WINDING DOWN.
That's it then, another Christmas over (unless you're the sort of pedant who insists on counting the entire twelve days) and time to wind down.
Me? I am winding down by writing this.
My Leader? She is winding down by doing the ironing.
The cat Shadow? He, convinced that he is helping, is winding down asleep alongside my Leader.
It is an overcast but dry day (just in case anyone worries that an Englishman may have failed to mention the weather) and the year, which used to last ten years when we were young, has gone by in about ten days.
TAKING STOCK.
A helicopter has just gone over.
Probably from the hospital on the Island to the hospital at Southampton.
Somebody will be in urgent need of specialist care.
By comparison to whoever that poor soul is we've not had a bad year.
My Leader remains the irresistible force.
I remain the immovable object.
We tend to avoid head-on confrontation.
If you feel you have something to say that would really hurt, don't say it!
Our children and their spouses are in good nick, as are our grandchildren.
Yep, compared to that poor soul in the helicopter...
All we have to do now is see out the old year and see in the new.
AND MOVING ON.
We shall also have to get the insurance claim settled for the accident caused when, just before Christmas, a car came across against the traffic lights and hit our car which my Leader was driving, alone, after taking a friend on a hospital visit.
Always happens like that, doesn't it?
Fortunately neither driver was hurt and there is a witness that Maureen, driving through on a green light, was in no way to blame.
However, due to my connection with them many years ago, I am insured with the charity Age Concern about which I have considerable doubts...
More anon.
Meantime a Happy New Year to my reader and to anyone else who happens to look in.
Be lucky.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
53. Readin', writin' and, of course, watchin'.
READIN'
I have just finished reading The Jester by James Patterson and Andrew Gross. This historical thriller runs out at one hundred and fifty four small chapters and (ignoring the occasional 'A man in a deep blue robe with a white beard...' sort of line - and if you are writing over five hundred pages you can surely be granted a little poetic licence) is a darned good read.
My best read of the month, though, is personal and came from the journalist Ian Dillow, former Wessex Regional Health Authority Information Officer and one-time editor of the quarterly Wessex Health Services newspaper, Link.
In Ian's own words: 'This year Jean [his charming wife] and I have decided to follow the growing custom of writing a letter...to summarise our activities during the last 12 months. We have personalised your copy by adding a genuine hand-written signature at the end. We feel that this touch of added warmth is entirely consistent with this season of goodwill.'
There follows a report, month by month, of the fantastic exploits of these two dare-devil record breakers.
Everything from Ian coming first in the PGA Golf Championship to Jean's circumnavigation of the globe in the individual sculling competition, to their joint Nobel Prize for their work with Soya beans and on to, finally, their decision to go back to their favourite pastime of Active Volcano Bungee Jumping.
They have promised to let me know how they get on as they will be trying out a new type of bungee elastic which is guaranteed to send them 75% lower but has suspect fire-resistant properties.
I tried to move quickly but I believe there may be a damp patch in my armchair.
They are off to the New World for a couple of months.
We wish them a grand Christmas and an uproarious New Year.
WRITIN'
I have finally written the Christmas cards.
My Leader had sort of questioned the notion of cards this year.
The privatized postal service - if you can so describe it - has introduced a lunatic system of payment by envelope size.
I've stuck first class stamps on just about everything except letters going abroad.
Balls to the new P.O.
Oh, and what sort of so-called government has left essential services like water, electricity, gas, railways (no matter the number of anti-social sods they may have employed) and fast disappearing post offices in private hands?
A Twats In Power sort of government, that's what.
WATCHIN'
We watched Richard Curtis's Love Actually...without expecting anything very different from Four Weddings... or Notting Hill.
It had Alan Rickman in it, though, splendidly cast against type. Not that the diffident horn-rimmed glasses fooled any but the most gullible. When Rowan Atkinson was making a meal of giftwrapping a parcel for him I found myself wondering whether Harry Potter's bete noir might suddenly emerge to leave Rowan dangling helplessly, upside-down, in mid-air.
We enjoyed it, anyway.
The State Within (BBC1) concluded with Sir Mark (Jason Isaacs) winning through despite rogue Brits and the American Secretary of Defence, Lynne Warner (Sharon Gless).
There were dead bodies and hurt feelings everywhere.
I watched it with the cat Shadow.
'Never mind, mate,' he said afterwards, 'he'll be Lucius Malfoy again next year.'
Keep writing, J.K.!
Jam and Jerusalem (BBC1) becomes less of a comedy by the week.
It is more a gentle drama of English village life now.
Perhaps I blinked but I missed Joanna Lumley altogether.
Didn't see the lollipop lady, either.
Still, if you have the sort of cast Jennifer Saunders has attracted you are never going to be short of watchable characters.
Into The West concluded on BBC2 at the weekend.
What happened at places like Wounded Knee will forever haunt Americans concerned to uphold human decency.
But the injustices will mostly be forgotten.
In the same way that they have been here and in every other colonizing country.
Housewife 49 (ITV1) was an evocative wartime story written by Victoria Wood and based on the Mass Observation diary of Nella Last. Again the casting was impeccable with Victoria Wood as Nella, David Threlfell as her husband and Stephanie Cole as the formidable leader of the local Women's Voluntary Service group.
It will doubtless be repeated and (particularly for those of a certain age who may have missed it) deserves watching.
READIN', WRITIN' and WATCHIN'
Those nice girls from TrippingOnWords sent me a line saying thanks.
They didn't need to so their courtesy was the more appreciated.
I have looked in a couple of times recently and seen a dear little lad, Perry (?), who is very like our 19 months old grandson Ellis, having his hair cut.
I have also heard some gloriously incomprehensible explanation of an in-the-know game dealing with parents' names or something.
I have read what they have written about the Kenya project and been surprised that somebody who would write to them decrying Christian involvement in another country would decline to give a name.
I'm no believer, either.
But if something is important I would never choose to withhold my name.
And anybody who writes to me anonymously will be instantly deleted. Neither their argument nor their expression of it will get a second glance.
Happy Christmas, Tripping team.
I have just finished reading The Jester by James Patterson and Andrew Gross. This historical thriller runs out at one hundred and fifty four small chapters and (ignoring the occasional 'A man in a deep blue robe with a white beard...' sort of line - and if you are writing over five hundred pages you can surely be granted a little poetic licence) is a darned good read.
My best read of the month, though, is personal and came from the journalist Ian Dillow, former Wessex Regional Health Authority Information Officer and one-time editor of the quarterly Wessex Health Services newspaper, Link.
In Ian's own words: 'This year Jean [his charming wife] and I have decided to follow the growing custom of writing a letter...to summarise our activities during the last 12 months. We have personalised your copy by adding a genuine hand-written signature at the end. We feel that this touch of added warmth is entirely consistent with this season of goodwill.'
There follows a report, month by month, of the fantastic exploits of these two dare-devil record breakers.
Everything from Ian coming first in the PGA Golf Championship to Jean's circumnavigation of the globe in the individual sculling competition, to their joint Nobel Prize for their work with Soya beans and on to, finally, their decision to go back to their favourite pastime of Active Volcano Bungee Jumping.
They have promised to let me know how they get on as they will be trying out a new type of bungee elastic which is guaranteed to send them 75% lower but has suspect fire-resistant properties.
I tried to move quickly but I believe there may be a damp patch in my armchair.
They are off to the New World for a couple of months.
We wish them a grand Christmas and an uproarious New Year.
WRITIN'
I have finally written the Christmas cards.
My Leader had sort of questioned the notion of cards this year.
The privatized postal service - if you can so describe it - has introduced a lunatic system of payment by envelope size.
I've stuck first class stamps on just about everything except letters going abroad.
Balls to the new P.O.
Oh, and what sort of so-called government has left essential services like water, electricity, gas, railways (no matter the number of anti-social sods they may have employed) and fast disappearing post offices in private hands?
A Twats In Power sort of government, that's what.
WATCHIN'
We watched Richard Curtis's Love Actually...without expecting anything very different from Four Weddings... or Notting Hill.
It had Alan Rickman in it, though, splendidly cast against type. Not that the diffident horn-rimmed glasses fooled any but the most gullible. When Rowan Atkinson was making a meal of giftwrapping a parcel for him I found myself wondering whether Harry Potter's bete noir might suddenly emerge to leave Rowan dangling helplessly, upside-down, in mid-air.
We enjoyed it, anyway.
The State Within (BBC1) concluded with Sir Mark (Jason Isaacs) winning through despite rogue Brits and the American Secretary of Defence, Lynne Warner (Sharon Gless).
There were dead bodies and hurt feelings everywhere.
I watched it with the cat Shadow.
'Never mind, mate,' he said afterwards, 'he'll be Lucius Malfoy again next year.'
Keep writing, J.K.!
Jam and Jerusalem (BBC1) becomes less of a comedy by the week.
It is more a gentle drama of English village life now.
Perhaps I blinked but I missed Joanna Lumley altogether.
Didn't see the lollipop lady, either.
Still, if you have the sort of cast Jennifer Saunders has attracted you are never going to be short of watchable characters.
Into The West concluded on BBC2 at the weekend.
What happened at places like Wounded Knee will forever haunt Americans concerned to uphold human decency.
But the injustices will mostly be forgotten.
In the same way that they have been here and in every other colonizing country.
Housewife 49 (ITV1) was an evocative wartime story written by Victoria Wood and based on the Mass Observation diary of Nella Last. Again the casting was impeccable with Victoria Wood as Nella, David Threlfell as her husband and Stephanie Cole as the formidable leader of the local Women's Voluntary Service group.
