackpool - where he played the minute role of Mark Reed. Want to see more of him, and soon. Maybe a sidekick for The Doctor? Maybe something in the lines of Bond, James Bond? He is the handsomest, most likable outlaw with antihero-capacities and a twist or two that I have ever had the pleasure to drool over. Every week. Oh, the joy! And, to my great advantage: these are all out of my league-gentlemen, whom I need not be ashamed about fancying and who won't ever have to see me put my strikingly visisble affections on display; ergo I may pour my love out loud, but to them it'll pass unnoticed, or at least quietly. I just might meet them in the street. Fortunately, I will faint before I'll ever be able to utter anything embarassing or scare anyone. Unlike the possible disaster of trying to bond with young and attractive plumbers...or not so young, unfortunately married and still somewhat attractive joiners who'll wish to see no more of me - very shortly. I have no belief in own wantedness. I'll need it written down and spelled out. But if he bothered, I'd take a hint too. If he bore any resemblance to Joe Armstrong whatsoever, I'd be more than willing to spell it out for him. Now, persuasion, that I'm better at. Appearing in a convincing state when facing him takes less than nothing; I can be extremely so. But then there's the slight catch that he might turn my offers down. Which I am too convinced he'll do to feel good about trying. There's the major trouble regarding my actually keeping up the faith that he - whoever he might be, let's say anyone - might fall for my overexcessive enthusiasm and inability to restrain this. I am very plain. No, wait, I'm not. And maybe that is the bigger issue. I am very complex, but I tend to keep an enornous plainness about it, so I'm pretty easily read. Thing is, I need a man who cares for reading. And a will to actually listen if some explanation is required. And who'll be grinning with love at my constant eagerness, not taunt me. So, meanwhile, before I do find this Ideal Bachelor with capitol everything, which I'm indeed convinced that I eventually will - or, easier, he comes knocking at my door (can't help but hope) - I'll stick to BBC. And the British male population, which seemingly is flawless. Never fails to passify a poor fangirl and put her into complete distraction mode. Mesmerized. Flabbergasted. Possessed. There you go. Within the last few years and months; Toby Stephens, David Tennant, John Barrowman, Chris Eccleston, Damian Lewis, et cetera, and in no particular order of intrusion - straight into my brain mass. BBC überfan, c'est moi. And I keep wanting more knights and armour and wry smiles and SCOTSMEN!