HOME.
Ellis‘s time.
End of last week was end of school term and time for the Easter fair at grandson Ellis’s school. Children, teachers and parents combined to make a happy after-school occasion of it and little Boo, a pupil when I took him to school in the morning, was a tiger by the time he got home in the evening.
Ain’t education great nowadays?
My time.
I hated school for much of my young life. Bully boys formed bullyboy gangs and too many of the staff were superannuated sadists.
At one of the seven schools I went to between the age of five and thirteen I recollect Mr. Supercilious, a wartime schoolteacher venting his ire at being excluded from uniformed combat by launching a zero tolerance campaign against the kids in his charge.
“If you ever have to rely on arithmetic for your living, boy,” he thundered at me on one occasion, “you’ll finish up a dustman!”
He had two approaches, the bellowing and the sarcastic, which he often combined. I cannot remember him ever laughing, smiling. or showing the slightest hint of humour.
I don’t know how he finished up..
Careers adviser, perhaps.
What? Oh, I finished up an administrator and finance officer in the NHS.
My father‘s time.
My father went to St. Luke’s school in Portsmouth where he learned the three R’s and how to fight. His father (one of the first warrant officers in the RN) died when dad was nine and he left school to take up an apprenticeship as a carpenter and joiner at the age of fourteen.
I remember less of him than I would have liked. He died at the age of fifty four; that was over fifty years ago, three years after I left the army and three before my marriage to Maureen, who never met him.
He was Portsmouth born and bred. Dark, short (only five foot six and a half - he insisted on the half), thickset, shrewd, a self-taught pianist in the mode of Charlie Kunz, a loyal family man and a dry humorist.
In my early teens I once stood with him at the top of Portsdown Hill looking out across Portsmouth. It was a clear day and for no good reason my teenage imagination ran riot. “I bet they could build a bridge from here all the way to France,“ I said.
Just the trace of a smile flickered across his face.
“Yeah,” he said. “With lifts down to the Isle of Wight.”
For many years he was chairman of Southsea Liberal Club (‘No political or religious talk in the club, please.’) and once told me he owed his regular re-election to never becoming involved in excitable squabbles.
“I’m phlegmatic; I wear ‘em down.”
His views on people were pithy but not venomous.
On a large, likeable woman: “Stout party; heart of gold.”
On a pompous man: “He rates himself a bit.”
On any entertainer he liked: “Good turn that one.”
On a seemingly innocuous snooker player. “Never play him for money.”
And on anyone he considered to be mental: “A bit touched I reckon.”
As a young man he played football, Portsmouth League, for the Dockyard Recorders. He played in goal, though he was never a dockyard employee and well below average height for a goalkeeper. His only connection with 'The Yard' was via his brother-in-law, Bill, who was a recorder and also in the team. The two were good friends, so I guess a sort of ‘on loan’ scheme went on, even back then. Anyway, uncle Bill rated him as a ‘keeper and you worked every fiddle you could to be top of the league, even back then.
In the course of his working life Dad went from carpenter to building firm manager, to costings clerk in the Portsmouth City Architect department, a post he held until his death.
My most abiding memory is of an immensely competent man. Lord knows what he could have achieved had he been given the luxury of a university education.
TELEVISION.
Waking the dead. (BBC1)
It’s all over. Dead and buried.
DS Peter Boyd (Trevor Eve) has yelled his last yell, broken his last rule and neatly arranged for the assassination of the assassin of the person assigned to his team to assassinate his career.
Don’t get it?
Don’t matter.
The Walking Dead. (C5)
Yep, another doom-laden title. Andrew Lincoln (him who was Egg in This Life), turns up in America with a sheriff’s badge and a credible accent to fight incredible zombies played by an incredible army of incredibly awful looking extras.
Totally barmy.
Lewis. (ITV1)
The murder count has surely risen since dear ol’ Kev Whately took up the reins in Oxford. Any one of a host of talented actors could have been the murderer in the episode shown last Sunday.
It was a bit Midsomer with dreaming spires, but we enjoyed every minute.
FILMS.
Taken.
Liam Neeson starred in this all action thriller. He played a retired CIA agent who went after the white slave captors of his daughter. If you saw Geena Davis in The Long Kiss Goodnight, Tom Cruise in the Mission: Impossible films, Matt Damon in The Bourne Identity or Gene Hackman in Target you will get the idea.
At a time when there is so much dross on television, Taken was a welcome change. Liam Neeson sitting in a chair reading a newspaper would be more watchable than many another actor delivering Hamlet‘s soliloquy and the catalogue of continuity goofs to be found on Google went by my Leader and I unnoticed. We were too busy enjoying the film to be sidetracked by trivia.
Wanted.
James McAvoy, Morgan Freeman and Angelina Jolie were the stars of this dip into mayhem. Based on a comic book limited series, its lineage was all too apparent, Decent plot twist and fun to watch, though.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt 1. (DVD)
The DVD is out just in time to be relished before the release of the final part in July.
I do not intend writing more about it here; Potter followers can find excellent Amazon reviews on the net.
We purchased the double disc set from them. Good price, too.
READING.
Christine and Christopher Russell.
My Leader was looking for a particular book in Waterstone's when we chanced upon this nice couple signing copies of their first two Warrior Sheep books The Quest of the Warrior Sheep and The Warrior Sheep go West (published by Egmont).
Intrigued, we bought them for me to read to Boo when he is a little older.
Meant I had to read them first. Any excuse.
So will he enjoy them when he is a little older?
I think he will.
And have I enjoyed them?