It will doubtless be repeated and (particularly for those of a certain age who may have missed it) deserves watching.
READIN', WRITIN' and WATCHIN'
Those nice girls from TrippingOnWords sent me a line saying thanks.
They didn't need to so their courtesy was the more appreciated.
I have looked in a couple of times recently and seen a dear little lad, Perry (?), who is very like our 19 months old grandson Ellis, having his hair cut.
I have also heard some gloriously incomprehensible explanation of an in-the-know game dealing with parents' names or something.
I have read what they have written about the Kenya project and been surprised that somebody who would write to them decrying Christian involvement in another country would decline to give a name.
I'm no believer, either.
But if something is important I would never choose to withhold my name.
And anybody who writes to me anonymously will be instantly deleted. Neither their argument nor their expression of it will get a second glance.
Happy Christmas, Tripping team.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
52. Dare I say it? It's nearly Christmas!
WE'LL FEEL NAKED AFTERWARDS.
Our place is decorated - discreetly as you might expect from a bloke who believes that too much is worse than none at all - and the half Christmas tree (imitation Canadian pine allegedly), which is as big as our little living room can take, is all lit up and looking festive.
We stopped believing that you simply have to have a real tree some years back when the beautiful specimen we bought fresh from a dealer had been sited in the large living room of a bungalow we owned at the time.
After I had festooned it with goodies and three lots of lights, one of our cats came in and pissed up it.
We had to re-site it.
It looked good in the front garden, though, and all the neighbours enjoyed it.
That cat was an ASBO candidate who would bring back two dead rabbits a day from the surrounding fields.
I remember remarking that it would have served him right if the lights had been turned on.
He wouldn't have bothered, though.
He was the sort of cat who would have blown all the fuses and walked away unscathed.
The cat Shadow laughed when I told him the story.
Anyway, the decorating's all done now.
Well, dare I say it? It's nearly Christmas.
News reaches that the PC brigade are trying to have the description Christmas holiday abandoned in favour of the term Winter holiday so that other religions are not slighted. What bilge!
I am a devout non believer.
Not R.C., Parsee, buckshee or Pharisee.
My old mother avers that I shall never get to heaven to which I respond that I am relying on it because heaven will surely be full of the sanctimonious sods I have been avoiding for years.
But I begrudge nobody a share of the joy that is Christmas.
The tree goes up, the lights go on, the decorations are sorted, the cards are written, the turkey is ordered - and the trimmings, the booze bought, the mince pies, the Christmas pudding, the cake, the big box of sweets, the C.D. of festive songs...
Friends, of whatever persuasion, and family are welcome.
Then comes the sudden realization that another year will soon be over.
The decorations will have to come down.
The tree, too.
We will feel naked for a while afterwards.
Everything will be back to normal.
So let everybody enjoy a happy Christmas while it lasts.
Even the P.C. brigade.
Our place is decorated - discreetly as you might expect from a bloke who believes that too much is worse than none at all - and the half Christmas tree (imitation Canadian pine allegedly), which is as big as our little living room can take, is all lit up and looking festive.
We stopped believing that you simply have to have a real tree some years back when the beautiful specimen we bought fresh from a dealer had been sited in the large living room of a bungalow we owned at the time.
After I had festooned it with goodies and three lots of lights, one of our cats came in and pissed up it.
We had to re-site it.
It looked good in the front garden, though, and all the neighbours enjoyed it.
That cat was an ASBO candidate who would bring back two dead rabbits a day from the surrounding fields.
I remember remarking that it would have served him right if the lights had been turned on.
He wouldn't have bothered, though.
He was the sort of cat who would have blown all the fuses and walked away unscathed.
The cat Shadow laughed when I told him the story.
Anyway, the decorating's all done now.
Well, dare I say it? It's nearly Christmas.
News reaches that the PC brigade are trying to have the description Christmas holiday abandoned in favour of the term Winter holiday so that other religions are not slighted. What bilge!
I am a devout non believer.
Not R.C., Parsee, buckshee or Pharisee.
My old mother avers that I shall never get to heaven to which I respond that I am relying on it because heaven will surely be full of the sanctimonious sods I have been avoiding for years.
But I begrudge nobody a share of the joy that is Christmas.
The tree goes up, the lights go on, the decorations are sorted, the cards are written, the turkey is ordered - and the trimmings, the booze bought, the mince pies, the Christmas pudding, the cake, the big box of sweets, the C.D. of festive songs...
Friends, of whatever persuasion, and family are welcome.
Then comes the sudden realization that another year will soon be over.
The decorations will have to come down.
The tree, too.
We will feel naked for a while afterwards.
Everything will be back to normal.
So let everybody enjoy a happy Christmas while it lasts.
Even the P.C. brigade.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
51. That Perishin' Profile!.
SORRY IF YOU'RE DISAPPOINTED.
After four months that Perishin' Profile is finally sorted.
I tried to complete it a couple of times before but, needless to say, lacked the facility.
Had no usable picture and, even if I had, would probably not have sussed out how to make it appear to order.
Am hopelessly impatient with instructions whether written or verbal. In my early years the army was full of gits giving orders.
Furthermore, the save button never seemed to save a word
I spoke again, on Skype, to our son in Cornwall.
'Think you could do something about this perishin' profile picture, Neil?'
'Sure. I've got some pictures we took while you were here in August. I'll sort something out.'
He did.
Downloaded and saved it, too.
That day.
The rest I just completed here on the Island.
If you are my reader I'm sorry if you're disappointed.
I didn't think it was that bad a picture of an old geezer, but I got a bit of a shock when the Blogging Ed translated my birth date into years.
Christ! Am I really that old?
THOSE TRIPPINGONWORDS GIRLS.
Oh well, though I doubtless qualify as one of the do-nothing-go-nowhere negative influences they abhor, I still enjoy visiting the blogsite of those TrippingOnWords girls.
They're what the future is about.
I was fascinated by the dunking experts.
In England the word dunk is used only to describe dipping part of a biscuit (cookie) into a drink (usually tea or coffee) before eating it. The use of the word as a description for dropping a ball through a net is something new to me.
Good, though.
Took me right back to the fabulous Harlem Globe Trotters.
Enjoy Las Vegas, you two.
And good luck to Claire's dad next year.
THE VIEWING WEEK.
They've all been on the box again.
NCIS on Channel Five has gone back to Series 1.
I do wish they wouldn't do that.
It's like the old Danny Kaye song where he intones: 'This is a picture that ends in the middle for the benefit of the people who came in in the middle...this, this is the end!'
Well it really is the bitter end.
Anybody who saw the first series would have to be totally uncritical to watch it again straight after the second series.
Programme planners? I spit!
CSI MIAMI (Channel Five) is still running previously unscreened series four.
Trouble is, at 25 episodes a series I can't help feeling the stories are often rehashes of those done in previous episodes or series, or on ol' Bill Petersen's CSI, or on CSI NY or even on Murder, She Wrote. I jest, Ms.Lansbury, I jest!
TORCHWOOD (BBC2) continues to entertain.
Russell T. Davies and Toby Whitehouse were the writers for Greeks Bearing Gifts this week.
The series was the brainchild of the former and anything he is involved in is going to be watchable.
The man is a seriously gifted television writer.
THE STATE WITHIN (BBC1) heads towards a conclusion equalled only by the real life drama surrounding poisoned former KGB opponents of the current Russian regime.
Sir Mark Brydon (Jason Isaacs) is rushing around punching people in the face because they may or may not have been involved in the ungodly goings on which beset him.
His few friends are dropping like flies.
It's the last episode next week.
I hope I can understand a bit more by the time it ends.
JAM AND JERUSALEM (BBC1) Never judge any television series on the first episode.
The second episode of this pleasant little village mockery was much less hilarious than the opener.
I still have high hopes, though.
Love Joanna Lumley.
And do so hope the lollipop lady will be back.
FOOTIE - Uefa Cup (Channel Five)
It was Eintracht Frankfurt v Newcastle United on Thursday. I asked the cat Shadow if he wanted to watch and he said Newcastle beat Pompey last Saturday. So sod 'em.
He really is a very bad loser.
After four months that Perishin' Profile is finally sorted.
I tried to complete it a couple of times before but, needless to say, lacked the facility.
Had no usable picture and, even if I had, would probably not have sussed out how to make it appear to order.
Am hopelessly impatient with instructions whether written or verbal. In my early years the army was full of gits giving orders.
Furthermore, the save button never seemed to save a word
I spoke again, on Skype, to our son in Cornwall.
'Think you could do something about this perishin' profile picture, Neil?'
'Sure. I've got some pictures we took while you were here in August. I'll sort something out.'
He did.
Downloaded and saved it, too.
That day.
The rest I just completed here on the Island.
If you are my reader I'm sorry if you're disappointed.
I didn't think it was that bad a picture of an old geezer, but I got a bit of a shock when the Blogging Ed translated my birth date into years.
Christ! Am I really that old?
THOSE TRIPPINGONWORDS GIRLS.
Oh well, though I doubtless qualify as one of the do-nothing-go-nowhere negative influences they abhor, I still enjoy visiting the blogsite of those TrippingOnWords girls.
They're what the future is about.
I was fascinated by the dunking experts.
In England the word dunk is used only to describe dipping part of a biscuit (cookie) into a drink (usually tea or coffee) before eating it. The use of the word as a description for dropping a ball through a net is something new to me.
