DOGMA
This 1999 film was one that we had not seen before. I taped it last Thursday and we watched it today. My Leader's comments at the end were that it had been clever, thought-provoking and worthwhile. It had probably brought out the 'Let's Scream Blasphemy' brigade in their droves, too. Oh, and in the final picture shots she had not seen the one who hardly spoke - he was good - who was he?
He was, of course, Kevin Smith. He also directed the film, wrote it, played the inspired character Silent Bob and sensibly gave the funniest line in his excellent script to Alan Rickman (the morose angel Metatron) who, asked whether the main protagonista had been condemned to hell, replied: 'Worse than that - Wisconsin.'
Kevin Smith is a bright star that we almost missed.
REBUS
Good old Rebus (Ken Stott) was back on the box last night, scoffing at the threats of the unholy and ignoring those who insisted he 'back off.'
When a villain points at him and says: 'I'll tell you the difference between you and me...' at the start of an episode, you just know that by the end the silly man is going to be told: 'Now I'll tell you the difference...'
I expect you think you could write 'em?
It only looks easy.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Friday, September 29, 2006
29. The Oldies - Begone!
THE BEGINNING OF THE DETECTIVES.
You need a bit of luck in any undertaking and, in lieu of an eight year old living next door, our bit of luck this week came in the form of son Neil, living some two hundred and fifty miles away. Not only did he turn a collection of snippets into something representing a blog, but he suggested the alternative title to The Oldies.
I was not sorry to say 'begone!' to The Oldies. For some time I had been trying to think up a new name. It would have been easier had I not become absorbed in just how clever are the titles concocted by other bloggers. Look at Claire and Lara with their TrippingOnWords. I tried a few variations starting with SlippingOnTurds and progressing to even less savoury and more plagiaristic alternatives before retreating in despair. Theirs is a crafted and descriptive title. I was not going to equal it. So there you are, you see. What luck!
QUICK TELETALK.
It's Rebus again tonight. Should he turn a blind eye to skullduggery involving local bigwigs? What do you think? Yeah...you know...
And oh, there was a film on last night called Dogma. It went on until well after twelve and that's after my bedtime, so I taped it. Couldn't miss it altogether. It stars Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. But, more importantly, Alan Rickmans is in it.
You need a bit of luck in any undertaking and, in lieu of an eight year old living next door, our bit of luck this week came in the form of son Neil, living some two hundred and fifty miles away. Not only did he turn a collection of snippets into something representing a blog, but he suggested the alternative title to The Oldies.
I was not sorry to say 'begone!' to The Oldies. For some time I had been trying to think up a new name. It would have been easier had I not become absorbed in just how clever are the titles concocted by other bloggers. Look at Claire and Lara with their TrippingOnWords. I tried a few variations starting with SlippingOnTurds and progressing to even less savoury and more plagiaristic alternatives before retreating in despair. Theirs is a crafted and descriptive title. I was not going to equal it. So there you are, you see. What luck!
QUICK TELETALK.
It's Rebus again tonight. Should he turn a blind eye to skullduggery involving local bigwigs? What do you think? Yeah...you know...
And oh, there was a film on last night called Dogma. It went on until well after twelve and that's after my bedtime, so I taped it. Couldn't miss it altogether. It stars Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. But, more importantly, Alan Rickmans is in it.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
28. Watching The Detectives
28th September, 2006.
ANOTHER BEGINNING.
Praise be to our graphic artist son, Neil Barnden.
Yesterday, from way down in Cornwall, he put the old man a step further on the road to happy blogging.
I was, he pointed out, making the 'understandable (bless 'im) mistake' of pressing the 'create a blog' button - that bloody great blue thing - instead of the NEW POST button - that little green cross - everytime I (b)logged on.
Consequently I was opening a new blogger account each time instead of posting to the original one.
So there you are.
If you're new and feeling lost, take note of that.
I just hope the splendid Andy Rathbone will find time in his next revision of Windows XP for Dummies to add a chapter headed Blogging for Blockheads.
MORE TELETALK.
Now then: It was Wire In The Blood last night on the box. But before that is was Leeds Piano Competition on BBC4 followed by the unbelievable Lord Peter Wimsey and the infuriating Harriet Vane on ITV3.
I never see Dorothy L. Sayers' name nowadays without reflecting how gladly I miss her patronizing style.
Back to Wire In The Blood (ITV1) Dear ol' Robson Green (whatever did happen to the other one?) acted his socks off again in this rehash of the old barmy-cop-serial-killer-you-know-whodunit episode.
This was the second of four.
So far I have Robson 2 - 0 in the lead.
ANOTHER BEGINNING.
Praise be to our graphic artist son, Neil Barnden.
Yesterday, from way down in Cornwall, he put the old man a step further on the road to happy blogging.
I was, he pointed out, making the 'understandable (bless 'im) mistake' of pressing the 'create a blog' button - that bloody great blue thing - instead of the NEW POST button - that little green cross - everytime I (b)logged on.
Consequently I was opening a new blogger account each time instead of posting to the original one.
So there you are.
If you're new and feeling lost, take note of that.
I just hope the splendid Andy Rathbone will find time in his next revision of Windows XP for Dummies to add a chapter headed Blogging for Blockheads.
MORE TELETALK.
Now then: It was Wire In The Blood last night on the box. But before that is was Leeds Piano Competition on BBC4 followed by the unbelievable Lord Peter Wimsey and the infuriating Harriet Vane on ITV3.
I never see Dorothy L. Sayers' name nowadays without reflecting how gladly I miss her patronizing style.
Back to Wire In The Blood (ITV1) Dear ol' Robson Green (whatever did happen to the other one?) acted his socks off again in this rehash of the old barmy-cop-serial-killer-you-know-whodunit episode.
This was the second of four.
So far I have Robson 2 - 0 in the lead.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
27. LES MIS.
The musical Les Miserables has been running for twenty one years this year and has been seen by over 58 million people.
My Leader and I saw it back in the days when it was at the Palace Theatre. The Jean Valjean we saw was very good but, sadly, was not Colm Wilkinson.
Some actors make a part their own and that is what Colm Wilkinson did with Valjean. He had the presence and he had the voice.
It has been said that upon hearing his first rendition of 'Bring Him Home' a fellow cast member whispered to a colleague: 'They told us it was a song to God. They didn't tell us God would be singing it.'
Now that's what I call a compliment.
TELESTUFF.
Last night ITV1 screened the last in the current series of Midsomer Murders. It was the usual 'Hallo Cully, what are you doing here?' routine (hear Terry Wogan) with the usual village hatreds run amok.
I gave up counting the murders years ago.
Now I just count the number of times some sadistic tele director sends John Nettles running after a suspect, climbing a long flight of steps, or plodding up to a house at the top of a hill.
Back when a young John was Jim Bergerac and slim and probably capable of running from one end of Jersey to the other, he was provided with a sports car which I suspect was a devil to drive on narrow country roads.
Now that an older John is Tom Barnaby, breathless after a long conversation, he is required to rush everywhere on foot and panting.
I don't think anybody has been trying to tell him anything. I don't think they dislike him. I think they're just a thoughtless bunch of twits.
Later last night The South Bank Show featured Robbie Coltrane. It was a pity that much of the programme came across as an extended trailer for Cracker next weekend.
Given the occasional opportunity to chat without interruption Robbie Coltrane impressed as a lively, forthright and likeable conversationalist.
He is also Hagrid in the Harry Potter films which means that I find myself smiling a great big smile whenever I see him.
Oh, J.K. Rowling spoke highly of him, too.
And that, in my book, is the highest of compliments.
Den Barnden
My Leader and I saw it back in the days when it was at the Palace Theatre. The Jean Valjean we saw was very good but, sadly, was not Colm Wilkinson.
Some actors make a part their own and that is what Colm Wilkinson did with Valjean. He had the presence and he had the voice.
It has been said that upon hearing his first rendition of 'Bring Him Home' a fellow cast member whispered to a colleague: 'They told us it was a song to God. They didn't tell us God would be singing it.'
Now that's what I call a compliment.
TELESTUFF.
Last night ITV1 screened the last in the current series of Midsomer Murders. It was the usual 'Hallo Cully, what are you doing here?' routine (hear Terry Wogan) with the usual village hatreds run amok.
I gave up counting the murders years ago.
Now I just count the number of times some sadistic tele director sends John Nettles running after a suspect, climbing a long flight of steps, or plodding up to a house at the top of a hill.
Back when a young John was Jim Bergerac and slim and probably capable of running from one end of Jersey to the other, he was provided with a sports car which I suspect was a devil to drive on narrow country roads.
