BACK HOME ONCE MORE.
“No, it’s no good trotting out the stock shot of me and thinking I’ll be so flattered I’ll overlook your craven return to the old format,” said the cat Shadow. “Anyway, that book cover picture of young Bowen’s cat Bob is much more eye-catching than Madam Lady’s amateur snapshot of me. You might at least have found a photo you haven‘t shown before.”
“It’s the only one of you on file and I always liked that duvet cover,” I said.
“You’re bonkers in the head,” he said. ”And a reactionary to boot.”
Bonkers in the head? Well, yes, I’m chatting with a cat. But reactionary?
It is over three decades since I was last called reactionary. Way back in the late seventies, while still a middle manager in the NHS, I openly expressed concern at the mad rush being made by beguiled top officers to buy the Service into the brand new technology of computerisation, Somewhat to my surprise, the Chief Nursing Officer here at the time - nice woman, keen on modern concepts - asked me whether I had always been a reactionary. My response was to question just how much she thought the career diplomats, blindly committed to every new concept dangled before them, really knew about this one.
When, years after my retirement, the multibillion pound computer system purchased by the NHS was revealed to be a technological disaster, fit only to be scrapped, I couldn’t help thinking of that lovely lady and her eager yes-person companions.
If it hadn’t cost us quite so much I might even have smirked a little.
Sudden change does bother me, though. Too much goes unquestioned nowadays. National and local power-mongers hasten into change for the sake of it and the results are often catastrophic.
Those convinced that any change has to be for the better would do well to remember the old adage: ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t mend it.’
That’s enough pensive cliché. New balls please and…
WIMBLEDON AGAIN.
Yep, halfway through the year; usual weather for Tennis at Wimbledon: vaunted folding roof much in evidence: Murray flattering to deceive and Federer walking away with the title. Ah well…
Even the versifying cat Shadow looked decidedly disconsolate as he struck his poetic pose and announced:
Shed a Tear for a Very Damp Year.
So we Brits had a Brit to support in the rain
As Murray sought national glory again
(He was winning, so nobody called him a Scot)
And he could win enough cash to buy a large yacht.
Except, in the way was the champ, Roger Federer,
A Swiss tennis player who is no Helen Lederer
Though his classy delivery is wickedly droll,
He’s not, when you face it, that funny at all.
Thus, anticlimactic, the deafening end
To the hopes of our bedazzled, fine Scottish friend,
Who left with a tear, enough cash for a beer,
And thousands more fans to support him next year.
He eyed me gloomily. “Well, what d’ya think?
I thought: Federer…Lederer…really?
“It does rhyme a bit,” I said.
“That’ll do,” he said and marched off to the cat flap. I just went…
BACK TO THE BOX.
The Wright Stuff. (C5)
The producers of Matthew Wright’s morning programme clearly believe it ain’t broke, so it remains resolutely unchanged. Yasmin Alibhai-Brown was back as one of last week’s permanent guests (no doubt to the further annoyance of incensed bigots nationwide) and she clearly enjoyed the opportunity to exchange views and banter with a variety of fellow contributors. I cannot always agree with her, but I will always like her.
Wright still has to curb a tendency to smirk, sneer, or take offence at the slightest provocation, but I think “Screechy” keeps a fairly tight rein on him.
Whether I bother to watch still depends on whether or not I like the guests.
First Night of the Proms. (BBC2)
Found this to be an all-singing, all-prancing, mostly all-boring Brit night with which I was quickly out of tune. I finally departed, disenchanted, and finished up watching old documentaries about…
Roy Orbison (1936 - 1988) (BBC4)
What a remarkable singer this chap was. Barely opening his mouth his voice ranged from baritone to countertenor and everywhere in between. His songs, many of them his own compositions, were catchy, melodic and often sadly romantic. He was also an accomplished guitar player and, among his contemporaries, a highly respected performer.
Sadly there was much tragedy in his life and, as is often the case with a unique talent, he died at too early an age.
Game of Thrones. (Sky Atlantic)
In the first season it was the Starks who were the focus family and Ned Stark (Sean Bean) was the clear hero; a decent man too honourable to survive in a dishonourable world. Season 2 spread the focus more evenly and the unlikely hero to emerge from this mishmash of warring factions was the diminutive Tyrion Lannister (Peter Dinklage) (yes, one of that ghastly Lannister crowd) who proved to be a giant in disguise.
“I will hurt you for this. A day will come when you think you are safe and happy, and your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth. And you will know the debt is paid,” he said to Queen Cersei, one of his own, in Episode 8.
Could anyone doubt he meant it?.
Series 3 cannot come soon enough.