Good, though.
Took me right back to the fabulous Harlem Globe Trotters.
Enjoy Las Vegas, you two.
And good luck to Claire's dad next year.
THE VIEWING WEEK.
They've all been on the box again.
NCIS on Channel Five has gone back to Series 1.
I do wish they wouldn't do that.
It's like the old Danny Kaye song where he intones: 'This is a picture that ends in the middle for the benefit of the people who came in in the middle...this, this is the end!'
Well it really is the bitter end.
Anybody who saw the first series would have to be totally uncritical to watch it again straight after the second series.
Programme planners? I spit!
CSI MIAMI (Channel Five) is still running previously unscreened series four.
Trouble is, at 25 episodes a series I can't help feeling the stories are often rehashes of those done in previous episodes or series, or on ol' Bill Petersen's CSI, or on CSI NY or even on Murder, She Wrote. I jest, Ms.Lansbury, I jest!
TORCHWOOD (BBC2) continues to entertain.
Russell T. Davies and Toby Whitehouse were the writers for Greeks Bearing Gifts this week.
The series was the brainchild of the former and anything he is involved in is going to be watchable.
The man is a seriously gifted television writer.
THE STATE WITHIN (BBC1) heads towards a conclusion equalled only by the real life drama surrounding poisoned former KGB opponents of the current Russian regime.
Sir Mark Brydon (Jason Isaacs) is rushing around punching people in the face because they may or may not have been involved in the ungodly goings on which beset him.
His few friends are dropping like flies.
It's the last episode next week.
I hope I can understand a bit more by the time it ends.
JAM AND JERUSALEM (BBC1) Never judge any television series on the first episode.
The second episode of this pleasant little village mockery was much less hilarious than the opener.
I still have high hopes, though.
Love Joanna Lumley.
And do so hope the lollipop lady will be back.
FOOTIE - Uefa Cup (Channel Five)
It was Eintracht Frankfurt v Newcastle United on Thursday. I asked the cat Shadow if he wanted to watch and he said Newcastle beat Pompey last Saturday. So sod 'em.
He really is a very bad loser.
Monday, November 27, 2006
50. I love a good read
BLOGGERS IN BLUE.
Lady In Red has long been a popular tune.
Bloggers In Blue, according to my newspaper today, are playing a far less popular tune so far as the sticklers, the PC PCs and above, of the police service are concerned.
Bloggers In Blue, they say, should be sacked.
All blogging, they strongly hint, should be banned by law.
Now that worries me almost as much as do the 'findings' of some gormless git who thinks we should all be paying by the mile to travel on roads for which we already pay an annual road fund licence fee. Which, incidentally, the Tossers-In-Power spend on everything but the roads.
Anyway, Bloggers In Blue.
I love a good read.
So I welcome the news that we have law enforcers who can do something other than present motorists with £30 to £60 on-the-spot fines for minor infringements.
Around here it would be a waste of time calling for help from the three police officers (two men and a woman) who are collecting a fortune in the parking bay of the school opposite.
They are far too busy fining young mums who have neglected to fasten their seat belts before driving away from the school.
Around the corner you could be beaten to death and no one would come to your aid.
Daft world, ain't it.
JESSICA...
I did a posting about Angela Lansbury yesterday. Then I deleted it.
I didn't think it was quite right.
You see, although I have read her biography, I suddenly realized that I know very little about the British born actress except the parts she has played.
Notably the crime solving thriller writer Jessica Fletcher in Murder, She Wrote.
I concluded that although most of the M.S.W. stories are tosh, sprinkled with dire American/Scottish, American/Irish and American/Cockney accents and laden with sadly older - much older - former film and tele stars, Ms. Lansbury was always the same... she was very good.
Physically she never altered, either.
Perhaps she has a picture in the attic.
But I have a soft spot for any Jessica, anyway, because of our granddaughter.
As I mentioned in Not Everybody Will Like You (17th November) Jess, now 11, has finished reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.
She has started on Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials.
AND EMMA.
Back on one of our Harry Potter midnight publication trips to POttakers the children were invited to arrive as Potter characters. Prize for the best lookalike.
Our Jess went as Hermione Granger.
She didn't win.
There was an excellent Harry.
But the store manager said: 'I do wish we could give a second prize. This little girl is wonderful.'
She was happy with that.
When I bought the DVD Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire there was an extra DVD showing interviews with various cast members.
A bunch of young Americans interviewed Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint.
One of the questions asked of the three went along the lines of:
'What books have influenced you?'
Apart from the obvious reference to the Harry Potter stories, Daniel mentioned the Louis Sachar story Holes, Rupert had to admit that he seldom read at all and Emma said: 'His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman.'
No wonder the boys go in such ill-concealed awe of her.
She is Hermione Granger.
So, in her own non-acting sort of way, is our Jess.
Lady In Red has long been a popular tune.
Bloggers In Blue, according to my newspaper today, are playing a far less popular tune so far as the sticklers, the PC PCs and above, of the police service are concerned.
Bloggers In Blue, they say, should be sacked.
All blogging, they strongly hint, should be banned by law.
Now that worries me almost as much as do the 'findings' of some gormless git who thinks we should all be paying by the mile to travel on roads for which we already pay an annual road fund licence fee. Which, incidentally, the Tossers-In-Power spend on everything but the roads.
Anyway, Bloggers In Blue.
I love a good read.
So I welcome the news that we have law enforcers who can do something other than present motorists with £30 to £60 on-the-spot fines for minor infringements.
Around here it would be a waste of time calling for help from the three police officers (two men and a woman) who are collecting a fortune in the parking bay of the school opposite.
They are far too busy fining young mums who have neglected to fasten their seat belts before driving away from the school.
Around the corner you could be beaten to death and no one would come to your aid.
Daft world, ain't it.
JESSICA...
I did a posting about Angela Lansbury yesterday. Then I deleted it.
I didn't think it was quite right.
You see, although I have read her biography, I suddenly realized that I know very little about the British born actress except the parts she has played.
Notably the crime solving thriller writer Jessica Fletcher in Murder, She Wrote.
I concluded that although most of the M.S.W. stories are tosh, sprinkled with dire American/Scottish, American/Irish and American/Cockney accents and laden with sadly older - much older - former film and tele stars, Ms. Lansbury was always the same... she was very good.
Physically she never altered, either.
Perhaps she has a picture in the attic.
But I have a soft spot for any Jessica, anyway, because of our granddaughter.
As I mentioned in Not Everybody Will Like You (17th November) Jess, now 11, has finished reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.
She has started on Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials.
AND EMMA.
Back on one of our Harry Potter midnight publication trips to POttakers the children were invited to arrive as Potter characters. Prize for the best lookalike.
Our Jess went as Hermione Granger.
She didn't win.
There was an excellent Harry.
But the store manager said: 'I do wish we could give a second prize. This little girl is wonderful.'
She was happy with that.
When I bought the DVD Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire there was an extra DVD showing interviews with various cast members.
A bunch of young Americans interviewed Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint.
One of the questions asked of the three went along the lines of:
'What books have influenced you?'
Apart from the obvious reference to the Harry Potter stories, Daniel mentioned the Louis Sachar story Holes, Rupert had to admit that he seldom read at all and Emma said: 'His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman.'
No wonder the boys go in such ill-concealed awe of her.
She is Hermione Granger.
So, in her own non-acting sort of way, is our Jess.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
49. Last week was all right
FOOTBALL. (Tuesday 21st November, 2006)
From a goggle-eyed old'uns point of view last week was all right.
On Tuesday there was football: Champions League Live from Celtic Park, Glasgow.
Celtic v Manchester United.
The cat Shadow purred when the Scots pulled it off.
I think he rates Gordon Strachan and is of the opinion that Alex Ferguson might be the type to kick a football boot in a cat's direction when his team loses.
FOOD.
On the same evening there was a fellow called Heston Blumenthal searching for perfection in fish and chips.
His myriad travels and scientific experiments finally produced the goods.
But I wonder if I was alone in feeling that there are more out than in?
YOUNG@HEART. (Wednesday 22nd)
Here was a gem about a singing group of New England pensioners.
Only America could produce a bunch of people, average age 80, who would tackle songs by the Clash, Radiohead and Coldplay, let alone Dylan and Bowie classics, and do it so well.
The viewer was in turn uplifted by joyful performances and touched by sad departures.
One to watch again and again.
OZ & JAMES'S BIG WINE ADVENTURE.
The Two Fat Ladies worked: The Hairy Bikers work:
Oz and James does not work.
Reason for this seems to be that Oz Clarke is depicted as a poncy wine-tasting bore and James May (the wet one in Top Gear) is portrayed as a macho beer-swilling boor.
One suspects that neither of these is an accurate representation and the programme suffers accordingly.
One not to watch again and again.
THE QUEEN MOTHER IN LOVE. (Thursday 23rd)
I avoided this.
Well, she always avoided me.
My Leader watched it.
Said it had all been done just as well before.
So I was glad I settled for...
THE STATE WITHIN.
Though I'm still not sure what bloody state that is.
Our man in Washington, Sir Mark, is being betrayed on all sides.
People take photographs of him in every conceivable place, position and situation.
He never recognizes that friends can be foes and foes can be even bigger foes.
It was part 4 of 6 this week.
I have not understood any of it since Part 1.
I shall watch it until the last incomprehensible moment.
I shall then look forward to seeing Jason Isaacs back as Lucius Malfoy in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
(Keep writing, J.K., Keep writing!)
