Up on t'moors

It's absolutely beautiful out there right now: Autumn is turning, the bracken has died back, and everything is fading and toughening up just a little. The sheep are shaggy (and from the colour tags, shagged); the ponies are fat and hairy and bitey; the ravens are pruuting and braaking; the little ground-living birds are their usual offended selves. 

( Read on and get vicariously tired and smelly... )

The best response to body-image put-downs...

...surprisingly, from Keira.

It's in Domino.  Domino is so bad it's good.  I cite Christopher Walken (a ferret on crystal meth) and Tom Waits (was his desert preacher even real?) cameos and quotes like, "We need hostages. Celebrity hostages."  The movie is genius: it's The Core to Lock Stock's Armageddon.  Keira is hilariously miscast.  But I digress.

Domino Harvey, whose posh Mum has moved her to the States hunting husbands, is being inducted into a college sorority.  The hazing begins in movie hyperbitch style, with the freshers forced to strip and having every physical defect highlighted to drunken jeers - cellulite, bad pants, the works.  Queen bitch gets down the line to young Domino and asks, "What's it like, having the body of a ten-year-old boy?"

And Domino breaks her nose.

Because sometimes that crap really isn't to be tolerated.