HOME.
Sahil Saeed.
Only a week or so after my last post this little boy was kidnapped and his family faced with the terrible fear that they might never see him again. Praise be he is back with them now and Interpol (if that’s what it still is) appears to have caught some of the gang involved. Makes you realise how lucky you are to live in a spot where your biggest concern is whether some inconsiderate sod may have parked in front of your garage.
Conversation in a car.
Mention of a little boy takes me to a recent car trip. Just the two of us; Big Boo driving and Little Boo (grandson Ellis) strapped into his special seat at the back. All was quiet and I thought he had gone to sleep.
Suddenly he said: “You’re very old aren’t you, Boo.”
I admitted that to be the case.
“Yes…“ he mused…“You’ll be dead soon.”
I confirmed that could be the case, too.
“Mmm…I shan’t see you anymore then,” he said.
There was a pause.
His timing was perfect: “I shall still see La though.”
La is his pet name for his grandmother.
Every cloud has a silver lining.
AWAY.
254 OBA Southern Chapter.
We have just spent a pleasant couple of days at Botleigh Grange Hotel, Hedge End, on the outskirts of Southampton. The occasion was the annual get-together of our local branch of 254 OBA (Post 135 refers).
The Southern Chapter is organized by ex boy soldier Pat Soward and his wife, Maureen: they do it excellently.
Despite a liberal helping of miserable weather - and our uncertainty on foreign roads (I was even passed by a Smart Car) - with the help of satnav Hermione Granger we journeyed too and fro safely enough. There were some white knuckle moments and no little cursing on my part, but we made it.
It was worth the effort.
Many of the nice people we met last October were there, plus a few welcome additions. It was good to be reunited with kindly remembered folk and to recall events that took place when the world was altogether different from the one we know today.
Our thanks to the, mostly young, staff of Botleigh Grange Hotel. Their performance in dealing with our reunion dinner, a wedding reception and a charity function, all on the same night, was laudable and, with a little more direction, could have been outstanding. They did not let the apparent shortage of experienced management (or cooks or whatever) faze them: they remained calm and cheerful and they did their level best.
Well done…
And the journey home…
Our journey home, via Gosport and Alverstoke, was made in the best weather of the entire trip.
At Gosport we visited my Leader’s nephew, Steve, who wanted me to see his new flat. I should have gone to see it when Maureen did, shortly after he moved in, but I tend to stay put on the Island out of sheer bloody laziness.
It is a nice flat in a quiet area and he has decent - mostly elderly - neighbours. We arrived to find two visitors already there; his brother Phil, and a pleasant lady, Doreen, who used to be the occupant of Steve’s flat and now lives downstairs. She and Steve cook lunch for each other on alternate Sundays. We had coffee and he showed me around. It is an excellent pad, he waited a long time for it and his patience has been rewarded: it suits him perfectly.
Well done…
At Alverstoke we had lunch with Maureen’s sister, our Marg, and her husband, Mike. The sisters talked sister talk and Mike and I cheerfully agreed to disagree on just about every topic imaginable. (So what’s new?) I slept on the late afternoon boat back to the Island. My Leader didn’t offer to take over the driving. She knew I’d be shaken wide awake the moment we hit the concrete ploughed fields that pass for roads over here.
TELEVISION.
Five Days.
Suranne Jones, David Morrissey, Anne Reid and Bernard Hill starred in this drama shown on BBC1.
There was some fine acting, a tortuous plot, and the realistically ironic death of one of the leading characters.
Good television.
Missing. (BBC1)
Second series about a police Missing Persons Unit. The action is set in the Kent towns of Tonbridge and Dover. Pauline Quirke plays DS “MJ.” Croft who leads the team and Mark Wingett (him off The Bill) plays a local radio broadcaster. Any tendency to cosiness is tempered by the constant reminder that high-flying jobsworths run the police nowadays, just as they do pretty much every other concern.
READING.
Terry Wogan.
Finished ol’ Tel’s Where Was I?! I enjoyed it. Bit lighter than his autobiographical books, I thought. More blog-like. Don’t suppose he’d mind me saying that. Blog-like or not, he’s been paid for it: and he won’t have come cheap.
RADIO.
Heard that song before?
Listening to Classic FM one morning recently I heard the haunting Danse Macabre by Saint-Saens and found myself wondering how many people know it only as the theme from Jonathan Creek. I then wondered how many classical composers cavort in their crypts at the cavalier use of their music by film and television producers or, worse still, by numpties who adorn it with banal pop lyrics.
That having been said, Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Pathétique, Op. 74, shamelessly hijacked for Howard Hughes’ s 1943 film The Outlaw, was actually complemented by The Story of a Starry Night, particularly when it was sung by the superb Della Reese.
Click on and listen in…
Della Reese - The Story of a Starry Night ...2 min 51 sec She made a very decent job of the Schubert Serenade, too.
FILM.
Zathura.
Two squabbling brothers were propelled into space in their old house. Tim Robbins’ name was there to sell it; he hardly appeared: but we thought it was great fun anyway.
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.
We have the complete DVD set but ITV is showing the films again and we cannot but look in. Emma, Dan and Rupert were all so small. Keep seeing things we missed the first/second/third time around and keep wondering why we don’t just put on the DVD and avoid the darned adverts.
Got to go: they’re showing The Chamber of Secrets again this afternoon…