JAM AND JERUSALEM. (Friday 24th)
Written by Jennifer Saunders.
Starring too many luminaries of the acting profession to be listed here.
It might, just might, have been a flop.
But of course it wasn't.
It was gloriously, outrageously, indescribably funny.
From a goggle-eyed old'uns point of view last week was all right.
On Tuesday there was football: Champions League Live from Celtic Park, Glasgow.
Celtic v Manchester United.
The cat Shadow purred when the Scots pulled it off.
I think he rates Gordon Strachan and is of the opinion that Alex Ferguson might be the type to kick a football boot in a cat's direction when his team loses.
FOOD.
On the same evening there was a fellow called Heston Blumenthal searching for perfection in fish and chips.
His myriad travels and scientific experiments finally produced the goods.
But I wonder if I was alone in feeling that there are more out than in?
YOUNG@HEART. (Wednesday 22nd)
Here was a gem about a singing group of New England pensioners.
Only America could produce a bunch of people, average age 80, who would tackle songs by the Clash, Radiohead and Coldplay, let alone Dylan and Bowie classics, and do it so well.
The viewer was in turn uplifted by joyful performances and touched by sad departures.
One to watch again and again.
OZ & JAMES'S BIG WINE ADVENTURE.
The Two Fat Ladies worked: The Hairy Bikers work:
Oz and James does not work.
Reason for this seems to be that Oz Clarke is depicted as a poncy wine-tasting bore and James May (the wet one in Top Gear) is portrayed as a macho beer-swilling boor.
One suspects that neither of these is an accurate representation and the programme suffers accordingly.
One not to watch again and again.
THE QUEEN MOTHER IN LOVE. (Thursday 23rd)
I avoided this.
Well, she always avoided me.
My Leader watched it.
Said it had all been done just as well before.
So I was glad I settled for...
THE STATE WITHIN.
Though I'm still not sure what bloody state that is.
Our man in Washington, Sir Mark, is being betrayed on all sides.
People take photographs of him in every conceivable place, position and situation.
He never recognizes that friends can be foes and foes can be even bigger foes.
It was part 4 of 6 this week.
I have not understood any of it since Part 1.
I shall watch it until the last incomprehensible moment.
I shall then look forward to seeing Jason Isaacs back as Lucius Malfoy in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
(Keep writing, J.K., Keep writing!)
JAM AND JERUSALEM. (Friday 24th)
Written by Jennifer Saunders.
Starring too many luminaries of the acting profession to be listed here.
It might, just might, have been a flop.
But of course it wasn't.
It was gloriously, outrageously, indescribably funny.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
48. A star in America too!
WINSTONE THE WINNER.
I know it is not seemly to crow when you've got something right.
(Well, not unless you are Peter Pan it's not.)
But sod Peter Pan, today I am crowing!
In my post Some Actors Don't of 29th October, 2006, I expressed the view that Ray Winstone is a star.
And there is news this morning that Ray has won an Emmy for Vincent.
Jubilation!
It is the equivalent of an English boxer going to America and winning on points!
Except that Ray did it in the only way you can over there.
He knocked the opposition cold.
Few British actors do.
He did.
So, for what it's worth, well done Ray Winstone.
A star in America, too!
NOT SO MUSICAL.
The Sound of Music must have become sadly dicordant over the weekend for new singing star Connie Fisher.
The hills were alive with the sound of Sunday Scandal hacks.
Ignore 'em, kid.
They are talentless and exist only to pour shite on success.
Nobody of any consequence takes the slightest notice of them.
THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING.
The final part of Peter Jackson's film trilogy based on the J.R.R. Tolkein books was shown on television at the weekend.
My Leader gave it a miss this time.
Too manic, too bloodthirsty, too intense and ultimately too sad.
The cat Shadow slept through it until it was time for supper then went off to beat the bounds.
I sat transfixed for the second - maybe third - time around.
Nothing could have pulled me away from the incredible battle in which Orlando Bloom overcomes an attacking mammoth with its entire warrior crew and John Rhys-Davies bellows: 'That only counts as one!'
And to think that at my age I am excused paying the licence fee.
How good can it get?
I know it is not seemly to crow when you've got something right.
(Well, not unless you are Peter Pan it's not.)
But sod Peter Pan, today I am crowing!
In my post Some Actors Don't of 29th October, 2006, I expressed the view that Ray Winstone is a star.
And there is news this morning that Ray has won an Emmy for Vincent.
Jubilation!
It is the equivalent of an English boxer going to America and winning on points!
Except that Ray did it in the only way you can over there.
He knocked the opposition cold.
Few British actors do.
He did.
So, for what it's worth, well done Ray Winstone.
A star in America, too!
NOT SO MUSICAL.
The Sound of Music must have become sadly dicordant over the weekend for new singing star Connie Fisher.
The hills were alive with the sound of Sunday Scandal hacks.
Ignore 'em, kid.
They are talentless and exist only to pour shite on success.
Nobody of any consequence takes the slightest notice of them.
THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING.
The final part of Peter Jackson's film trilogy based on the J.R.R. Tolkein books was shown on television at the weekend.
My Leader gave it a miss this time.
Too manic, too bloodthirsty, too intense and ultimately too sad.
The cat Shadow slept through it until it was time for supper then went off to beat the bounds.
I sat transfixed for the second - maybe third - time around.
Nothing could have pulled me away from the incredible battle in which Orlando Bloom overcomes an attacking mammoth with its entire warrior crew and John Rhys-Davies bellows: 'That only counts as one!'
And to think that at my age I am excused paying the licence fee.
How good can it get?
Friday, November 17, 2006
47. Not everybody will like you.
ANOTHER SO-SO SOCCER MATCH.
Perhaps the football pundits have been less than fair to Steve McClaren.
Perhaps everybody always expects too much of the national team and its manager.
But a 1-1 draw with a mediocre Dutch side in Amsterdam on Wednesday did little to allay the growing misgivings of many England fans.
The cat Shadow, settled on his big new bean-bag, did not wake up until it was over.
'It was a draw,' I told him.
'Well it would be, wouldn't it,' he said, as though there was no question about it.
'Why would it be?' I asked.
'Oh do come on,' he said. 'An away friendly in Europe? You have to draw or lose to get out alive.'
'You're a racist cat,' I said. 'You said the same sort of thing about our boxers in America.'
'No I didn't' he retorted. 'I said that you've got to knock 'em out to win over there because they don't let foreigners win on points.'
'If you were a human you'd finish up before the Race Relations Board,' I said.
He stalked towards the catflap.
'Talk to the tail,' he said 'The ears aren't listening.'
A draw is the same as being beaten to him.
And he's a very poor loser.
HOW FAST THEY GROW.
Our lovely granddaughter, Jessica, will be eleven on Sunday.
Last night she finished reading Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince.
That's it until next year's midnight watch.
(Keep writing J.K.! Keep writing!)
Doesn't seem yesterday that little Jess was starting school.
Before she left I think I gave her the same advice I gave her mother, aunt and uncle way back when they started school.
'Some children will want to make friends with you right away. Be friendly with them. Not everybody will like you, though. Some may dislike you without reason. Don't worry about it. Avoid them.'
I hope it worked for all of them.
They've never said.
Didn't do much for me in wartime elementary schools.
At times I got a right thumping from the kids I should have avoided.
Anyway, I shall be wishing a Happy Birthday to Jess at the weekend.
She's taller than my Leader now.
And almost as tall as me.
EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND.
This is still one tele programme to watch every morning.
Today Raymond found out that not everybody loves him after all.
A media presenter of some sort (recognised in America perhaps?) made it known that Raymond would not be welcome on his show.
He hated Raymond.
Raymond was hurt and bemused.
He had never met the man.
Of course Raymond's large and singularly more likeable brother was without sympathy.
It took a meeting of them both with the media presenter to reaffirm the maxim 'blood is thicker then water.'
Another excellent episode in an excellent series.
And another reminder that not everybody will like you.
So what!
If they don't, who needs 'em?
Perhaps the football pundits have been less than fair to Steve McClaren.
Perhaps everybody always expects too much of the national team and its manager.
But a 1-1 draw with a mediocre Dutch side in Amsterdam on Wednesday did little to allay the growing misgivings of many England fans.
The cat Shadow, settled on his big new bean-bag, did not wake up until it was over.
'It was a draw,' I told him.
'Well it would be, wouldn't it,' he said, as though there was no question about it.
'Why would it be?' I asked.
'Oh do come on,' he said. 'An away friendly in Europe? You have to draw or lose to get out alive.'
'You're a racist cat,' I said. 'You said the same sort of thing about our boxers in America.'
'No I didn't' he retorted. 'I said that you've got to knock 'em out to win over there because they don't let foreigners win on points.'
'If you were a human you'd finish up before the Race Relations Board,' I said.
He stalked towards the catflap.
'Talk to the tail,' he said 'The ears aren't listening.'
A draw is the same as being beaten to him.
And he's a very poor loser.
HOW FAST THEY GROW.
Our lovely granddaughter, Jessica, will be eleven on Sunday.
Last night she finished reading Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince.
That's it until next year's midnight watch.
(Keep writing J.K.! Keep writing!)
Doesn't seem yesterday that little Jess was starting school.
Before she left I think I gave her the same advice I gave her mother, aunt and uncle way back when they started school.
'Some children will want to make friends with you right away. Be friendly with them. Not everybody will like you, though. Some may dislike you without reason. Don't worry about it. Avoid them.'
