2 (49) TIME FOR ANOTHER INDEX.

FOR THE REGULARS 
Water colours.

The threat - made in my last post - that I may paint again, brought a deluge of response. 

(Thank you, Ian.) 

I pointed out that I have not put brush to paper for all of ten years.The above picture of Honfleur, which I painted twenty odd years ago, may explain why.

My Leader likes it. 

She has always been my nicest critic. 

BLOG INDEX 5.

Because it's time. 

If you are one of that much appreciated clan of

buddies who follow these ramblings every month, you may read this before being greeted with another blog index. 

If you just looked in on the off-chance, or left it a

bit late, you may have been slightly surprised to

come across the list of names at Post 2(50).

No worries: after you've looked your name up

you'll probably get here anyway. Why another 

index? I figured it was time for it. 

TELEVISION. 

Perhaps you watched...

The Secret Agent.

Toby Jones (above) was the agent in a series 

based on Joseph Conrad's 1907 novel.

Clearly the undercover crowd were as 

incompetent then as they are now. Sad. Very sad.

Brief Encounters. 

Penelope Wilton headed the believable cast in a

series that was more undergarment than

undercover and none the worse for that. 

We enjoyed it.

The Edinburgh Tattoo. Will have brought joy again to the heart of any old squaddie who watched it.
I did and I know brother Harold will have. 

We'll talk about it, as we do every year, with a smile in our voices.

Which brings me to: 

The BBC Proms 2016. 

Many of my favourites this year: Rachmaninov's

3rd Piano Concerto was a resounding success for

Uzbekistan pianist Behzod Abduraimov and the

Munich Philharmonic under the toothpick baton

of Valery Gergiev who conducts as though he has

just washed his hands and cannot find a towel.

Grieg’s Piano Concerto, played by Venezuelan

pianist Gabriela Montero with the São Paulo

Symphony Orchestra conducted by Marin Alsop

(love her), lifted the spirits as did the West-Eastern

Divan Orchestra (doesn't it always?) conducted by

maestro Daniel Barenboim, with his old friend

Martha Argerich playing Liszt's Piano Concerto

No.1 followed by Schubert's Rondo in A major (in piano duet with the conductor). 

All of these plus a wonderfully cheeky interpretation of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto

given by charismatic Finnish virtuoso Pekka Kuusisto, a name I had not encountered before but will be sure not to miss next time around. The BBC Scottish Symphony under Thomas Dausgaard was clearly enchanted by him and the entire Proms audience sang along to his unique Finnish encore. Absolute magic. 

READING. 

Terry Pratchett. In Carpe Jugulum we have a modernistic family of empire-building vampires vs the witches of Lancre led by Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg. If you've read any Discworld I know which side your money will be on.

Currently I am reading Sir Tel's The Fifth Elephant and am about half way through it. Sir Sam Vimes and Lady Sybil are venturing into Werewolf territory. Guess whose side my money's on.

 More sometime after the Index 5. 

2 (48) BACK AGAIN.

NOT QUITE THE SAME DAY. 

But close. 

I nearly gave up on this post for no other reason than ennui. Trouble with that is, it spreads. It becomes Churchill's black dog. It concludes with yet another dither over whether to modify the aged format of the current blog, close it and somehow conjure up a replacement, or pack it in entirely and have another go at painting. 

As usual my Leader gently leads me back to sanity. "You can't give up writing, you'd be lost without it," she says. "But you ought to go back to painting, too." I haven't put brush to paper for all of a decade. So perhaps, with no expectation of producing a masterpiece, I will. 

Sadly, when it comes to watercolour I am no William Blake, J.M.W. Turner, James Whistler or, by today's standards, Pauline Barnden, our daughter-in-law, who paints fascinating seascapes (example below). 

I have no imagination for anything like that. 
But maybe I'll have another go sometime, if only to see whether arthritis has had any effect on my brushwork. Won't be holding my breath.

READING. 

J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Cursed Child by Jack Thorne (pictured).

Even if the touts were not asking ridiculous prices for tickets (blame the Americans again) I don't think we could afford the all round cost of a trip to see this much vaunted two-part play at the Palace Theatre. So we ordered the recently published Special Rehearsal Edition Script which I have now read. 

Yeah. One or two uncertainties, but I like it. If I ever win the lottery I'll take Mo and the entire family to see it. Well, you never know your luck.

Terry Pratchett: The Last Continent. Think Discworld may have no place for any sort of  Australia? No worries. Find this one on the bookshelves and laugh your billabong off. 

HOME. 

Visitors. We seldom see folk from the mainland here nowadays so it has been our pleasure, in successive weeks, to welcome friends Kath and Bill Harrison (from Pitlochry in Scotland) and in-laws Marg and Mike Urry (from Alverstoke in Hampshire). 

Just a day together with each couple, but a most enjoyable day on both occasions. 

I have known the Grimsby, Lincolnshire, ex-policeman and cricketer, Bill, for 64 years. 

He and his wife, Kath, are high on my list of favourite people. 

Marg is Mo's oldest remaining sister. I have always liked her and her husband, Mike, even if he is a Thatcherite Tory. 

Can't wait to see them all again. Not many people share that distinction. 

What? 

Oh, you do if you've just read this.

All the best.