University Challenge. (BBC2)
“Come on - come on!“ Yep, here we go again with another season of scathingly snarled Paxmanisms. I love it and can sometimes correctly answer two, or even three, of the questions. How about you? What?
“You may buzz - you cannot confer!”
AND OTHER BITS.
Golf - The Open.
The cat Shadow skidded in from the courtyard as though the cat catcher was on his tail. “Who won then?” he asked.
“Who won what?” I responded quizzically.”And what’s all the hurry?”
“You know what,” he said, “The Open? Lytham St. Annes? The Open!”
“Big Ernie,” I said. “Ernie Els. Seven under.“
“Bloody’ell,” he said. “What happened to Adam Scott?”
“Fell to pieces,” I said. “Aren’t you getting news up there on the roof?”
“They‘re all half asleep in the sun, Word was that somebody thanked Nelson Mandela so I came in. I didn’t know he was playing.”
“He wasn’t,” I said.
“Caddying?”
“No.”
“Dunno where that came from then…gotta go,” and he was gone again.
He has a lump on his head. Informed opinion suggests it is probably a cyst. Doesn’t seem to trouble him but it has grown a deal larger of late so last week my Leader borrowed Roz’s cat box to take him to the vet. Before it arrived he quietly departed the house. He has thereafter ventured indoors little and never during surgery times. Smart creatures, cats.
Cycling - Tour de France.
Well, swipe me! A man whose name sounds like a down-the-street rival of Open All Hours’ Arkwright, Bradley Wiggins, won the world’s toughest bike race and neither tacks nor tactics could stop him. Great stuff.
Bodes well for the Olympic Games, too, though I still don’t give a flying thrust kick about them and am heartily sick of the relentless propaganda telling me how excited I should be. I hope it all goes off without trouble and I can’t wait to see the back of it.
FINAL THOUGHTS.
A Welcome Visitor.
Our friend Anne has been with us this week. Came on Sunday evening, departs tomorrow (Friday) morning. She has had the best (well, the only) week of sunshine in recent memory and we have enjoyed trips out to places we normally forget are there. One such, Dimbola Museum and Galleries at Freshwater Bay, is run by the Julia Margaret Cameron Trust and contains a wonderful display of the world renowned Victorian photographer’s work. My Leader had been there recently so knew what to expect; needless to say, I was not with her on that occasion. So, not for the first time, Anne (recently a MSc with distinction) managed to encourage the old boy out of his armchair. The three of us had a great trip out to Freshwater and a pleasant meander around, with lunch, at Dimbola.
So if you happen to be on the Isle of Wight and looking for a break from the holiday norm, why not chance a visit to this one time home of Julia Margaret Cameron (1815 - 1879). It is quite unique and you can park outside for free.
Isn’t education great?
Google,
Isn’t it great, too, how those wicked little blighters at Google ring the changes on their logo every now and then to remind you that it is the anniversary of this or the birthday of that. I usually click on to find out what has been said about their topic of special interest; if I had a mind capable of retaining anything for longer than twenty seconds I could be a regular old quiz champ by now. Lord knows how they set about it, but the graphic artistry is superb, the technical application mind-boggling and the subject matter out of this world. I would send congratulations to them but have no idea how to go about it.
Ne’er mind. They don’t need an old Limey to tell them how clever they are.
But well done anyway, Google!
“It’s the only one of you on file and I always liked that duvet cover,” I said.
“You’re bonkers in the head,” he said. ”And a reactionary to boot.”
Bonkers in the head? Well, yes, I’m chatting with a cat. But reactionary?
It is over three decades since I was last called reactionary. Way back in the late seventies, while still a middle manager in the NHS, I openly expressed concern at the mad rush being made by beguiled top officers to buy the Service into the brand new technology of computerisation, Somewhat to my surprise, the Chief Nursing Officer here at the time - nice woman, keen on modern concepts - asked me whether I had always been a reactionary. My response was to question just how much she thought the career diplomats, blindly committed to every new concept dangled before them, really knew about this one.
When, years after my retirement, the multibillion pound computer system purchased by the NHS was revealed to be a technological disaster, fit only to be scrapped, I couldn’t help thinking of that lovely lady and her eager yes-person companions.
If it hadn’t cost us quite so much I might even have smirked a little.
Sudden change does bother me, though. Too much goes unquestioned nowadays. National and local power-mongers hasten into change for the sake of it and the results are often catastrophic.
Those convinced that any change has to be for the better would do well to remember the old adage: ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t mend it.’
That’s enough pensive cliché. New balls please and…
WIMBLEDON AGAIN.
Even the versifying cat Shadow looked decidedly disconsolate as he struck his poetic pose and announced:
Shed a Tear for a Very Damp Year.