I hope it worked for all of them.
They've never said.
Didn't do much for me in wartime elementary schools.
At times I got a right thumping from the kids I should have avoided.
Anyway, I shall be wishing a Happy Birthday to Jess at the weekend.
She's taller than my Leader now.
And almost as tall as me.
EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND.
This is still one tele programme to watch every morning.
Today Raymond found out that not everybody loves him after all.
A media presenter of some sort (recognised in America perhaps?) made it known that Raymond would not be welcome on his show.
He hated Raymond.
Raymond was hurt and bemused.
He had never met the man.
Of course Raymond's large and singularly more likeable brother was without sympathy.
It took a meeting of them both with the media presenter to reaffirm the maxim 'blood is thicker then water.'
Another excellent episode in an excellent series.
And another reminder that not everybody will like you.
So what!
If they don't, who needs 'em?
Monday, November 13, 2006
46. If you can't fight...
...WEAR A BIG HAT.
When I was a boy my father used to say: 'If you can't fight, wear a big hat!'
I have laughed at the cowboys in b/w movies ever since.
Today I read that Jack Palance has died.
It would have been a brave (indeed, downright foolish) man who laughed at him.
Remember when he shot poor little Elisha Cook Jnr.in Shane(1953)?
Remember his award winning - and terrifying - trail boss in City Slickers (1991)?
He exuded menace.
He had a wonderful deadpan humour.
And fellow actors had to be at their very best were he not to effortlessly upstage them.
With his departure goes one more superb screen villain.
ANOTHER CHANGE OF TITLE?
I have been reliably informed that when we changed our Blog from The Oldies to Watching The Detectives we were less than original.
Elvis Costello apparently wrote a song and there is a weekend column in The Guardian called Watching The Detectives.
So to Elvis Costello and to the writer of that weekend column (my daughter in Oxford will know his name, she's a teacher so, unlike me, she reads The Gridauran) my apologies, though I don't know why, neither of them is ever likely to read this.
Time for another change of title then?
Somewhen soon?
Na-a-a-ah - sod it!
[Now then: if you're the sort of NCIS nut who records it then doesn't watch it for ages do not read on because the next bit is a rock solid Spoiler!)
THEY'VE DESPATCHED CAITLIN!
Yep, Caitlin Todd has been written out at the end of the second series of NCIS.
Perhaps the pretty actress who played her, Sasha Alexander, wanted to leave.
Perhaps she could not stand the prospect of a third series alongside the detestable Dinozzo (Michael Weatherley) and Jethro Gibbs's haircut (though that has been acting rather well of late).
Anyway they brought in a shadowy assassin played by a shadowy occasional guest appearance actor.
He was supposed to be attempting to kill Jethro but succeeded in shooting Caitlin right between the eyes and Jethro's end of series speech.
She'll be missed.
They'll need someone else to dampen the detestable Dinozzo
When I was a boy my father used to say: 'If you can't fight, wear a big hat!'
I have laughed at the cowboys in b/w movies ever since.
Today I read that Jack Palance has died.
It would have been a brave (indeed, downright foolish) man who laughed at him.
Remember when he shot poor little Elisha Cook Jnr.in Shane(1953)?
Remember his award winning - and terrifying - trail boss in City Slickers (1991)?
He exuded menace.
He had a wonderful deadpan humour.
And fellow actors had to be at their very best were he not to effortlessly upstage them.
With his departure goes one more superb screen villain.
ANOTHER CHANGE OF TITLE?
I have been reliably informed that when we changed our Blog from The Oldies to Watching The Detectives we were less than original.
Elvis Costello apparently wrote a song and there is a weekend column in The Guardian called Watching The Detectives.
So to Elvis Costello and to the writer of that weekend column (my daughter in Oxford will know his name, she's a teacher so, unlike me, she reads The Gridauran) my apologies, though I don't know why, neither of them is ever likely to read this.
Time for another change of title then?
Somewhen soon?
Na-a-a-ah - sod it!
[Now then: if you're the sort of NCIS nut who records it then doesn't watch it for ages do not read on because the next bit is a rock solid Spoiler!)
THEY'VE DESPATCHED CAITLIN!
Yep, Caitlin Todd has been written out at the end of the second series of NCIS.
Perhaps the pretty actress who played her, Sasha Alexander, wanted to leave.
Perhaps she could not stand the prospect of a third series alongside the detestable Dinozzo (Michael Weatherley) and Jethro Gibbs's haircut (though that has been acting rather well of late).
Anyway they brought in a shadowy assassin played by a shadowy occasional guest appearance actor.
He was supposed to be attempting to kill Jethro but succeeded in shooting Caitlin right between the eyes and Jethro's end of series speech.
She'll be missed.
They'll need someone else to dampen the detestable Dinozzo
Thursday, November 09, 2006
45. A minor tirade and major kudos
WHAT'S SO SPECIAL ABOUT AN ASBO?
In our world of late there have been distractions too numerous to catalogue: even if I could remember what they were.
So I thought it must be time to indulge in a Blogger's Tirade again.
Well, if you can't beat 'em..
Away we go with a recent item on a bad news day..
ASBOs.
Though I tend, like a High Court Judge when normal sex is mentioned, to need the advice of Learned Counsel on what it is all about, I gather that ASBO stands for Anti Social Behaviour Order.
Appears it is a sort of punishment dished out to recalcitrant yobs.
And it has now become a badge of honour among them.
Something to boast about.
Why?
Many people have to be automatic candidates for ASBOs.
Politicians: estate agents: lawyers?
Surely to boast of being issued with one is totally moronic.
But try telling that to the morons who do the boasting.
RIGHT ROYLE ENDING.
"Warning: Contains Spoilers!"
For box watchers there was a one-off final episode (allegedly) of The Royle Family.
All the regulars were back.
The script was as good as ever.
The acting was as good as ever.
They were all of them better than anything they were watching on tele.
When weren't they?
Then Gran (dear old Liz Smith) popped her clogs.
There was not a dry eye in the house.
AND A RIGHT ROWLING SEND OFF.
As a denouement there was a programme about the programme and everyone talked about how wonderful it was to be in it, to make it, to watch it.
(You know, like they do in all those cheerful docu-advert things.)
They even had my own favourite, the elusive J.K. Rowling, to talk about it.
I watched and all the time wondered.
Will J,K.s last Harry Potter story come out on 07.07.07?
That is the educated guess of many Potter fans.
Can't come soon enough for me.
Just keep writing, J.K.!
Keep writing!
In our world of late there have been distractions too numerous to catalogue: even if I could remember what they were.
So I thought it must be time to indulge in a Blogger's Tirade again.
Well, if you can't beat 'em..
Away we go with a recent item on a bad news day..
ASBOs.
Though I tend, like a High Court Judge when normal sex is mentioned, to need the advice of Learned Counsel on what it is all about, I gather that ASBO stands for Anti Social Behaviour Order.
Appears it is a sort of punishment dished out to recalcitrant yobs.
And it has now become a badge of honour among them.
Something to boast about.
Why?
Many people have to be automatic candidates for ASBOs.
Politicians: estate agents: lawyers?
Surely to boast of being issued with one is totally moronic.
But try telling that to the morons who do the boasting.
RIGHT ROYLE ENDING.
"Warning: Contains Spoilers!"
For box watchers there was a one-off final episode (allegedly) of The Royle Family.
All the regulars were back.
The script was as good as ever.
The acting was as good as ever.
They were all of them better than anything they were watching on tele.
When weren't they?
Then Gran (dear old Liz Smith) popped her clogs.
There was not a dry eye in the house.
AND A RIGHT ROWLING SEND OFF.
As a denouement there was a programme about the programme and everyone talked about how wonderful it was to be in it, to make it, to watch it.
(You know, like they do in all those cheerful docu-advert things.)
They even had my own favourite, the elusive J.K. Rowling, to talk about it.
I watched and all the time wondered.
Will J,K.s last Harry Potter story come out on 07.07.07?
That is the educated guess of many Potter fans.
Can't come soon enough for me.
Just keep writing, J.K.!
Keep writing!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
44. Foolproof - until some fool proves otherwise...
OVER-ZEALOUS RECORD KEEPING.
News this morning that Professor Sir Alec Jeffreys, University of Leicester(UK) inventor of DNA genetic fingerprinting, has expressed concern about the vast number of DNA records currently kept on file.
He was particularly concerned that many were of people innocent of any crime.
The DNA database in Britain is growing at a rate of 40,000 profiles a month.
With respect to ol' Bill Petersen and Co. (and to all the real CSI folk out there), I do worry a little about the possible flaws in any new identification system.
If the only flaw is over-zealous record keeping it is still a flaw.
It has been reported that our Prime Minister would like to see the whole country recorded on the DNA database.
He and his colleagues also talk of requiring every citizen to carry an identity card.
We had identity cards in the 39 - 45 war.
They were a waste of time then and they would be now..
So the Prime minister and his colleagues can bugger off.
The idea that any system could be foolproof worries me anyway.
A thing is only foolproof until some fool proves otherwise.
BLUE MURDER.
Concerned mother and cop Caroline Quentin is back on the box as DCI Janine Lewis in Blue Murder.
The title could be taken as a reflection on what the writers are trying to get away with.
It's OK as police shows go.
Very English.
Very Caroline.
I liked her better in Jonathan Creek.
CRIMINAL MINDS.
The boss in this is quirky cop Mandy Patinkin with his glasses on the end of his nose.