Now that an older John is Tom Barnaby, breathless after a long conversation, he is required to rush everywhere on foot and panting.
I don't think anybody has been trying to tell him anything. I don't think they dislike him. I think they're just a thoughtless bunch of twits.
Later last night The South Bank Show featured Robbie Coltrane. It was a pity that much of the programme came across as an extended trailer for Cracker next weekend.
Given the occasional opportunity to chat without interruption Robbie Coltrane impressed as a lively, forthright and likeable conversationalist.
He is also Hagrid in the Harry Potter films which means that I find myself smiling a great big smile whenever I see him.
Oh, J.K. Rowling spoke highly of him, too.
And that, in my book, is the highest of compliments.
Den Barnden
26. Somebody has broken into the house next door to us.
Somebody has broken into the house next door to us.
It is used as offices by the local Youth Trust, a charity, so the break-in could have taken place anywhen from Friday afternoon onwards.
It is now Sunday and nothing would have been noticed until tomorrow had not the office cleaner gone in this afternoon.
There were no dead bodies so ol' Bill Petersen and his cronies were not called.
A solitary constable looked in, asked us if we had heard anything (we hadn't), made a lengthy entry in his notebook and departed saying of the perpetrator(s):
'They do it to feed their habit.'
From this I gathered that they sell whatever they steal to get money for drugs.
What an insane world.
I sometimes wonder whether anything has changed for the better.
I was a boy in the nineteen thirties. My mother did not have a washing machine, my father did not own a car, we did not have a refrigerator, there was no television; I could go on but it's too boring.
It was a time far removed from the present and a time which I would not wish to see again.
There was a lot of poverty and scant concern for those who suffered it. There was a rigid and unhealthy class system. There was, still is for that matter, one rule for the rich and another for the poor.
But there was no drug habit that I ever heard of.
People frowned on anybody who resorted to sal volatile or the aspirin bottle too readily.
The poppy was only mentioned on Armistice Day.
It is a pity that the search for freedom of spirit sometimes seems to have gone too far.
I know it's very easy for us oldies to bemoan progress. I just wish, though, that when these daft nippers are occasionally discovered 'feeding their habit' someone could deliver them a swift kick up the arse without risking a life sentence from the European Court Of Human Rights.
Is that not P.C?
Den Barnden
It is used as offices by the local Youth Trust, a charity, so the break-in could have taken place anywhen from Friday afternoon onwards.
It is now Sunday and nothing would have been noticed until tomorrow had not the office cleaner gone in this afternoon.
There were no dead bodies so ol' Bill Petersen and his cronies were not called.
A solitary constable looked in, asked us if we had heard anything (we hadn't), made a lengthy entry in his notebook and departed saying of the perpetrator(s):
'They do it to feed their habit.'
From this I gathered that they sell whatever they steal to get money for drugs.
What an insane world.
I sometimes wonder whether anything has changed for the better.
I was a boy in the nineteen thirties. My mother did not have a washing machine, my father did not own a car, we did not have a refrigerator, there was no television; I could go on but it's too boring.
It was a time far removed from the present and a time which I would not wish to see again.
There was a lot of poverty and scant concern for those who suffered it. There was a rigid and unhealthy class system. There was, still is for that matter, one rule for the rich and another for the poor.
But there was no drug habit that I ever heard of.
People frowned on anybody who resorted to sal volatile or the aspirin bottle too readily.
The poppy was only mentioned on Armistice Day.
It is a pity that the search for freedom of spirit sometimes seems to have gone too far.
I know it's very easy for us oldies to bemoan progress. I just wish, though, that when these daft nippers are occasionally discovered 'feeding their habit' someone could deliver them a swift kick up the arse without risking a life sentence from the European Court Of Human Rights.
Is that not P.C?
Den Barnden
25. I was wide awake for more than three quarters of Rebus.
I was wide awake for more than three quarters of Rebus.
Trouble is, television cops and robbers used to run for an hour. Now they have been extended by half an hour - even an hour - and however good the actors may be I do tend, sadly, to run out of steam once they have outlasted my cncentration span.
I believe the good baddy/bad goody did for his father and Rebus eventually had him arrested, but I was slipping in and out of oblivion by the end and not even Ken Stott could remedy the situation.
I cannot put it all down to age. Many years ago, travelling on a boat to the mainland, I passed the actor Ian Bannen on deck. He was alone and looked rather sad.
Out of a combination of shyness and uncertainty as to whether my eyes were deceiving me (I was not aware at the time that he had an Island home), I did not speak.
Later I told my Leader I had seen him.
'He had the leading part in that play on television last night,' she said.
'I expect he would have liked somebody to talk to him about it.'
'You're right. Perhaps I should have spoken,' I said.
She grinned. 'What, and told him you fell asleep half way through?'
Islanders who knew the late Ian Bannen, a thoroughly nice man, have told me that he would have loved that story.
I was in my late thirties at the time.
It was a bloody awful play.
Dennis Barnden
Trouble is, television cops and robbers used to run for an hour. Now they have been extended by half an hour - even an hour - and however good the actors may be I do tend, sadly, to run out of steam once they have outlasted my cncentration span.
I believe the good baddy/bad goody did for his father and Rebus eventually had him arrested, but I was slipping in and out of oblivion by the end and not even Ken Stott could remedy the situation.
I cannot put it all down to age. Many years ago, travelling on a boat to the mainland, I passed the actor Ian Bannen on deck. He was alone and looked rather sad.
Out of a combination of shyness and uncertainty as to whether my eyes were deceiving me (I was not aware at the time that he had an Island home), I did not speak.
Later I told my Leader I had seen him.
'He had the leading part in that play on television last night,' she said.
'I expect he would have liked somebody to talk to him about it.'
'You're right. Perhaps I should have spoken,' I said.
She grinned. 'What, and told him you fell asleep half way through?'
Islanders who knew the late Ian Bannen, a thoroughly nice man, have told me that he would have loved that story.
I was in my late thirties at the time.
It was a bloody awful play.
Dennis Barnden
24. As a newcomer to this blog lark...
As a newcomer to this blog lark I am just starting to learn how its influence has spread.
Tonight on our local television news station we learned of a young woman politician who has abandoned her blogspot because the anticipated positive responses from her party supporters were too strongly offset by the excessively insulting negativity of her opponents.
Sure, the words heat and kitchen are bound to spring to mind, especially if you, like me, regard all politicians as a pain in the backside.
But I must admit to a faint sense of indignation that an individual should be ousted from anywhere by browbeaters.
Bullies are such scum.
On Sunday and Monday, Spooks, the fast moving BBC1 spy drama was back.
England was in turmoil (when isn't it?) and apart from Adam (Rupert Penry-Jones), Harry (Peter Firth) and their lovely rough-housing spycatchers, only the Bloggers of the nation seemed to know what was happening.
I didn't know much either, except that Nicholas Jones and John Castle were a couple of bad'uns.
But with the help of those sharp- eyed Bloggers...need I say more?
I've got to go. there's a new series of Wire In The Blood with Robson Green (whatever happened to the other one?) and a lass called Simone Lahbib (of whom I know nothing) on tonight.
I'll have to record The Magnificent Seven on ITV3.
Shall have to find a tape and try to remember to write down what I have recorded on the tape I remove.
Bit of a game sometimes, innit?
Dennis Barnden
Tonight on our local television news station we learned of a young woman politician who has abandoned her blogspot because the anticipated positive responses from her party supporters were too strongly offset by the excessively insulting negativity of her opponents.
Sure, the words heat and kitchen are bound to spring to mind, especially if you, like me, regard all politicians as a pain in the backside.
But I must admit to a faint sense of indignation that an individual should be ousted from anywhere by browbeaters.
Bullies are such scum.
On Sunday and Monday, Spooks, the fast moving BBC1 spy drama was back.
England was in turmoil (when isn't it?) and apart from Adam (Rupert Penry-Jones), Harry (Peter Firth) and their lovely rough-housing spycatchers, only the Bloggers of the nation seemed to know what was happening.
I didn't know much either, except that Nicholas Jones and John Castle were a couple of bad'uns.
But with the help of those sharp- eyed Bloggers...need I say more?
I've got to go. there's a new series of Wire In The Blood with Robson Green (whatever happened to the other one?) and a lass called Simone Lahbib (of whom I know nothing) on tonight.
I'll have to record The Magnificent Seven on ITV3.
Shall have to find a tape and try to remember to write down what I have recorded on the tape I remove.
Bit of a game sometimes, innit?
Dennis Barnden
23. It never ceases to surprise, does it?
It never ceases to surprise, does it?
