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Mr. Donovan says that all countries are countries of the mind
This may be the most random cross-connection I've run into in some time.
This afternoon I watched an episode of Danger Man (1960—'62, '64—'68), more famous in this country as Secret Agent and still not as famous as its sequel series, The Prisoner, to which "Colony Three" is clearly a kind of precursor: a smiling, officially non-existent village somewhere behind the Iron Curtain, English in every false particular; it is a training school for Soviet agents who will then be sent to England, to pass as perfect natives until activated for whatever intrigues or sabotage Cold War fifth columnists get up to, but most of its inhabitants are ordinary, unwitting British communists—librarians, newsagents, electricians—going about their usual business under the impression they're on some kind of work-study. In fact, they're a key component of the school: they are under constant surveillance, being studied. They'll never be allowed to leave. None of this is known to John Drake when he arrives, pretending to be the clerk from Citizens Advice, but he finds out soon enough from "John Richardson," the affable about-to-matriculate agent assigned to show them around half-built, surrealistically isolated "Hamden." I wanted to know who the actor was; a small, dark-haired man with one of those aging boyish faces with the trick of looking handsome, almost all in the eyes and the neat gestures, the smooth, never quite too-bold voice. Sometimes he seems to be flirting with the disguised Drake, or perhaps it's only that he's twigged that "Robert Fuller" is no more who he claims to be than Richardson himself. He gets thrown off a train in the end. IMDb told me he was Peter Arne. I wasn't sure if I recognized the name.
I didn't, but I recognized his story. He's the man who ripped off Mary Renault.
(And was then murdered, but I think the former is weirder.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nineweaving, however, believes that Dionysos was defending his own.)
This afternoon I watched an episode of Danger Man (1960—'62, '64—'68), more famous in this country as Secret Agent and still not as famous as its sequel series, The Prisoner, to which "Colony Three" is clearly a kind of precursor: a smiling, officially non-existent village somewhere behind the Iron Curtain, English in every false particular; it is a training school for Soviet agents who will then be sent to England, to pass as perfect natives until activated for whatever intrigues or sabotage Cold War fifth columnists get up to, but most of its inhabitants are ordinary, unwitting British communists—librarians, newsagents, electricians—going about their usual business under the impression they're on some kind of work-study. In fact, they're a key component of the school: they are under constant surveillance, being studied. They'll never be allowed to leave. None of this is known to John Drake when he arrives, pretending to be the clerk from Citizens Advice, but he finds out soon enough from "John Richardson," the affable about-to-matriculate agent assigned to show them around half-built, surrealistically isolated "Hamden." I wanted to know who the actor was; a small, dark-haired man with one of those aging boyish faces with the trick of looking handsome, almost all in the eyes and the neat gestures, the smooth, never quite too-bold voice. Sometimes he seems to be flirting with the disguised Drake, or perhaps it's only that he's twigged that "Robert Fuller" is no more who he claims to be than Richardson himself. He gets thrown off a train in the end. IMDb told me he was Peter Arne. I wasn't sure if I recognized the name.
I didn't, but I recognized his story. He's the man who ripped off Mary Renault.
(And was then murdered, but I think the former is weirder.
nineweaving, however, believes that Dionysos was defending his own.)
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I'm sorry. I wish I knew who had switched me so permanently from Good to Evil. But I completely agree with
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It had to be.
Afterward, the flat was wreathed in ivy. The police had to tear it down.
Nine
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Writing lesbian Regency smut does that to a woman. Think of yourself as a maenad with a reticule.
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I want pictures!
Nine
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Oh, that's going to be dangerous.
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Nine
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(I have no idea what Mary Renault looked like, but for intellectual sexiness alone she has long been entered in the F column of my FMK list. Nice to know she batted for the team. And that she had gods on her side in a roundabout way, which never, never hurts.)
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Oh, yeah. It's one of the reasons she got a third of the dedication on "The Marriage of Iphis and Ianthe"!
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...Dead, I suppose?
Drat.
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Drat.
It is often considered something of an impediment to a successful relationship, I'm afraid.
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