Don't think I've talked about it before.
May have done.
Can't remember.
There are so many of these cold case things.
Know I've talked about that before.
Anyway, it's very American.
Very Mandy.
And I liked him better when he was singing.
News this morning that Professor Sir Alec Jeffreys, University of Leicester(UK) inventor of DNA genetic fingerprinting, has expressed concern about the vast number of DNA records currently kept on file.
He was particularly concerned that many were of people innocent of any crime.
The DNA database in Britain is growing at a rate of 40,000 profiles a month.
With respect to ol' Bill Petersen and Co. (and to all the real CSI folk out there), I do worry a little about the possible flaws in any new identification system.
If the only flaw is over-zealous record keeping it is still a flaw.
It has been reported that our Prime Minister would like to see the whole country recorded on the DNA database.
He and his colleagues also talk of requiring every citizen to carry an identity card.
We had identity cards in the 39 - 45 war.
They were a waste of time then and they would be now..
So the Prime minister and his colleagues can bugger off.
The idea that any system could be foolproof worries me anyway.
A thing is only foolproof until some fool proves otherwise.
BLUE MURDER.
Concerned mother and cop Caroline Quentin is back on the box as DCI Janine Lewis in Blue Murder.
The title could be taken as a reflection on what the writers are trying to get away with.
It's OK as police shows go.
Very English.
Very Caroline.
I liked her better in Jonathan Creek.
CRIMINAL MINDS.
The boss in this is quirky cop Mandy Patinkin with his glasses on the end of his nose.
Don't think I've talked about it before.
May have done.
Can't remember.
There are so many of these cold case things.
Know I've talked about that before.
Anyway, it's very American.
Very Mandy.
And I liked him better when he was singing.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
43. Some actors don't
VINCENT.
Some actors obviously act.
Some actors don't seem to.
You couldn't have been Watching the Detectives during the past fortnight without watching Vincent.[ITV1).
Vincent is, of course, the splendid Ray Winstone.
Ray plays himself.
He always has.
As himself he is infinitely more watchable than any of the personae he is given to play.
Make no mistake about it:
Ray Winstone is a star.
And Vincent, played by Ray, is compelling.
REMEMBERING STARS,
To anybody of my age, the thirties and forties were awash with stars.
Larger than life people who lit up the screen in cinemas we frequented before television became the thing.
I talk of stars like Spencer Tracy, Ketherine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Gary Cooper and, later, Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, Julie Andrews, Marilyn Monroe, etc.
The big screen was full of them.
Their secret was that you did not go to watch So-and-So played by The Star.
You went to watch The Star playing So-and So.
People went to watch Bogie, Cagney, Edward G.,Fred and Ginger, Judy and Mickey...
If you are of the right sort of age, you name 'em.
These were the people who had a screen character tagged onto them as a sort of after-thought.
Nobody cared much who the character was.
I make an exception when it comes to Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe who was played by Dick Powell, Robert Montgomery, Humphrey Bogart, Elliot Gould et al and Leslie Charteris's The Saint who was played by Louis Hayward, Hugh Sinclair, George Sanders, Roger Moore, Ian Ogilvy and possibly others I am too old and too disinterested to remember...
There was also Edgar Rice Burroughs's Tarzan, though he, depicted as he was by many muscular - and some quite good - actors, will surely be best remembered as played by Johnny Weissmuller, a non-acting olympic swimmer.
The memorable character was the exception.
Mostly you just went to watch the star(s) of a film.
JUST A FEW STARS
By the same token, nowadays on television a few, just a few, actors are far bigger than the characters they play.
I don't know why.
You'll have your own opinion.
Suffice to say that if I knew how it is done I'd be rich and famous, too.
Some actors obviously act.
Some actors don't seem to.
You couldn't have been Watching the Detectives during the past fortnight without watching Vincent.[ITV1).
Vincent is, of course, the splendid Ray Winstone.
Ray plays himself.
He always has.
As himself he is infinitely more watchable than any of the personae he is given to play.
Make no mistake about it:
Ray Winstone is a star.
And Vincent, played by Ray, is compelling.
REMEMBERING STARS,
To anybody of my age, the thirties and forties were awash with stars.
Larger than life people who lit up the screen in cinemas we frequented before television became the thing.
I talk of stars like Spencer Tracy, Ketherine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Gary Cooper and, later, Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, Julie Andrews, Marilyn Monroe, etc.
The big screen was full of them.
Their secret was that you did not go to watch So-and-So played by The Star.
You went to watch The Star playing So-and So.
People went to watch Bogie, Cagney, Edward G.,Fred and Ginger, Judy and Mickey...
If you are of the right sort of age, you name 'em.
These were the people who had a screen character tagged onto them as a sort of after-thought.
Nobody cared much who the character was.
I make an exception when it comes to Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe who was played by Dick Powell, Robert Montgomery, Humphrey Bogart, Elliot Gould et al and Leslie Charteris's The Saint who was played by Louis Hayward, Hugh Sinclair, George Sanders, Roger Moore, Ian Ogilvy and possibly others I am too old and too disinterested to remember...
There was also Edgar Rice Burroughs's Tarzan, though he, depicted as he was by many muscular - and some quite good - actors, will surely be best remembered as played by Johnny Weissmuller, a non-acting olympic swimmer.
The memorable character was the exception.
Mostly you just went to watch the star(s) of a film.
JUST A FEW STARS
By the same token, nowadays on television a few, just a few, actors are far bigger than the characters they play.
I don't know why.
You'll have your own opinion.
Suffice to say that if I knew how it is done I'd be rich and famous, too.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
42. All systems GO!
LIKE WAITING FOR A BUS.
True to the famous Sod's law all the people we have been hoping to see for months have turned up at the same time today.
It has been a bit like when you've waited hours for a bus...
My Leader is away looking after grandson Ellis (18 months), a patented mischief maker.
She has missed the parade of luminaries starting with builders to put a rooflight in our windowless top floor back bedroom:
Waiting time for this has been right through all the sunniest weather in history.
The sky is now heavily overcast.
The job could have been done long ago, but this is a 'listed' building and the Pillocks in Power (aka The Planning Department) have been a bloody nuisance.
When aren't they?
Oh, we spoke to our Councillor - a patented chocolate fire guard - but he mouthed platitudes and disappeared in a puff of self-importance.
Now the government is talking of devolving more power to local councils.
But not to our council, surely?
Our council consists of a money grabbing bunch of planks.
It has far too much power already.
ANALOGUE v DIGITAL.
Next our mate and tele expert David arrived to fit us a second digi box so that we can at last view one digi station and record another at the same time.
We've waited since digital began for that.
Not his fault.
We thought you had no choice but to watch analogue if you were recording on digital.
Is that the right terminology, analogue and digital?
Who cares?
We just hadn't thought to ask him about it until now.
We now have four remote controls.
When I kick the bucket how will my lovely Leader manage?
Don't be daft.
Ellis will do it.
RING TELEPHONE RING.
Meanwhile, the phone keeps ringing.
It is some bright spark who insists that he wants to speak to 'Mrs.M.'
Seems 'Mr. D.' won't do.
I try not to be rude.
How rude do you have to be to get rid of these people?
And how the hell do they get our unlisted number?
True to the famous Sod's law all the people we have been hoping to see for months have turned up at the same time today.
It has been a bit like when you've waited hours for a bus...
My Leader is away looking after grandson Ellis (18 months), a patented mischief maker.
She has missed the parade of luminaries starting with builders to put a rooflight in our windowless top floor back bedroom:
Waiting time for this has been right through all the sunniest weather in history.
The sky is now heavily overcast.
The job could have been done long ago, but this is a 'listed' building and the Pillocks in Power (aka The Planning Department) have been a bloody nuisance.
When aren't they?
Oh, we spoke to our Councillor - a patented chocolate fire guard - but he mouthed platitudes and disappeared in a puff of self-importance.
Now the government is talking of devolving more power to local councils.
But not to our council, surely?
Our council consists of a money grabbing bunch of planks.
It has far too much power already.
ANALOGUE v DIGITAL.
Next our mate and tele expert David arrived to fit us a second digi box so that we can at last view one digi station and record another at the same time.
We've waited since digital began for that.
Not his fault.
We thought you had no choice but to watch analogue if you were recording on digital.
Is that the right terminology, analogue and digital?
Who cares?
We just hadn't thought to ask him about it until now.
We now have four remote controls.
When I kick the bucket how will my lovely Leader manage?
Don't be daft.
Ellis will do it.
RING TELEPHONE RING.
Meanwhile, the phone keeps ringing.
It is some bright spark who insists that he wants to speak to 'Mrs.M.'
Seems 'Mr. D.' won't do.
I try not to be rude.
How rude do you have to be to get rid of these people?
And how the hell do they get our unlisted number?
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
41. Breakfast/Wogan, Tea/Havers, Lunch/ Aunt Kate
MOVING TRIBUTE.
Breakfast With Wogan on Monday (BBC Radio 2, 7.30 - 9.30) was a moving tribute by Terry Wogan to his programmer and friend Paul Walters, who died at the weekend.
The tunes and performers were all 'Doctor Wally' favourites.
When it was over my Leader said: 'They should make that into a tribute CD and sell it for Children In Need.'
May not be practical.
But I thought it was a nice idea.
ANOTHER ACTOR'S MEMOIRS.
Another book of memoirs would you believe?
This time by Nigel Havers.