It started with The Oldies title.
Admittedly, in our case, it did come off the top of my not very inventive head.
I just did not imagine there would be so many unshrinking violets prepared to flaunt their longevity.
Should have known better.
Am reminded of the story of the would-be M.P. who was sent canvassing with an experienced party agent and found himself in an old folk's home.
They were approached by an aggressively youthful old lady who asked:
'How old do you think I am, then?'
'A hundred and one you old bat,' replied the agent immediately.
The old lady departed, miffed, and the prospective M.P. said:
'Oh dear, I think I've just lost a vote.'
'Don't worry,' said the agent.'There's one like her in every home. The rest will hate her.
'When the word gets round they'll all vote for you.'
So much for The Oldies.
Then it was the pen name. Can you call it a pen name on a computer? Does it become a keyboard name?
Anyway, the pseudonym.
I have looked and it seems there are almost as many people in computerland using the name Justin Thyme as there are in hotel registers calling themselves John Smith.
So I am going to discontinue it.
It has become increasingly difficult to tag on as the last two words of a finishing line and my real name can as easily be taken for a nom de plume and even more easily be mispronounced.
So cheers to everyone out there called Justin Thyme.
See, I could have finished on that instead of signing off
Dennis Barnden
It started with The Oldies title.
Admittedly, in our case, it did come off the top of my not very inventive head.
I just did not imagine there would be so many unshrinking violets prepared to flaunt their longevity.
Should have known better.
Am reminded of the story of the would-be M.P. who was sent canvassing with an experienced party agent and found himself in an old folk's home.
They were approached by an aggressively youthful old lady who asked:
'How old do you think I am, then?'
'A hundred and one you old bat,' replied the agent immediately.
The old lady departed, miffed, and the prospective M.P. said:
'Oh dear, I think I've just lost a vote.'
'Don't worry,' said the agent.'There's one like her in every home. The rest will hate her.
'When the word gets round they'll all vote for you.'
So much for The Oldies.
Then it was the pen name. Can you call it a pen name on a computer? Does it become a keyboard name?
Anyway, the pseudonym.
I have looked and it seems there are almost as many people in computerland using the name Justin Thyme as there are in hotel registers calling themselves John Smith.
So I am going to discontinue it.
It has become increasingly difficult to tag on as the last two words of a finishing line and my real name can as easily be taken for a nom de plume and even more easily be mispronounced.
So cheers to everyone out there called Justin Thyme.
See, I could have finished on that instead of signing off
Dennis Barnden
22. Last night saw the final of Andrew Lloyd Webber's...
Last night saw the final of Andrew Lloyd Webber's television search to find a new star for his forthcoming stage presentation of The Sound Of Music.
This latest variation on the reality show theme, How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria? was deservedly won by Connie Fisher who was star material from the outset.
I rather thought she would win because my Leader wanted her to win and single-handedly cast enough votes to ensure it.
Who knows, we may even get up to London to see her when the show opens.
Well, we will when there is a coach running and the 'house full' signs have come down.
Agent Gibbs was back, too.
NCIS starring Mark Harmon and the badly cast haircut.
The haircut seems to have improved slightly.
More familiar with its part now, perhaps?
There was also The Life And Death Of Peter Sellars. Geoffrey Rush, who was wonderful as the disturbingly brilliant pianist David Helfgott in Shine, bravely tackled the role.
Sadly Sellars, unlike Helfgott, was not just one person. He was a confused mess of different people - many of them totally unreasonable - and nobody but he could have played him.
It was a good try, though.
I have recorded Afterlife (first of a new series) with Lesley Sharp and Andrew Lincoln.
It's tosh, but splendidly acted tosh.
I had better go watch it.
Justin Thyme
This latest variation on the reality show theme, How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria? was deservedly won by Connie Fisher who was star material from the outset.
I rather thought she would win because my Leader wanted her to win and single-handedly cast enough votes to ensure it.
Who knows, we may even get up to London to see her when the show opens.
Well, we will when there is a coach running and the 'house full' signs have come down.
Agent Gibbs was back, too.
NCIS starring Mark Harmon and the badly cast haircut.
The haircut seems to have improved slightly.
More familiar with its part now, perhaps?
There was also The Life And Death Of Peter Sellars. Geoffrey Rush, who was wonderful as the disturbingly brilliant pianist David Helfgott in Shine, bravely tackled the role.
Sadly Sellars, unlike Helfgott, was not just one person. He was a confused mess of different people - many of them totally unreasonable - and nobody but he could have played him.
It was a good try, though.
I have recorded Afterlife (first of a new series) with Lesley Sharp and Andrew Lincoln.
It's tosh, but splendidly acted tosh.
I had better go watch it.
Justin Thyme
21. My blog never gets created under my own blog address name, does yours?
My blog never gets created under my own blog address name, does yours?
I am used to it now, but in the beginning I found it slightly disconcerting.
Not only am I not recognized by the name initially used in my Blogger Account but I am constantly required to improvise different and utterly bizarre combinations of that name and others before I get the magic 'go ahead.'
I think it's wonderful.
It's what modern technology should be about.
I bet there is sound reasoning behind it, too, if only I could trouble to find out.
Of course, it might just be some bright spark's cock-up, but I don't think so.
Maybe someday I'll investigate.
Don't hold your breath.
It is Friday and, although I have not checked up, I expect those two intrepid TrippingOnWords lasses are canoeing down the Nile or trekking across the Sahara or surf-riding the shark-infested waters of Australia or something.
I've had quite enough excitement this week.
Grandson Ellis (15 months) has been in every day with his Bob The Builder and Balamory DVDs.
I do hope I can banish the bloody theme tunes from my head before he brings them back on Monday.
Meanwhile, Ian Rankin's Edinburgh based DI John Rebus is on the box again tonight.
Ken Stott, another screen stealing actor.
The part was played in the past by John Hannah. He was good, but he was never Rebus.
The actor who should have been given the role in that series was the formidable James Cosmo.
He was cast as a crook.
However, it's Ken Stott now and he is whoever he wants to be.
Never mind what the Radio Times critic says, I shall watch it.
If it gets too slow I can always hum the tunes to Bob The Builder and Balamory.
Justin Thyme
I am used to it now, but in the beginning I found it slightly disconcerting.
Not only am I not recognized by the name initially used in my Blogger Account but I am constantly required to improvise different and utterly bizarre combinations of that name and others before I get the magic 'go ahead.'
I think it's wonderful.
It's what modern technology should be about.
I bet there is sound reasoning behind it, too, if only I could trouble to find out.
Of course, it might just be some bright spark's cock-up, but I don't think so.
Maybe someday I'll investigate.
Don't hold your breath.
It is Friday and, although I have not checked up, I expect those two intrepid TrippingOnWords lasses are canoeing down the Nile or trekking across the Sahara or surf-riding the shark-infested waters of Australia or something.
I've had quite enough excitement this week.
Grandson Ellis (15 months) has been in every day with his Bob The Builder and Balamory DVDs.
I do hope I can banish the bloody theme tunes from my head before he brings them back on Monday.
Meanwhile, Ian Rankin's Edinburgh based DI John Rebus is on the box again tonight.
Ken Stott, another screen stealing actor.
The part was played in the past by John Hannah. He was good, but he was never Rebus.
The actor who should have been given the role in that series was the formidable James Cosmo.
He was cast as a crook.
However, it's Ken Stott now and he is whoever he wants to be.
Never mind what the Radio Times critic says, I shall watch it.
If it gets too slow I can always hum the tunes to Bob The Builder and Balamory.
Justin Thyme
20. I have managed to have a blog set up in record time tonight...
I have managed to have a blog set up in record time tonight so I am rushing like a madman before something dire happens.
We have been known to suffer power cuts for one thing, and granddaughter Jess, who is staying overnight, will be sleeping in this room (until a new window is fitted in her room - don't ask) so if she suddenly decides that her homework has tired her out I shall have to leave here in a hurry.
There was a girl on The Sharon Osbourne Show tonight who appears to have written a book and who said that she is a blogger.
She is an attractive girl, the book sounded splendidly raunchy and I think Sharon called her Abby.
I'm probably a bit too ancient for it all.
The pursuit of titillation after a certain age is undignified and leads to the justifiable accusation that the pursuer is a dirty old man.
Anyway, my Child Protection system would debar me from looking at certain pages and at my age I have not the slightest idea how to overrule it.
Cheers to all you who do.
Justin Thyme
We have been known to suffer power cuts for one thing, and granddaughter Jess, who is staying overnight, will be sleeping in this room (until a new window is fitted in her room - don't ask) so if she suddenly decides that her homework has tired her out I shall have to leave here in a hurry.