So we Brits had a Brit to support in the rain
As Murray sought national glory again
(He was winning, so nobody called him a Scot)
And he could win enough cash to buy a large yacht.
Except, in the way was the champ, Roger Federer,
A Swiss tennis player who is no Helen Lederer
Though his classy delivery is wickedly droll,
He’s not, when you face it, that funny at all.
Thus, anticlimactic, the deafening end
To the hopes of our bedazzled, fine Scottish friend,
Who left with a tear, enough cash for a beer,
And thousands more fans to support him next year.
He eyed me gloomily. “Well, what d’ya think?
I thought: Federer…Lederer…really?
“It does rhyme a bit,” I said.
“That’ll do,” he said and marched off to the cat flap. I just went…
BACK TO THE BOX.
The Wright Stuff. (C5)
Wright still has to curb a tendency to smirk, sneer, or take offence at the slightest provocation, but I think “Screechy” keeps a fairly tight rein on him.
Whether I bother to watch still depends on whether or not I like the guests.
First Night of the Proms. (BBC2)
Found this to be an all-singing, all-prancing, mostly all-boring Brit night with which I was quickly out of tune. I finally departed, disenchanted, and finished up watching old documentaries about…
Roy Orbison (1936 - 1988) (BBC4)
Sadly there was much tragedy in his life and, as is often the case with a unique talent, he died at too early an age.
Game of Thrones. (Sky Atlantic)
“I will hurt you for this. A day will come when you think you are safe and happy, and your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth. And you will know the debt is paid,” he said to Queen Cersei, one of his own, in Episode 8.
Could anyone doubt he meant it?.
Series 3 cannot come soon enough.
University Challenge. (BBC2)
“You may buzz - you cannot confer!”
AND OTHER BITS.
Golf - The Open.
“Who won what?” I responded quizzically.”And what’s all the hurry?”
“You know what,” he said, “The Open? Lytham St. Annes? The Open!”
“Big Ernie,” I said. “Ernie Els. Seven under.“
“Bloody’ell,” he said. “What happened to Adam Scott?”
“Fell to pieces,” I said. “Aren’t you getting news up there on the roof?”
“They‘re all half asleep in the sun, Word was that somebody thanked Nelson Mandela so I came in. I didn’t know he was playing.”
“He wasn’t,” I said.
“Caddying?”
“No.”
“Dunno where that came from then…gotta go,” and he was gone again.
He has a lump on his head. Informed opinion suggests it is probably a cyst. Doesn’t seem to trouble him but it has grown a deal larger of late so last week my Leader borrowed Roz’s cat box to take him to the vet. Before it arrived he quietly departed the house. He has thereafter ventured indoors little and never during surgery times. Smart creatures, cats.
Cycling - Tour de France.
Well, swipe me! A man whose name sounds like a down-the-street rival of Open All Hours’ Arkwright, Bradley Wiggins, won the world’s toughest bike race and neither tacks nor tactics could stop him. Great stuff.
Bodes well for the Olympic Games, too, though I still don’t give a flying thrust kick about them and am heartily sick of the relentless propaganda telling me how excited I should be. I hope it all goes off without trouble and I can’t wait to see the back of it.
FINAL THOUGHTS.
A Welcome Visitor.
Our friend Anne has been with us this week. Came on Sunday evening, departs tomorrow (Friday) morning. She has had the best (well, the only) week of sunshine in recent memory and we have enjoyed trips out to places we normally forget are there. One such, Dimbola Museum and Galleries at Freshwater Bay, is run by the Julia Margaret Cameron Trust and contains a wonderful display of the world renowned Victorian photographer’s work. My Leader had been there recently so knew what to expect; needless to say, I was not with her on that occasion. So, not for the first time, Anne (recently a MSc with distinction) managed to encourage the old boy out of his armchair. The three of us had a great trip out to Freshwater and a pleasant meander around, with lunch, at Dimbola.
So if you happen to be on the Isle of Wight and looking for a break from the holiday norm, why not chance a visit to this one time home of Julia Margaret Cameron (1815 - 1879). It is quite unique and you can park outside for free.
Isn’t education great?
Google,
Isn’t it great, too, how those wicked little blighters at Google ring the changes on their logo every now and then to remind you that it is the anniversary of this or the birthday of that. I usually click on to find out what has been said about their topic of special interest; if I had a mind capable of retaining anything for longer than twenty seconds I could be a regular old quiz champ by now. Lord knows how they set about it, but the graphic artistry is superb, the technical application mind-boggling and the subject matter out of this world. I would send congratulations to them but have no idea how to go about it.
Ne’er mind. They don’t need an old Limey to tell them how clever they are.
But well done anyway, Google!