Didn't catch the title but he'll be on a few more chat shows (it was Paul O'Grady's tonight) so no doubt everyone will know what it's called before the week is out.
He talked of people he has met and I would have let it wash over me had he not mentioned Jessie Matthews.
Ms. Matthews was one of those frightfully affected singer/dancers of the thirties who in later years featured on the radio in Mrs. Dale's Diary.
AUNT KATE'S STORY.
I had an aunt living in Portsmouth, Aunt Kate, who in looks was Jessie Matthews' double.
And the older they became the more the likeness grew.
Aunt Kate always laughingly denied any similarity until, after my uncle died, an old friend, a widower who had done well in business, called her up and asked her out to lunch.
They went in his Bentley to The Queen's Hotel, Southsea.
Before and during the war all the top stars appearing at The Kings Theatre would stay there.
The maitre d. was most attentive and Aunt Kate thought perhaps it had something to do with her friend's impressive limousine.
Then, as they were leaving, the maitre d. said: 'It has been so nice to see you here again, Miss Matthews.'
Aunt Kate smiled, inclined her head and said: 'How kind. Thank you.'
Well, she opined later, it would have been impolite to have embarrassed the man.
It would have put a damper on his day.
And anyway, she had always liked Jessie Matthews.
Breakfast With Wogan on Monday (BBC Radio 2, 7.30 - 9.30) was a moving tribute by Terry Wogan to his programmer and friend Paul Walters, who died at the weekend.
The tunes and performers were all 'Doctor Wally' favourites.
When it was over my Leader said: 'They should make that into a tribute CD and sell it for Children In Need.'
May not be practical.
But I thought it was a nice idea.
ANOTHER ACTOR'S MEMOIRS.
Another book of memoirs would you believe?
This time by Nigel Havers.
Didn't catch the title but he'll be on a few more chat shows (it was Paul O'Grady's tonight) so no doubt everyone will know what it's called before the week is out.
He talked of people he has met and I would have let it wash over me had he not mentioned Jessie Matthews.
Ms. Matthews was one of those frightfully affected singer/dancers of the thirties who in later years featured on the radio in Mrs. Dale's Diary.
AUNT KATE'S STORY.
I had an aunt living in Portsmouth, Aunt Kate, who in looks was Jessie Matthews' double.
And the older they became the more the likeness grew.
Aunt Kate always laughingly denied any similarity until, after my uncle died, an old friend, a widower who had done well in business, called her up and asked her out to lunch.
They went in his Bentley to The Queen's Hotel, Southsea.
Before and during the war all the top stars appearing at The Kings Theatre would stay there.
The maitre d. was most attentive and Aunt Kate thought perhaps it had something to do with her friend's impressive limousine.
Then, as they were leaving, the maitre d. said: 'It has been so nice to see you here again, Miss Matthews.'
Aunt Kate smiled, inclined her head and said: 'How kind. Thank you.'
Well, she opined later, it would have been impolite to have embarrassed the man.
It would have put a damper on his day.
And anyway, she had always liked Jessie Matthews.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
40. Guilty as charged - almost.
WELL, SHE'S USUALLY RIGHT.
I am still floundering disgracefully with this blog lark and have just managed to:
(1) publish a post with only the title written on it,
(2) finish up with two titles on the previous post and
(3) erase my next effort half way through.
When I first started (somewhen in July) I remember writing that
The Independent columnist Yasmin Alibhai-Brown wondered why bloggers wrote at such length.
Why did they do it at all?
Would they not be better occupied reading?
Making love?
Watching television?
Well, she's usually right.
And the answer had to be: of course they would.
I recollect pointing out as a personal defence, however, that I read all the time, am sadly of an age when making love is more often wishful thinking than wild abandon and that I spend far, far too much time watching television anyway.
SO WHY DO I MENTION THIS NOW?
Because when I managed to lose the blog/post/whatever that I talked about recently, I lost my reply to Yasmin A-B.
And I thought it wasn't a bad one for an oldy.
I stand guilty as charged - almost.
So Samuel Johnson rightly said: 'No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.'
But he could never have forsaken writing.
A writer writes, come what may.
There is no law to say that anybody has to read it.
Best wishes, Yasmin A-B.
They broke the mould...
Though I doubt you'll read it here.
I am still floundering disgracefully with this blog lark and have just managed to:
(1) publish a post with only the title written on it,
(2) finish up with two titles on the previous post and
(3) erase my next effort half way through.
When I first started (somewhen in July) I remember writing that
The Independent columnist Yasmin Alibhai-Brown wondered why bloggers wrote at such length.
Why did they do it at all?
Would they not be better occupied reading?
Making love?
Watching television?
Well, she's usually right.
And the answer had to be: of course they would.
I recollect pointing out as a personal defence, however, that I read all the time, am sadly of an age when making love is more often wishful thinking than wild abandon and that I spend far, far too much time watching television anyway.
SO WHY DO I MENTION THIS NOW?
Because when I managed to lose the blog/post/whatever that I talked about recently, I lost my reply to Yasmin A-B.
And I thought it wasn't a bad one for an oldy.
I stand guilty as charged - almost.
So Samuel Johnson rightly said: 'No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.'
But he could never have forsaken writing.
A writer writes, come what may.
There is no law to say that anybody has to read it.
Best wishes, Yasmin A-B.
They broke the mould...
Though I doubt you'll read it here.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
39. A little light editing
ENOUGH WORK FOR ONE DAY.
I went for it a couple of days back.
Did a little light editing.
It was quite enough work for one day.
Went through the lot.
Tried to make my words look slightly less like squeezed up blocks compressed into their Posting boxes and scared to break out.
Tried to modify any fulsome praise, too.
Fulsome praise is just not British.
This is the first bit of scribbling I've done since.
I was knackered.
ABSCONDED?
Funny thing is, I seem to have lost my first attempt at a blog.
I think it may have said something uncomplimentary about my local council.
They, like the power-mad everywhere, are a bunch of tossers.
I know it finished inviting any of you who cared to look in occasionally to do so, but if you didn't, sod it, who cared?
Anyway it's gone.
You don't think the Blogmaster could have censored it, do you?
Na-a-ah. I expect it just absconded.
THOSE DAUNTLESS TRIPPERS.
Joy of joys!
Unscathed by forward Frenchmen or bombs in Bali those dauntless trippers Claire and Lara are still TrippingOnWords.
It seems they are together again in Mongolia, or some such place where The Hordes gather.
Whatever.
It still sounds dangerous to me.
But walking in our little town is dangerous since the council introduced a bus lane the flow of which runs contrary to that of all the other traffic.
Beware local council planning, kids.
Otherwise, keep tripping.
My vow to read the last Harry Potter book and see all the films before I kick the bucket is now equalled only by my determination to see your intrepid travels through to a glorious conclusion.
CSI: MIAMI.
It was the fourteenth episode of a twenty five parter in series four.
A pair of film students had written a screenplay which mirrored unbelievable murders.
Who on earth convinced the watchable David Caruso to adopt that ludicrous affectation with the sunglasses?
Whoever.
Obviously tossers aren't the prerogative of local councils.
I went for it a couple of days back.
Did a little light editing.
It was quite enough work for one day.
Went through the lot.
Tried to make my words look slightly less like squeezed up blocks compressed into their Posting boxes and scared to break out.
Tried to modify any fulsome praise, too.
Fulsome praise is just not British.
This is the first bit of scribbling I've done since.
I was knackered.
ABSCONDED?
Funny thing is, I seem to have lost my first attempt at a blog.
I think it may have said something uncomplimentary about my local council.
They, like the power-mad everywhere, are a bunch of tossers.
I know it finished inviting any of you who cared to look in occasionally to do so, but if you didn't, sod it, who cared?
Anyway it's gone.
You don't think the Blogmaster could have censored it, do you?
Na-a-ah. I expect it just absconded.
THOSE DAUNTLESS TRIPPERS.
Joy of joys!
Unscathed by forward Frenchmen or bombs in Bali those dauntless trippers Claire and Lara are still TrippingOnWords.
It seems they are together again in Mongolia, or some such place where The Hordes gather.
Whatever.
It still sounds dangerous to me.
But walking in our little town is dangerous since the council introduced a bus lane the flow of which runs contrary to that of all the other traffic.
Beware local council planning, kids.
Otherwise, keep tripping.
My vow to read the last Harry Potter book and see all the films before I kick the bucket is now equalled only by my determination to see your intrepid travels through to a glorious conclusion.
CSI: MIAMI.
It was the fourteenth episode of a twenty five parter in series four.
A pair of film students had written a screenplay which mirrored unbelievable murders.
Who on earth convinced the watchable David Caruso to adopt that ludicrous affectation with the sunglasses?
Whoever.
Obviously tossers aren't the prerogative of local councils.
Monday, October 16, 2006
38. Nothing's really new
COLD CASE NO NEW TRICKS.
I blame my Leader. There's a thing called Cold Case on Sky Three (FREEVIEW) and she heard about it from who knows who or where. It is about a team of detectives who investigate defunct cases.
Have to admit I was sceptical. Any tele show that is on digital when you first hear about it is like any film that has gone straight to DVD or any DVD that is free with a newspaper. Suspect.
Well, we gave it a try. The first episode we watched was full of flashbacks and meaningful glares. Ah well...
Nothing's really new anyway.
NEW TRICKS SAME COLD CASE.
It helped not if you compared it with New Tricks.
New Tricks had the female boss played by Amanda Redman and the bunch of old detectives played by Alun Armstrong, James Bolam and Dennis Waterman. They investigated abandoned cases.
