There is no one on the planet who is more divinely, sublimely, ravishingly, stunningly, radiantly handsome than Michael Kitchen.
But that’s just my opinion.
The dishwasher is loaded, groaning from the weight Of the detritus of a boozy lunch with company, Departed now. And scrolling through my Tumblr as one does In search of sweetmeats to seduce the eye (The stomach being satisfied already) I come across a Culinary paean by a woman-of-a-certain-age Who should know better.
Michael Kitchen? Planets and divinity? Such epithets as ‘ravishing’, ‘sublime’ and ‘stunning’, ‘Radiantly handsome’?
Though, in my mellow state, I’m minded to agree with Mrs Trousers, I can’t help wondering, idly, what she’s on, Considering it must have been mid-morning (her time) When she blogged such Culinary nonsense.
Because, let’s face it, this is not a place to look for beauty— In the Kitchen.
The eyes, though. Those are Blue for Britain. And admittedly, you’ve got to love the crinkles at the corners.
And then, it must be said, the ears are cute And neatly-sized… (No Dumbo ears for this man as the years wear on.)
The curls? Oh well…haha! The roof ain’t quite as rainproof as it used to be… (That trilby keeps him out of trouble, mostly) But still… there’s something going on around the nape That makes the fingers Twitchhh To Touchhh.
But this is just a load of Culinary nonsense. Isn’t it?
This is cheating because I’ve seen all but the last series of Foyle’s War, so I’m going to do ‘what’s been on my dash’ and then ‘my actual feels.’
What’s been on my dash: Foyle’s War is a show about a soulful-eyed middle-aged man who manages to communicate Russian-novel-length exegeses on his situation and surroundings using nothing but his powerful eyebrows and his soulful, soulful eyes. He lives in England during World War II, which is presumably the War of the title even though it already had a name and he didn’t start it. Foyle has a perky sidekick named Sam who is relentlessly excellent. Sometimes she hits people with trash can lids. Very few people post about Foyle’s War, but the ones who do really, really love Michael Kitchen, which seems totally fair.
My actual feels: Foyle’s a show about a soulful-eyed middle-aged detective who manages to communicate Russian-novel-length exegeses on his situation and surroundings using nothing but his powerful eyebrows, his soulful, soulful eyes, and his unquestionable ethical superiority to everyone, although he is too good to ever rub that in anyone’s face (except, occasionally, by using his eyebrows did I mention how powerful his eyebrows are). He lives in England during World War II, where he has to deal with all of the horrible side-effects of war (eg. profiteering, cowardice, powerful people hiding behind military authority, etc) as well as the horrible direct effects of war (eg. the freaking Blitz). He has a perky sidekick named Sam who is relentlessly excellent, although occasionally a bit silly. He’s also got a son named Andrew, about whom I am ambivalent, and a sidekick named Milner, whom I like but who could be at times a complete charisma vacuum. The only people who post about Foyle’s War really, really love Michael Kitchen, which is totally fair because he’s great, , and also makes me feel better and more normal about all the middle-aged British men I have crushed on in my life. Although, it seems a damned shame that Sam and Andrew and Milner (and my best friend Mrs. Pierce) get so little love.
The thing that I currently want the most in life is a massive, multi-series British mystery crossover, as I would love to see Foyle interact with Endeavour's Fred Thursday and/or the eponymous George Gently (although admittedly I've never watched much of the latter). And/or I'd like to see Morse or Lewis meeting with an aged Andrew Foyle, who is writing a work about his father's life during the War. I've started writing the latter scenario multiple times, but it's never gone anywhere so far.
Well I suppose we “women of a certain age" are demonstrating our certainty that the words “cerebral” and “lust” are not mutually exclusive terms, and that there’s more beauty in a soulful gaze than in a mass of muscle. (not that the whole package isn’t “fit”, you understand… or that we’re above blogging the actual package… ;o)
How much did I like The Hanging Gale? I went looking for fanfiction. For some of you, that is all that needs to be said.
Two of the Phelan sons are farmers; one a priest; one a teacher. This covers various bases and points of view; and the Phelan brothers are played by four brothers. the McGanns. Who, to be hopelessly shallow for a moment, are all quite good looking.
Rebloggin’ myself. Because the simple truth is that even if the McGann brothers are fabulous, they kind of *fade away* when Michael Kitchen is on stage, and he IS SO MUCH SO in The Hanging Gale. Sorry, brothers, happens to the best of us, no hard feelings, it would happen to Robert De Niro.
We had an actor in my native country, called let’s say Jack Jackson, and there was a saying that don’t go on stage with an animal, a child or Jack Jackson, because they all steal your scenes…..