There was a girl on The Sharon Osbourne Show tonight who appears to have written a book and who said that she is a blogger.
She is an attractive girl, the book sounded splendidly raunchy and I think Sharon called her Abby.
I'm probably a bit too ancient for it all.
The pursuit of titillation after a certain age is undignified and leads to the justifiable accusation that the pursuer is a dirty old man.
Anyway, my Child Protection system would debar me from looking at certain pages and at my age I have not the slightest idea how to overrule it.
Cheers to all you who do.
Justin Thyme
19. I have just left an episode of Dad's Army showing on the box.
I have just left an episode of Dad's Army showing on the box.
Lovely programme which, under one pretext or another, has been repeated far too many times.
I am old enough to remember the real thing.
Had an office colleague who was the Pikey of his local Home Guard platoon.
He said the television series accurately depicted his unit right down to individual character types.
Seems his platoon commander was a pompous solicitor and his sergeant a charming housemaster from a local public school. Mainwaring and Wilson really did live.
There are far fewer of their type now.
Indeed, if the hordes of terrorists subtly alluded to by scaremongering governments ever do come pelting down our high streets, I wonder whether anyone will be so bold, so dogmatic or so foolish as to declare: 'We're not standing for this. We're British.'
And if they do, I wonder whether they will find themselves supported by one likeminded soul who believes that the simplest form of defence is the cold steel.
Well, whatever happens I shan't be around for it.
Which is just as well because I think the whole damned war thing should have come to an end after Hiroshima.
Justin Thyme
Lovely programme which, under one pretext or another, has been repeated far too many times.
I am old enough to remember the real thing.
Had an office colleague who was the Pikey of his local Home Guard platoon.
He said the television series accurately depicted his unit right down to individual character types.
Seems his platoon commander was a pompous solicitor and his sergeant a charming housemaster from a local public school. Mainwaring and Wilson really did live.
There are far fewer of their type now.
Indeed, if the hordes of terrorists subtly alluded to by scaremongering governments ever do come pelting down our high streets, I wonder whether anyone will be so bold, so dogmatic or so foolish as to declare: 'We're not standing for this. We're British.'
And if they do, I wonder whether they will find themselves supported by one likeminded soul who believes that the simplest form of defence is the cold steel.
Well, whatever happens I shan't be around for it.
Which is just as well because I think the whole damned war thing should have come to an end after Hiroshima.
Justin Thyme
18. Between headboard fitting, shed erecting and...
Between headboard fitting, shed erecting and generally trying to be sociable, last week was devoted to the reading of Wild Mary by Patrick Marnham, described on the dust jacket as A Life of Mary Wesley and on the inside title page as The Life of Mary Wesley.
The late Mary Wesley would, I feel, have had something gently caustic to say.
The book gives a fascinating insight into the novelist's background and the effect it had on her ten best-selling novels.
Mary Wesley was probably considered by the pious of her time to be 'a flighty young woman.'
I like to think that nowadays she would be more affectionately thought of as 'wicked.'
If you liked her books do read this balanced tribute to her.
And speaking of books, Ol'Tel (Terry Wogan or Sir Terence if you want to be formal) has just started pushing his second autobiographical offering, Mustn't Grumble.
It comes out on September 20 and is priced at just on nineteen quid or around sixteen if you buy it from the Sunday paper which is currently serializing it.
I'll wait for the paperback.
I would only pay more than a tenner for a hardback if it was by a real writer like J.K. Rowling.
The box calls.
It is time for Mr.Caruso and his acting sunglasses again.
I shall depart.
Justin Thyme
The late Mary Wesley would, I feel, have had something gently caustic to say.
The book gives a fascinating insight into the novelist's background and the effect it had on her ten best-selling novels.
Mary Wesley was probably considered by the pious of her time to be 'a flighty young woman.'
I like to think that nowadays she would be more affectionately thought of as 'wicked.'
If you liked her books do read this balanced tribute to her.
And speaking of books, Ol'Tel (Terry Wogan or Sir Terence if you want to be formal) has just started pushing his second autobiographical offering, Mustn't Grumble.
It comes out on September 20 and is priced at just on nineteen quid or around sixteen if you buy it from the Sunday paper which is currently serializing it.
I'll wait for the paperback.
I would only pay more than a tenner for a hardback if it was by a real writer like J.K. Rowling.
The box calls.
It is time for Mr.Caruso and his acting sunglasses again.
I shall depart.
Justin Thyme
17. Gosh, it seems such a long time.
Gosh, it seems such a long time.
Well, my Leader's six remaining sisters came over last week for their annual stay at the same local self-catering holiday spot that they have patronized for many years. Doesn't affect me much but my Leader always takes them to their nearest supermarket on the first day, we both go over to visit mid-week (usually with our daughter and two grandchildren) and my Leader goes at the end of the week to wish them bon voyage.
This year they are saying that there will be no future get-togethers of this kind for them. Three are in their eighties and the other three in their seventies.
None of them is in the very best of health.
Age, my dears,is catching up.
Trouble with knocking on a bit is not so much that health problems happen, but that you are forced to face their happening.
When you are young you can put the odd twinge down to growing pains or an over-active libido or something.
Not so in old age. Never mind the elderly bullshitters who boast of their youthful driving ability (most of them are a menace on the roads) the fact is that one becomes physically less strong, mentally less sharp and generally less capable in old age.
To believe otherwise is to indulge in a sad self-deception.
Before we went on holiday my Leader ordered a headboard for our bed - the old one seemed nearly as old as us - and a long skinny shed for our little courtyard.
She discovered both on the internet.
Last week, some six weeks on, they arrived within a day of each other.
I had work to do.
On a ridiculously humid day I fought with the headboard.
In typically macho form I waited until my Leader was out to tackle it.
The bedroom was like an oven.
By the time the job was over I resembled nothing so much as a bundle of soggy rags.
Then, over the weekend, I took on the shed.
'Takes one person approximately two hours to assemble' said the instruction sheet. It should have said: 'Takes one old guy an entire hot weekend to assemble, take apart, move to another place and reassemble.'
I slept well afterwards.
I was knackered.
The headboard and the shed both look good, though.
Heck, maybe next year I'll have a go at the London Marathon.
Then again, maybe I'll see sense.
Justin Thyme
Well, my Leader's six remaining sisters came over last week for their annual stay at the same local self-catering holiday spot that they have patronized for many years. Doesn't affect me much but my Leader always takes them to their nearest supermarket on the first day, we both go over to visit mid-week (usually with our daughter and two grandchildren) and my Leader goes at the end of the week to wish them bon voyage.
This year they are saying that there will be no future get-togethers of this kind for them. Three are in their eighties and the other three in their seventies.
None of them is in the very best of health.
Age, my dears,is catching up.
Trouble with knocking on a bit is not so much that health problems happen, but that you are forced to face their happening.
When you are young you can put the odd twinge down to growing pains or an over-active libido or something.
Not so in old age. Never mind the elderly bullshitters who boast of their youthful driving ability (most of them are a menace on the roads) the fact is that one becomes physically less strong, mentally less sharp and generally less capable in old age.
To believe otherwise is to indulge in a sad self-deception.
Before we went on holiday my Leader ordered a headboard for our bed - the old one seemed nearly as old as us - and a long skinny shed for our little courtyard.
She discovered both on the internet.
Last week, some six weeks on, they arrived within a day of each other.
I had work to do.
On a ridiculously humid day I fought with the headboard.
In typically macho form I waited until my Leader was out to tackle it.
The bedroom was like an oven.
By the time the job was over I resembled nothing so much as a bundle of soggy rags.
Then, over the weekend, I took on the shed.
'Takes one person approximately two hours to assemble' said the instruction sheet. It should have said: 'Takes one old guy an entire hot weekend to assemble, take apart, move to another place and reassemble.'
I slept well afterwards.
I was knackered.
The headboard and the shed both look good, though.
Heck, maybe next year I'll have a go at the London Marathon.
Then again, maybe I'll see sense.
Justin Thyme
16. So far this week it has been all systems go
So far this week it has been all systems go for those of us who are mesmerized by daft detective stories on television.
We have had NCIS with Mark Harmon and his badly cast haircut.
We have had Law & Order: Special Victims Unit with the ubiquitous Richard Belzer as serial policeman John Munch.
We have had Midsomer Murders with Bergerac turned Barnaby John Nettles and we are midway through a two part Dalziel & Pasco with Warren Clarke in splendidly bad-tempered form as Dalziel (pronounced De-ell and don't you forget it).
