Cox and Box

My body clock is buggered to such an extent that we’re re-enacting Cox and Box here in the Foster-Weston household. I didn’t get to bed until 8am this morning, after spending all night getting through my CSI marathon (*) and stuffing a couple of hundred envelopes. As I was going to bed, Paul was getting up, and we repeated the dance around each other when I got up at 5pm and he came home from work and decided he wanted a nap before supper–which was a tasty gammon joint with mustard mash, cabbage and carrots.

A friend wrote in his blog the other day that he was recalibrating his circadian rhythms, so maybe I’m not the only one with body clock issues. Circadian rhythms are different, I understand, from Arcadian rhythms, which must be more the like “dee-diddle-dee, dee-diddle-dee, dee-diddle-dee, good morrow good lover!” leitmotiv that heralds Strephon throughout Iolanthe.

I think I’ve cleared all four seasons of CSI, a season of CSI Miami. I’m now halfway through the all three current series airing in the States, including the new CSI:NY. I do love the cross-overs from one series to another: I’ve just seen Michelle Dessler from CTU:LA crop up in Nevada’s busiest DNA lab whilst President Palmer’s new aide from season 3 has shown up as a sex offender who has to disclose his location under Megan’s Law. A few episodes earlier we watched someone who was a NASA researcher for President Bartlett show up at a furry convention in Las Vegas dressed as a wolf.

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