Ohmygrass yes!
End of last week was end of school term and time for the Easter fair at grandson Ellis’s school. Children, teachers and parents combined to make a happy after-school occasion of it and little Boo, a pupil when I took him to school in the morning, was a tiger by the time he got home in the evening.
Ain’t education great nowadays?
My time.
I hated school for much of my young life. Bully boys formed bullyboy gangs and too many of the staff were superannuated sadists.
At one of the seven schools I went to between the age of five and thirteen I recollect Mr. Supercilious, a wartime schoolteacher venting his ire at being excluded from uniformed combat by launching a zero tolerance campaign against the kids in his charge.
“If you ever have to rely on arithmetic for your living, boy,” he thundered at me on one occasion, “you’ll finish up a dustman!”
He had two approaches, the bellowing and the sarcastic, which he often combined. I cannot remember him ever laughing, smiling. or showing the slightest hint of humour.
I don’t know how he finished up..
Careers adviser, perhaps.
What? Oh, I finished up an administrator and finance officer in the NHS.
My father‘s time.
My father went to St. Luke’s school in Portsmouth where he learned the three R’s and how to fight. His father (one of the first warrant officers in the RN) died when dad was nine and he left school to take up an apprenticeship as a carpenter and joiner at the age of fourteen.
I remember less of him than I would have liked. He died at the age of fifty four; that was over fifty years ago, three years after I left the army and three before my marriage to Maureen, who never met him.
He was Portsmouth born and bred. Dark, short (only five foot six and a half - he insisted on the half), thickset, shrewd, a self-taught pianist in the mode of Charlie Kunz, a loyal family man and a dry humorist.
In my early teens I once stood with him at the top of Portsdown Hill looking out across Portsmouth. It was a clear day and for no good reason my teenage imagination ran riot. “I bet they could build a bridge from here all the way to France,“ I said.
Just the trace of a smile flickered across his face.
“Yeah,” he said. “With lifts down to the Isle of Wight.”
For many years he was chairman of Southsea Liberal Club (‘No political or religious talk in the club, please.’) and once told me he owed his regular re-election to never becoming involved in excitable squabbles.
“I’m phlegmatic; I wear ‘em down.”
His views on people were pithy but not venomous.
On a large, likeable woman: “Stout party; heart of gold.”
On a pompous man: “He rates himself a bit.”
On any entertainer he liked: “Good turn that one.”
On a seemingly innocuous snooker player. “Never play him for money.”
And on anyone he considered to be mental: “A bit touched I reckon.”
As a young man he played football, Portsmouth League, for the Dockyard Recorders. He played in goal, though he was never a dockyard employee and well below average height for a goalkeeper. His only connection with 'The Yard' was via his brother-in-law, Bill, who was a recorder and also in the team. The two were good friends, so I guess a sort of ‘on loan’ scheme went on, even back then. Anyway, uncle Bill rated him as a ‘keeper and you worked every fiddle you could to be top of the league, even back then.
In the course of his working life Dad went from carpenter to building firm manager, to costings clerk in the Portsmouth City Architect department, a post he held until his death.
My most abiding memory is of an immensely competent man. Lord knows what he could have achieved had he been given the luxury of a university education.
TELEVISION.
Waking the dead. (BBC1)
It’s all over. Dead and buried.
DS Peter Boyd (Trevor Eve) has yelled his last yell, broken his last rule and neatly arranged for the assassination of the assassin of the person assigned to his team to assassinate his career.
Don’t get it?
Don’t matter.
The Walking Dead. (C5)
Yep, another doom-laden title. Andrew Lincoln (him who was Egg in This Life), turns up in America with a sheriff’s badge and a credible accent to fight incredible zombies played by an incredible army of incredibly awful looking extras.
Totally barmy.
Lewis. (ITV1)
The murder count has surely risen since dear ol’ Kev Whately took up the reins in Oxford. Any one of a host of talented actors could have been the murderer in the episode shown last Sunday.
It was a bit Midsomer with dreaming spires, but we enjoyed every minute.
FILMS.
Taken.
Liam Neeson starred in this all action thriller. He played a retired CIA agent who went after the white slave captors of his daughter. If you saw Geena Davis in The Long Kiss Goodnight, Tom Cruise in the Mission: Impossible films, Matt Damon in The Bourne Identity or Gene Hackman in Target you will get the idea.
At a time when there is so much dross on television, Taken was a welcome change. Liam Neeson sitting in a chair reading a newspaper would be more watchable than many another actor delivering Hamlet‘s soliloquy and the catalogue of continuity goofs to be found on Google went by my Leader and I unnoticed. We were too busy enjoying the film to be sidetracked by trivia.
Wanted.
James McAvoy, Morgan Freeman and Angelina Jolie were the stars of this dip into mayhem. Based on a comic book limited series, its lineage was all too apparent, Decent plot twist and fun to watch, though.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt 1. (DVD)
The DVD is out just in time to be relished before the release of the final part in July.
I do not intend writing more about it here; Potter followers can find excellent Amazon reviews on the net.
We purchased the double disc set from them. Good price, too.
READING.
Christine and Christopher Russell.
My Leader was looking for a particular book in Waterstone's when we chanced upon this nice couple signing copies of their first two Warrior Sheep books The Quest of the Warrior Sheep and The Warrior Sheep go West (published by Egmont).
Intrigued, we bought them for me to read to Boo when he is a little older.
Meant I had to read them first. Any excuse.
So will he enjoy them when he is a little older?
I think he will.
And have I enjoyed them?
Ohmygrass yes!