My Leader caught a glimpse of yesterday's Post and said that it appeared she was being depicted as knowing less about football than the cat.
When I pointed out that I certainly know less about football than the cat she said: 'Maybe, but does he understand the current offside rule?'
Well, y'know, I had to admit that I have never asked him.
Fortunately she did not pursue the matter or I might have let slip that even if he did understand it chapter and verse and diligently explained it to me several times over, when he finished I still would not have a single clue what he was talking about.
Come back Motty, all is forgiven.
Justin Thyme
We have had NCIS with Mark Harmon and his badly cast haircut.
We have had Law & Order: Special Victims Unit with the ubiquitous Richard Belzer as serial policeman John Munch.
We have had Midsomer Murders with Bergerac turned Barnaby John Nettles and we are midway through a two part Dalziel & Pasco with Warren Clarke in splendidly bad-tempered form as Dalziel (pronounced De-ell and don't you forget it).
My Leader caught a glimpse of yesterday's Post and said that it appeared she was being depicted as knowing less about football than the cat.
When I pointed out that I certainly know less about football than the cat she said: 'Maybe, but does he understand the current offside rule?'
Well, y'know, I had to admit that I have never asked him.
Fortunately she did not pursue the matter or I might have let slip that even if he did understand it chapter and verse and diligently explained it to me several times over, when he finished I still would not have a single clue what he was talking about.
Come back Motty, all is forgiven.
Justin Thyme
15. When England were winning by four goals to nil I said to the cat:
When England were winning by four goals to nil I said to the cat:
'Knew it all along. Right team, right manager. Didn't I say so?'
The cat opened one eye. 'No,' he said. 'I think you said that McClaren would be just like the last bloke and the job should have gone to Alan Shearer.'
I did not reply. It's no good pushing him when he's in the mood for argument.
When England took a five goals to nil lead I said: 'This could run into double figures. And without Rooney, too.'
The cat yawned: 'If I were you I'd save the pundit stuff until the game is over,' he said. 'Then maybe you'll be better placed to consider who you would or would not choose for the team next time around. Me, I think I'd reserve judgment on Steve McClaren and all of them until they've faced better opposition. It would have been harder for them to get a result against Barnsley Reserves or Man United A Team than it has been against their last two opponents.'
I was intrigued.
'How come you know so much? How come you even know the manager's Christian name?' I asked.
'Oh, I'm good at Christian names,' he replied loftily. 'I know Rooney is Wayne Rooney. I can even remember William L. Petersen, which is more than you could when you were writing that CSI stuff the other day.'
Then, as he does, he tired of the conversation and went back to sleep.
My Leader came in. 'Who's winning?'
'England, 5 - 0.'
'Oh, that's nice. Are they the ones in the white shirts?'
I said yes, love...
Justin Thyme
'Knew it all along. Right team, right manager. Didn't I say so?'
The cat opened one eye. 'No,' he said. 'I think you said that McClaren would be just like the last bloke and the job should have gone to Alan Shearer.'
I did not reply. It's no good pushing him when he's in the mood for argument.
When England took a five goals to nil lead I said: 'This could run into double figures. And without Rooney, too.'
The cat yawned: 'If I were you I'd save the pundit stuff until the game is over,' he said. 'Then maybe you'll be better placed to consider who you would or would not choose for the team next time around. Me, I think I'd reserve judgment on Steve McClaren and all of them until they've faced better opposition. It would have been harder for them to get a result against Barnsley Reserves or Man United A Team than it has been against their last two opponents.'
I was intrigued.
'How come you know so much? How come you even know the manager's Christian name?' I asked.
'Oh, I'm good at Christian names,' he replied loftily. 'I know Rooney is Wayne Rooney. I can even remember William L. Petersen, which is more than you could when you were writing that CSI stuff the other day.'
Then, as he does, he tired of the conversation and went back to sleep.
My Leader came in. 'Who's winning?'
'England, 5 - 0.'
'Oh, that's nice. Are they the ones in the white shirts?'
I said yes, love...
Justin Thyme
14. Today in our house we have Watching the Detectives upstairs...
Today in our house we have Watching the Detectives upstairs and a film called The Goonies downstairs.
I've seen The Goonies (based on a Steven Spielberg story) two or three times so I have left it playing to the cat in the living room below.
Why are stories for children and cats so much better than those for adults?
I am in the work room on the first floor. I believe that's the second floor to Americans who apparently do not have a ground floor - and they claim to speak English? - Our second floor is the one above this.
Anyway, I am in the work room which my Leader, in a shameless display of inverted snobbery, refuses to call the study (well it is only 10'long by 5'wide after all) and I am at the computer posting - I'm new so I hope that's the right terminology - this bunch of random meanderings before soccer, Match of the Day Live England v Andorra, comes on the box.
I don't know why I watch it.
By mid way through the first half I shall be wishing I'd never bothered. By ten minutes into the second I shall be proclaiming to the cat that the English team is still rubbish, a bunch of first half wonders who are paid too much, McClaren is as bad as the last bloke and Alan Shearer should be made manager.
If they win I shall of course shelve my intolerance until next time.
If they lose I shall have another glass of wine and eat my dinner too quickly.
I'd better go.
The cat will be expecting company when the match starts and my Leader has cleverly arranged to be out for the occasion.
Kick off is at 5.00.
I shall be there.
Justin Thyme
I've seen The Goonies (based on a Steven Spielberg story) two or three times so I have left it playing to the cat in the living room below.
Why are stories for children and cats so much better than those for adults?
I am in the work room on the first floor. I believe that's the second floor to Americans who apparently do not have a ground floor - and they claim to speak English? - Our second floor is the one above this.
Anyway, I am in the work room which my Leader, in a shameless display of inverted snobbery, refuses to call the study (well it is only 10'long by 5'wide after all) and I am at the computer posting - I'm new so I hope that's the right terminology - this bunch of random meanderings before soccer, Match of the Day Live England v Andorra, comes on the box.
I don't know why I watch it.
By mid way through the first half I shall be wishing I'd never bothered. By ten minutes into the second I shall be proclaiming to the cat that the English team is still rubbish, a bunch of first half wonders who are paid too much, McClaren is as bad as the last bloke and Alan Shearer should be made manager.
If they win I shall of course shelve my intolerance until next time.
If they lose I shall have another glass of wine and eat my dinner too quickly.
I'd better go.
The cat will be expecting company when the match starts and my Leader has cleverly arranged to be out for the occasion.
Kick off is at 5.00.
I shall be there.
Justin Thyme
13. One of the favourite gripes of many old geezers...
One of the favourite gripes of many old geezers who send messages to the breakfast show presenter Terry Wogan (BBC Radio2 7.30 - 9.300 a.m. Mon-Fri when he's not on holiday) is that there's 'nothing on the tele.'
Tonight was one of those nights. Repeats of stuff which had not thrilled us that much the first time around.
My Leader was sanguine: 'You'll have something on tape,' she opined. 'We can watch one of those films you've taped.'
So I went through the dusty video containers taking up space on the bookshelves and discarded all the western films because she can't be having with cowboys and indians and all that noisy gunfighting stuff. I then discarded Thoroughly Modern Millie, Ice Age and Chicago because we've seen them too many times before, discarded all the Harry Potters ditto and rejected anything with an indecipherable title or a cast of total unknowns.
Wouldn't you know it, the latter decision was a major mistake.
We finished up with a film starring that well known and popular actor George Clooney. It was called Solaris and one of the Radio Times critics must have been smitten by it or I wouldn't have recorded it.
It turned out to be slow, unnecessarily tortuous and done far better in Ground Hog Day.
It was Tripe in Space.
We just about saw it through.
My Leader finally gave a mighty sigh, muttered something like 'Huh' and took to her book.
Me? I'm doing this and I really must learn to ignore the critics.
See you in the pub.
Justin Thyme
Tonight was one of those nights. Repeats of stuff which had not thrilled us that much the first time around.
My Leader was sanguine: 'You'll have something on tape,' she opined. 'We can watch one of those films you've taped.'
So I went through the dusty video containers taking up space on the bookshelves and discarded all the western films because she can't be having with cowboys and indians and all that noisy gunfighting stuff. I then discarded Thoroughly Modern Millie, Ice Age and Chicago because we've seen them too many times before, discarded all the Harry Potters ditto and rejected anything with an indecipherable title or a cast of total unknowns.
Wouldn't you know it, the latter decision was a major mistake.
We finished up with a film starring that well known and popular actor George Clooney. It was called Solaris and one of the Radio Times critics must have been smitten by it or I wouldn't have recorded it.
It turned out to be slow, unnecessarily tortuous and done far better in Ground Hog Day.
It was Tripe in Space.
We just about saw it through.
My Leader finally gave a mighty sigh, muttered something like 'Huh' and took to her book.
Me? I'm doing this and I really must learn to ignore the critics.
See you in the pub.
Justin Thyme
12. Last night Proms on Four was introduced by Charles Hazlewood...
Last night Proms on Four was introduced by Charles Hazlewood who conducted the BBC Concert Orchestra and gave the audience a mixed bag of jazz and semi jazz, most of which was anathema to my untutored ears.
However, when it comes to music the glass is always half full, never half empty, and the mainstay of this concert for me was an early arrangement of George Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue played by Kevin Cole.
Who?
Well exactly.
Apparently it was his Proms debut and, it transpired, was likewise the first time out for Charles Hazlewood who proved that you don't have to wear evening dress to do a fine conducting job.
You know the feeling when you just do not want a performance to come to an end? It was one of those performances.
I shall keep an eye out for any future appearances by Kevin Cole.
He was superb.
Shan't say much more tonight.
Did the running-jumping-walking-sweating-gawd-I'm-getting-old exercise E.C.G. at the local hospital today.
They never tell you anything but keep writing J.K., I gather I should be around to read the last Harry Potter.
Justin Thyme
However, when it comes to music the glass is always half full, never half empty, and the mainstay of this concert for me was an early arrangement of George Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue played by Kevin Cole.
Who?
Well exactly.
Apparently it was his Proms debut and, it transpired, was likewise the first time out for Charles Hazlewood who proved that you don't have to wear evening dress to do a fine conducting job.
You know the feeling when you just do not want a performance to come to an end? It was one of those performances.
I shall keep an eye out for any future appearances by Kevin Cole.
He was superb.
Shan't say much more tonight.
Did the running-jumping-walking-sweating-gawd-I'm-getting-old exercise E.C.G. at the local hospital today.
They never tell you anything but keep writing J.K., I gather I should be around to read the last Harry Potter.
Justin Thyme
11. It turned out to be four for the price of two on the CSIs last night.
It turned out to be four for the price of two on the CSIs last night.
There was David Caruso and his acting sun glasses and there was Gary Sinise's two acting expressions and they interchanged between Miami and New York like regular old pals.
You would never have thought David had been even remotely connected with NYPD Blue until a little guy I took to be a paid-by-the-word extra accosted him on a New York pavement and presented him with an injunction. Something to do with his acting in the former series perhaps? A warning never to upstage Dennis Franz?
Anyway, CSI fans were treated to two hours of Horatio Caine and Mac Taylor chasing a serial killer. Yeah, I know, I'm tired of the compulsory serial killer, too, but this one was frighteningly well underplayed by a young chap I had not seen before. Name, I think, is James Badge Dale.
Afterwards, showing the sort of imaginative scheduling we have come to expect from our blighted television planners, viewers here were treated to an hour long episode of True CSI.
Oh dear.
This is just not fair on the real'uns, not fair at all.
Clever bunch no doubt, but homely. Very, very homely. Not a Melina Kanakaredes among 'em.
Somebody in teleland should surely have more sense than to invite public comparison between actors and the real thing. OK, so looks aren't everything. But I bet the True people sometimes become just a little fed up with the disappointed look they get when they turn up at a crime scene and are clearly not 'him or her off the tele.'
Cheers to all box watchers and to those more sensible.
Must go now.
Justin Thyme
There was David Caruso and his acting sun glasses and there was Gary Sinise's two acting expressions and they interchanged between Miami and New York like regular old pals.
You would never have thought David had been even remotely connected with NYPD Blue until a little guy I took to be a paid-by-the-word extra accosted him on a New York pavement and presented him with an injunction. Something to do with his acting in the former series perhaps? A warning never to upstage Dennis Franz?
Anyway, CSI fans were treated to two hours of Horatio Caine and Mac Taylor chasing a serial killer. Yeah, I know, I'm tired of the compulsory serial killer, too, but this one was frighteningly well underplayed by a young chap I had not seen before. Name, I think, is James Badge Dale.
Afterwards, showing the sort of imaginative scheduling we have come to expect from our blighted television planners, viewers here were treated to an hour long episode of True CSI.
Oh dear.
This is just not fair on the real'uns, not fair at all.
Clever bunch no doubt, but homely. Very, very homely. Not a Melina Kanakaredes among 'em.
Somebody in teleland should surely have more sense than to invite public comparison between actors and the real thing. OK, so looks aren't everything. But I bet the True people sometimes become just a little fed up with the disappointed look they get when they turn up at a crime scene and are clearly not 'him or her off the tele.'
Cheers to all box watchers and to those more sensible.
Must go now.
Justin Thyme
10. Things were going to improve and they did.
Things were going to improve and they did.
After the wry awakening to how good are those literally all-about bloggers Claire (whose father currently has a difference of opinion with the American law) and Lara (who was probably not the model for Lara Croft but might have been) I ambled down to watch the box and was just in time to catch a rare appearance by the splendid Lars Vogt who not only played Mozart's piano concerto No.24 in C minor but then provided piano accompaniment for the singer Veronique Gens who sang two Mozart arias.
I first saw the young German concert pianist Lars Vogt in 1990 when he played Schumann's piano concerto in A minor at the Leeds Piano Competition. Simon Rattle conducted the BSO.
It was obvious, even to a non-musician, that Herr Vogt was destined for a bright future.
A couple of years later he played Grieg at The Proms.
He is what concert piano should be all about.
In interview he is courteous, intelligent and, as with many musicians, has a transparent love for his craft.
You see, yet another of those I have never met who has provided me with hours of splendid entertainment.
May he stay at the top for many many years.
I shall sign off for now, David Caruso and his acting sunglasses are on. CSI Miami. Have to watch that.
See you -
Justin Thyme
After the wry awakening to how good are those literally all-about bloggers Claire (whose father currently has a difference of opinion with the American law) and Lara (who was probably not the model for Lara Croft but might have been) I ambled down to watch the box and was just in time to catch a rare appearance by the splendid Lars Vogt who not only played Mozart's piano concerto No.24 in C minor but then provided piano accompaniment for the singer Veronique Gens who sang two Mozart arias.
I first saw the young German concert pianist Lars Vogt in 1990 when he played Schumann's piano concerto in A minor at the Leeds Piano Competition. Simon Rattle conducted the BSO.
It was obvious, even to a non-musician, that Herr Vogt was destined for a bright future.
A couple of years later he played Grieg at The Proms.
He is what concert piano should be all about.
In interview he is courteous, intelligent and, as with many musicians, has a transparent love for his craft.
You see, yet another of those I have never met who has provided me with hours of splendid entertainment.
May he stay at the top for many many years.
I shall sign off for now, David Caruso and his acting sunglasses are on. CSI Miami. Have to watch that.
See you -
Justin Thyme
9. It's all well and fine being pointed in the direction of The Manager's Best Blog...
It's all well and fine being pointed in the direction of The Manager's Best Blog, or Blog Of The Month or whatever, but you then find yourself reading that delightful duo Claire and Lara (was she the model for the fantastic Lara Croft, I wonder?) and realizing that an old geezer who struggles to drive two hundred and fifty miles on an English motorway is simply not blogworthy when compared with two young American girls and their Everest- scaling, multi-country-travelling exploits.
Their blog is called TrippingOnWords, I think.
Should have written it down when I wrote their names. Sorry, age again.
But you'll find them easily enough in The Very Best Of Blog (or whatever it's called) and they are a fascinating read.
I can't wait to learn whether a clearly innocent journalist father avoids jail for (it would appear) failing to use the word "alleged" in front words like "drug using cheat."
And I still have the last Harry Potter book to look forward to, too. Can't be bad, can it?
Their blog is called TrippingOnWords, I think.
Should have written it down when I wrote their names. Sorry, age again.
But you'll find them easily enough in The Very Best Of Blog (or whatever it's called) and they are a fascinating read.
I can't wait to learn whether a clearly innocent journalist father avoids jail for (it would appear) failing to use the word "alleged" in front words like "drug using cheat."
And I still have the last Harry Potter book to look forward to, too. Can't be bad, can it?
8. No need for you to care.
No need for you to care.
As if you would.
I had no sooner abandoned agonising over who that rather good Dangerous Davies chap was when it came to me. It was Peter Davison. You know, him from All Creatures Great and Small.
I think he would make a good Charles Paris (an actor and amateur sleuth created by Simon Brett), but so would many other very good actors whose features are irritatingly familiar but whose names you just cannot bring to mind.
Oh, my Leader solved the Hastings and Japp problem, too. "Look in the Radio Times," she advised. "Poirot's always on somewhen over the bank holiday." I did and as usual she was right. Hugh Fraser plays Captain Arthur Hastings and Philip Jackson is the splendidly lugubrious Chief Inspector Japp. It would be churlish not also to mention Pauline Moran, a perfectly cast Miss Lemon.
It must be slightly nettling for an actor when dear ol' Joe/Josephine Public recognizes the face but cannot recall the name. I guess the experienced trouper learns to laugh a lot, especially when clearly mistaken for an entirely different actor.
Remembering names can be a bugger, though, especially as you get older.
I tend to eschew the politically correct and call all unidentified young women who seem to know me "My Love" and all ditto older women "My Dear."
Men become Nipper or Son if they're young and Ol' Mate or Ol' Friend if they're old. Well, I'm sorry if that means you'd just hate me, but I like to think I do look suitably old buffer-ish when I do it.
Anyway, I'm sure I must have liked them, whoever they were (and they me or they wouldn't have bothered to speak), so I try to put across my genuine pleasure at seeing them again.
It seems to work and we invariably part company smiling.
Names are bandied about far too much nowadays, anyway.
You know, I just do not give a toss what the name of any jumped-up politician may be.
The only thing worse than a politician, of whatever ilk, is a child molester.
So why, over recent years, has the media taken to talking about Prime Minister Tony Blair or Deputy Prime Minister John Prescott or Chancellor Gordon Brown, etc. etc.? Am I supposed to be impressed?
Should I take pains to remember every unnecessary, unwanted name?
These are the sort of people who, together with their overpaid civil servant advisors, have succeeded in making a pig's ear of running this country since long before I was born.
Enough of the soap box stuff.
I shall try not to mention anything faintly political again. It is too boring for you and too blood pressure inducing for me.
So shall I now sign off using my real name?
N-a-a-a-h. Why should you care?
And on the grounds that anyone who wants to rule should automatically be debarred from office, I have always avoided seeking election.
Justin Thyme
As if you would.
I had no sooner abandoned agonising over who that rather good Dangerous Davies chap was when it came to me. It was Peter Davison. You know, him from All Creatures Great and Small.
I think he would make a good Charles Paris (an actor and amateur sleuth created by Simon Brett), but so would many other very good actors whose features are irritatingly familiar but whose names you just cannot bring to mind.
Oh, my Leader solved the Hastings and Japp problem, too. "Look in the Radio Times," she advised. "Poirot's always on somewhen over the bank holiday." I did and as usual she was right. Hugh Fraser plays Captain Arthur Hastings and Philip Jackson is the splendidly lugubrious Chief Inspector Japp. It would be churlish not also to mention Pauline Moran, a perfectly cast Miss Lemon.
It must be slightly nettling for an actor when dear ol' Joe/Josephine Public recognizes the face but cannot recall the name. I guess the experienced trouper learns to laugh a lot, especially when clearly mistaken for an entirely different actor.
Remembering names can be a bugger, though, especially as you get older.
I tend to eschew the politically correct and call all unidentified young women who seem to know me "My Love" and all ditto older women "My Dear."
Men become Nipper or Son if they're young and Ol' Mate or Ol' Friend if they're old. Well, I'm sorry if that means you'd just hate me, but I like to think I do look suitably old buffer-ish when I do it.
Anyway, I'm sure I must have liked them, whoever they were (and they me or they wouldn't have bothered to speak), so I try to put across my genuine pleasure at seeing them again.
It seems to work and we invariably part company smiling.
Names are bandied about far too much nowadays, anyway.
You know, I just do not give a toss what the name of any jumped-up politician may be.
The only thing worse than a politician, of whatever ilk, is a child molester.
So why, over recent years, has the media taken to talking about Prime Minister Tony Blair or Deputy Prime Minister John Prescott or Chancellor Gordon Brown, etc. etc.? Am I supposed to be impressed?
Should I take pains to remember every unnecessary, unwanted name?
These are the sort of people who, together with their overpaid civil servant advisors, have succeeded in making a pig's ear of running this country since long before I was born.
Enough of the soap box stuff.
I shall try not to mention anything faintly political again. It is too boring for you and too blood pressure inducing for me.
So shall I now sign off using my real name?
N-a-a-a-h. Why should you care?
And on the grounds that anyone who wants to rule should automatically be debarred from office, I have always avoided seeking election.
Justin Thyme
7. It was Foyle's War on ITV3 again last night.
It was Foyle's War on ITV3 again last night.
The one where Foyle's fighter pilot son is accused of spying for the enemy and the boss of the local radar station is (to put it politely) a potential murder victim of the first order.
Michael Kitchen as Foyle, the lovely Honeysuckle Weeks - what a super name - as his driver, and his trilby hat which any way up is a better actor than David Caruso's sun glasses, are compulsive viewing no matter how many times you have seen them.
The same goes for Crabb, played by Richard Griffiths (with Maggie Steed as his wife) the unlikely detective-come-chef of Pie in the Sky.
Total tosh delivered by a delightfully watchable cast.
Perhaps I am too easily pleased but I enjoy them all. A Touch of Frost with ol' David Jason, umpteen re-runs and still magic.
Sherlock Holmes with the manic Jeremy Brett and the solid Edward (must be son of Sir Cedric) Hardwicke as his Dr. Watson, easily the equal of Rathbone and Bruce.
David Suchet's definitive Poirot, a cardboard character brought to life.
I could go on and may at some time in the future, but it is late again and the old head gets to asking things like who does play that wonderful Hastings and that excellent Japp?
What is that likeable Davison chap's Christian name? He was a jolly good Albert Campion and a jolly good Dangerous Davies. And if Simon Brett ever adapts the Charles Paris books for television he'd be pretty good in the leading role there, too.
I am nodding off. I shall get to bed...
Justin Thyme
The one where Foyle's fighter pilot son is accused of spying for the enemy and the boss of the local radar station is (to put it politely) a potential murder victim of the first order.
Michael Kitchen as Foyle, the lovely Honeysuckle Weeks - what a super name - as his driver, and his trilby hat which any way up is a better actor than David Caruso's sun glasses, are compulsive viewing no matter how many times you have seen them.
The same goes for Crabb, played by Richard Griffiths (with Maggie Steed as his wife) the unlikely detective-come-chef of Pie in the Sky.
Total tosh delivered by a delightfully watchable cast.
Perhaps I am too easily pleased but I enjoy them all. A Touch of Frost with ol' David Jason, umpteen re-runs and still magic.
Sherlock Holmes with the manic Jeremy Brett and the solid Edward (must be son of Sir Cedric) Hardwicke as his Dr. Watson, easily the equal of Rathbone and Bruce.
David Suchet's definitive Poirot, a cardboard character brought to life.
I could go on and may at some time in the future, but it is late again and the old head gets to asking things like who does play that wonderful Hastings and that excellent Japp?
What is that likeable Davison chap's Christian name? He was a jolly good Albert Campion and a jolly good Dangerous Davies. And if Simon Brett ever adapts the Charles Paris books for television he'd be pretty good in the leading role there, too.
I am nodding off. I shall get to bed...
Justin Thyme
6. The holiday is over.
The holiday is over.
From our Island home we have seen the mainland again and have been impressed. Really.
For a start, the traffic, which normally we only view on the box, is an awful reality.
Never thought to see four lanes of vehicles doing the slow march down a motorway. Meticulous dressing, too. And, when they sped up again, no apparent reason for them to have slowed in the first place.
It becomes clear that, four lane hold-ups apart, the secret of successful motorway driving is to be between thirty and forty five years old, have a fuel guzzling car of collossal engine size and, most importantly, have so much money that you give not one jot for the speed cameras even if your speed camera detector hasn't worked.
Us, we mostly kept out of the way.
We're 1.4 engine stuff and R reg at that. Needless to say, with stops which invariably included getting lost on the way out of Service Stations, even with sat-nav (on one occasion we actually found ourselves driving back to Cornwall) our drive back from The Lizard took rather longer than the anticipated five hours.
Not to worry, we eventually made it back to the ferry and England's overcrowded roads were free of one less bunch of bemused tourists.
Justin Thyme
From our Island home we have seen the mainland again and have been impressed. Really.
For a start, the traffic, which normally we only view on the box, is an awful reality.
Never thought to see four lanes of vehicles doing the slow march down a motorway. Meticulous dressing, too. And, when they sped up again, no apparent reason for them to have slowed in the first place.
It becomes clear that, four lane hold-ups apart, the secret of successful motorway driving is to be between thirty and forty five years old, have a fuel guzzling car of collossal engine size and, most importantly, have so much money that you give not one jot for the speed cameras even if your speed camera detector hasn't worked.
Us, we mostly kept out of the way.
We're 1.4 engine stuff and R reg at that. Needless to say, with stops which invariably included getting lost on the way out of Service Stations, even with sat-nav (on one occasion we actually found ourselves driving back to Cornwall) our drive back from The Lizard took rather longer than the anticipated five hours.
Not to worry, we eventually made it back to the ferry and England's overcrowded roads were free of one less bunch of bemused tourists.
Justin Thyme
5. A few random thoughts about some people I have never met
A few random thoughts about some people I have never met but who have constantly entertained me over the years.
For a start there is the actor Alan Rickman, a wonderfully hateful Professor Snape in the Harry Potter films.
How can anyone help but admire a man who, in 1988, had Bruce Willis running barefoot through broken glass and in 1991 cancelled Christmas.
What a worthwhile chap.
If he'd never done anything else I'd still like him.
I have liked the inspired casting of the Harry Potter films from the outset and nobody but the late Richard Harris, when he was being carried out on a stretcher past people waiting to go in to dinner at the hotel where he was staying, would have pushed himself up onto his elbows and shouted "It was the food."
What an exit line.
While making mention of the departed, the wonderful Mary Wesley never failed to entertain.
She was seventy when her first novel was published and her writing was as fresh as that of a teenager. Compulsive stuff which you could not put down.
J.K. Rowling has the same gift.
It is late and I must finish with the admission that I am something of a TOG. One of the Old Geezers who listens in to Terry Wogan on the rare occasion when he is not on holiday.
His programme producer, Paul Walters, has been an excellent straight man to Sir Tel for as long as I can remember. Paul has been indisposed for some considerable time now and his quiet, dry rejoinders to the Irish presenter are much missed. Get better and get back soon, Mr. Walters.
I sign off like any TOG would,
Justin Thyme
For a start there is the actor Alan Rickman, a wonderfully hateful Professor Snape in the Harry Potter films.
How can anyone help but admire a man who, in 1988, had Bruce Willis running barefoot through broken glass and in 1991 cancelled Christmas.
What a worthwhile chap.
If he'd never done anything else I'd still like him.
I have liked the inspired casting of the Harry Potter films from the outset and nobody but the late Richard Harris, when he was being carried out on a stretcher past people waiting to go in to dinner at the hotel where he was staying, would have pushed himself up onto his elbows and shouted "It was the food."
What an exit line.
While making mention of the departed, the wonderful Mary Wesley never failed to entertain.
She was seventy when her first novel was published and her writing was as fresh as that of a teenager. Compulsive stuff which you could not put down.
J.K. Rowling has the same gift.
It is late and I must finish with the admission that I am something of a TOG. One of the Old Geezers who listens in to Terry Wogan on the rare occasion when he is not on holiday.
His programme producer, Paul Walters, has been an excellent straight man to Sir Tel for as long as I can remember. Paul has been indisposed for some considerable time now and his quiet, dry rejoinders to the Irish presenter are much missed. Get better and get back soon, Mr. Walters.
I sign off like any TOG would,
Justin Thyme
4. POttakers
I am wondering whether to change The Oldies title to something flip like Justin For A Chat or Thyme For Talking. I shan't ask your advice. Why should you care?
Tonight I'd not bother you with my ramblings at all but there's nothing on the tele and I have demolished the entire selection of Lilian Jackson Braun's Cat Who...stories borrowed from the public library.
Indeed, the charismatic Jim Quilleran has become such an old friend I am thinking of asking him to dinner.
And, of course, we are still a magically diminishing time away from publication of the last book in the Harry Potter saga.
On publication nights we stand with our granddaughter in the car park behind the local Ottakers, renamed POttakers for the night, and at midnight we are ushered through to buy two hardback copies, one for her and one for us.
Mad? Of course we're mad.
Next morning we could buy them in a local supermarket for half the price.
But the midnight jaunt is worth it if only to savour the spellbinding excitement.
So keep writing, J.K., because at my age I do aim to read the last book and see the remaining films even if I am only
Justin Thyme
Tonight I'd not bother you with my ramblings at all but there's nothing on the tele and I have demolished the entire selection of Lilian Jackson Braun's Cat Who...stories borrowed from the public library.
Indeed, the charismatic Jim Quilleran has become such an old friend I am thinking of asking him to dinner.
And, of course, we are still a magically diminishing time away from publication of the last book in the Harry Potter saga.
On publication nights we stand with our granddaughter in the car park behind the local Ottakers, renamed POttakers for the night, and at midnight we are ushered through to buy two hardback copies, one for her and one for us.
Mad? Of course we're mad.
Next morning we could buy them in a local supermarket for half the price.
But the midnight jaunt is worth it if only to savour the spellbinding excitement.
So keep writing, J.K., because at my age I do aim to read the last book and see the remaining films even if I am only
Justin Thyme
3. TOGs... Elderlies...
Trouble is, when you start you cannot imagine the magnitude of this blog lark.
It turns out there is a long long list of Oldies of various denominations.
Golden O's by the dozen, High and Lowbrow O's. Old Gits, you name them.
And there was I thinking we would be, if not unique, at least part of a small band. Maybe I'll have to change our title now.
Wonder how many Ancients there are? Or Elderlies? Shan't even consider TOGs, Terry Wogan's got thousands of them, none of them using their own name and who can blame them?
Come to think of it, perhaps I should follow their understandably cautious example and start calling myself Justin Thyme. It has a certain ring to it don't y'think? If I stick with it I may even be invited onto that Miserable Old Gits programme on the box.
None of them's old, anyway. If it was accurately named it would be called Grumpy Middle-Aged Twats. Most of the things they are currently saying I was saying thirty years ago. I said them better, too, but with a smaller audience because (thank Who or Whatever) I was never a fading celebrity, a failed politician (and which of them isn't?) or a 'resting' thespian.
I was never a former editor, either. I was never anything very much.
But now I guess I'm a blogger ( been called worse) and at my age, too...
It turns out there is a long long list of Oldies of various denominations.
Golden O's by the dozen, High and Lowbrow O's. Old Gits, you name them.
And there was I thinking we would be, if not unique, at least part of a small band. Maybe I'll have to change our title now.
Wonder how many Ancients there are? Or Elderlies? Shan't even consider TOGs, Terry Wogan's got thousands of them, none of them using their own name and who can blame them?
Come to think of it, perhaps I should follow their understandably cautious example and start calling myself Justin Thyme. It has a certain ring to it don't y'think? If I stick with it I may even be invited onto that Miserable Old Gits programme on the box.
None of them's old, anyway. If it was accurately named it would be called Grumpy Middle-Aged Twats. Most of the things they are currently saying I was saying thirty years ago. I said them better, too, but with a smaller audience because (thank Who or Whatever) I was never a fading celebrity, a failed politician (and which of them isn't?) or a 'resting' thespian.
I was never a former editor, either. I was never anything very much.
But now I guess I'm a blogger ( been called worse) and at my age, too...
2. Inspector Lynley etc.
Somehow I've made it here again despite a line up of unacceptable addresses, passwords etc.
I can only assume I've been in a queue where my reservation was checked and my luggage weighed and it would have been all right had it not been for the bloke up at the front who had an elephant in a crate labelled "hand luggage."
I was going to put the world to rights but there must already be enough malcontents to start a reasonable revolution doing their blogspot nuts out there. I think I'll decline for the time being. It's too hot and if anybody wants a fight they'll have to start without me.
Anyway, it's Inspector Lynley on the box tonight. Dated nonsense with a charning but strangely incompetent aristo Inspector and a bolshie but totally competent working-class Sergeant. I love it. Not as much as I love Foyle's War, but I love it. It's new, too. Not a repeat.
So cold drink, feet up, sit back and don't answer the phone. Cheers whoever you may be.
I can only assume I've been in a queue where my reservation was checked and my luggage weighed and it would have been all right had it not been for the bloke up at the front who had an elephant in a crate labelled "hand luggage."
I was going to put the world to rights but there must already be enough malcontents to start a reasonable revolution doing their blogspot nuts out there. I think I'll decline for the time being. It's too hot and if anybody wants a fight they'll have to start without me.
Anyway, it's Inspector Lynley on the box tonight. Dated nonsense with a charning but strangely incompetent aristo Inspector and a bolshie but totally competent working-class Sergeant. I love it. Not as much as I love Foyle's War, but I love it. It's new, too. Not a repeat.
So cold drink, feet up, sit back and don't answer the phone. Cheers whoever you may be.
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