They were successful. Dennis Waterman's singing was less so.
AND ALL A DEAD END.
Much the same trick was performed years ago by a writer called Roy Vickers with his Department of Dead Ends books.
I was much younger then so to my mind he did it better.
And he didn't have Dennis singing.
THE VACILLATIONS OF POPPY CAREW.
This DVD was obtained via a coupon in my Leader's newspaper. Yeah, I know.
Seems it was originally a television adaptation of the story by Mary Wesley.
It starred Tara Fitzgerald as Poppy with a splendid bunch of co-stars including the inspired casting of Sian Phillips as Calypso, a favourite Mary Wesley character.
Sadly it lacked the unique Wesley writing. She could make the most bizarre situation believable. Invariably did, too. It's hard to capture such magic on film.
Heck, it was gratis and we rather enjoyed it.
PRIME SUSPECT - the FINAL ACT.
We saw this first of a two part thriller which brings back Helen Mirren as Detective Superintendent Jane Tennyson for the last time (allegedly).
It is a harrowing story in which Jane is facing the prospect of a bleak retirement as a lonely alcoholic and it bears no resemblance whatsoever to that of the many retired police officers I know.
Most of them seem to enjoy themselves whether they be re-employed in security work or jobless and constantly holidaying.
Never mind, forget the flaws, on film Mirren is magic.
I blame my Leader. There's a thing called Cold Case on Sky Three (FREEVIEW) and she heard about it from who knows who or where. It is about a team of detectives who investigate defunct cases.
Have to admit I was sceptical. Any tele show that is on digital when you first hear about it is like any film that has gone straight to DVD or any DVD that is free with a newspaper. Suspect.
Well, we gave it a try. The first episode we watched was full of flashbacks and meaningful glares. Ah well...
Nothing's really new anyway.
NEW TRICKS SAME COLD CASE.
It helped not if you compared it with New Tricks.
New Tricks had the female boss played by Amanda Redman and the bunch of old detectives played by Alun Armstrong, James Bolam and Dennis Waterman. They investigated abandoned cases.
They were successful. Dennis Waterman's singing was less so.
AND ALL A DEAD END.
Much the same trick was performed years ago by a writer called Roy Vickers with his Department of Dead Ends books.
I was much younger then so to my mind he did it better.
And he didn't have Dennis singing.
THE VACILLATIONS OF POPPY CAREW.
This DVD was obtained via a coupon in my Leader's newspaper. Yeah, I know.
Seems it was originally a television adaptation of the story by Mary Wesley.
It starred Tara Fitzgerald as Poppy with a splendid bunch of co-stars including the inspired casting of Sian Phillips as Calypso, a favourite Mary Wesley character.
Sadly it lacked the unique Wesley writing. She could make the most bizarre situation believable. Invariably did, too. It's hard to capture such magic on film.
Heck, it was gratis and we rather enjoyed it.
PRIME SUSPECT - the FINAL ACT.
We saw this first of a two part thriller which brings back Helen Mirren as Detective Superintendent Jane Tennyson for the last time (allegedly).
It is a harrowing story in which Jane is facing the prospect of a bleak retirement as a lonely alcoholic and it bears no resemblance whatsoever to that of the many retired police officers I know.
Most of them seem to enjoy themselves whether they be re-employed in security work or jobless and constantly holidaying.
Never mind, forget the flaws, on film Mirren is magic.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
37. A bit of a week
RUSTY WIRE AT THE END.
Wire In The Blood finished on Wednesday evening with forensic psychologist Robson Green being suspected of making that way-back-in-the-past mistake which may have put an innocent man in prison.
Sound familiar? Yep, it was of course the stock mistake which all TV heroes are suspected of making when plot lines are thin in any crime series. One gained the impression that the wire could be getting a bit rusty.
There was a far-fetched but ingenious get-out for our hero, however, and by my marking system this episode of Scriptwriters v Robson ended in a draw.
I hope ol' Robson will be back, though - if only to show two fingers to Ricky Gervais.
CROATIA v ENGLAND.
The result of the other match of the evening was forecast by the cat Shadow who ate his supper and departed through the catflap with the comment: 'I'm off. It'll be a win for the home side. You might as well go to bed.'
I didn't stay up.
HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU.
Gordon Ramsay was guest host in the first of a new series of this popular programme.
Clearly nervous and presumably warned to moderate his language, he struggled manfully as Paul Merton performed the hatchet job he does so well on all guest hosts.
I was again reminded that no matter how famous I was, or how much my agent thought we needed the money, nothing on earth would persuade me to take on the task of hosting this show.
So why do I think that neither Paul Merton nor Ian Hislop will ever accept an invitation to be a guest cook in Gordon Ramsay's kitchen?
Wire In The Blood finished on Wednesday evening with forensic psychologist Robson Green being suspected of making that way-back-in-the-past mistake which may have put an innocent man in prison.
Sound familiar? Yep, it was of course the stock mistake which all TV heroes are suspected of making when plot lines are thin in any crime series. One gained the impression that the wire could be getting a bit rusty.
There was a far-fetched but ingenious get-out for our hero, however, and by my marking system this episode of Scriptwriters v Robson ended in a draw.
I hope ol' Robson will be back, though - if only to show two fingers to Ricky Gervais.
CROATIA v ENGLAND.
The result of the other match of the evening was forecast by the cat Shadow who ate his supper and departed through the catflap with the comment: 'I'm off. It'll be a win for the home side. You might as well go to bed.'
I didn't stay up.
HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU.
Gordon Ramsay was guest host in the first of a new series of this popular programme.
Clearly nervous and presumably warned to moderate his language, he struggled manfully as Paul Merton performed the hatchet job he does so well on all guest hosts.
I was again reminded that no matter how famous I was, or how much my agent thought we needed the money, nothing on earth would persuade me to take on the task of hosting this show.
So why do I think that neither Paul Merton nor Ian Hislop will ever accept an invitation to be a guest cook in Gordon Ramsay's kitchen?
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
36. The easy way out.
MY NEXT GUEST IS ANOTHER BOOK SELLER.
It is book plugging time again and the box has been awash with chat show guests encouraged to appear not because they adore Parky, or are lifelong friends of Paul O'Grady, or cannot resist the charms of Fern and Philip, but because they each have a book to sell.
This, of course, is publishers taking the easy way out. It is not new. Most of them have always believed that publicity costs too much. For years the lazy bastards simply cajoled their authors into traipsing around booksellers signing copies of the latest masterpiece. It was cheaper than mounting a publicity campaign.
Then came television and the dawning of yet another way to make an easy buck.
Take on only writers who are instantly recognizable to their adoring public. Actors, sportsmen and television celebrities are favourites.
Put their name and photograph on a book cover (whether they have actually written the thing or not) and get their agent to book them onto a nice friendly chat show.
Finally, sit back like an estate agent and wait for the money to pour in.
THE WEEK'S NOTABLES.
This week's chat show notables have been Jack Osbourne, a frequently silly boy who has become a thoroughly worthwhile young man, and Australian writer Clive James, a dryly caustic film critic who later spoilt his image by interviewing the singer Frank Sinatra in the most embarrassingly respectful way.
Clive was plugging his book. Jack was doing the same.
Well, you can't blame them, can you. Once the book is published, their publishers won't be doing much.
J.K.Rowling's publishers seem to be the exception.
But then so is J.K. Rowling.
It is book plugging time again and the box has been awash with chat show guests encouraged to appear not because they adore Parky, or are lifelong friends of Paul O'Grady, or cannot resist the charms of Fern and Philip, but because they each have a book to sell.
This, of course, is publishers taking the easy way out. It is not new. Most of them have always believed that publicity costs too much. For years the lazy bastards simply cajoled their authors into traipsing around booksellers signing copies of the latest masterpiece. It was cheaper than mounting a publicity campaign.
Then came television and the dawning of yet another way to make an easy buck.
Take on only writers who are instantly recognizable to their adoring public. Actors, sportsmen and television celebrities are favourites.
Put their name and photograph on a book cover (whether they have actually written the thing or not) and get their agent to book them onto a nice friendly chat show.
Finally, sit back like an estate agent and wait for the money to pour in.
THE WEEK'S NOTABLES.
This week's chat show notables have been Jack Osbourne, a frequently silly boy who has become a thoroughly worthwhile young man, and Australian writer Clive James, a dryly caustic film critic who later spoilt his image by interviewing the singer Frank Sinatra in the most embarrassingly respectful way.
Clive was plugging his book. Jack was doing the same.
Well, you can't blame them, can you. Once the book is published, their publishers won't be doing much.
J.K.Rowling's publishers seem to be the exception.
But then so is J.K. Rowling.
Monday, October 09, 2006
35. So that was the weekend.
ENGLAND v MACEDONIA SATURDAY 7TH OCTOBER
At about twenty past six in the evening the cat Shadow demanded his dinner.
I went to the kitchen and fed him. I couldn't see any likelehood of a goal being scored in my absence.
By half past six he was pushing his way out through the catflap.
'You're going then,' I shouted, needlessly. 'I thought the Macedonians were quite good.'
'No they weren't,' he shouted back. 'The English team was rubbish.'
Oh dear...
NCIS.
Also on Saturday, Channel 5 screened another couple of episodes of this well scripted series.
A regular member of the excellent cast is English actor David McCallum.
Those old enough to remember the sixties will remember him in a series called The Man From Uncle.
In NCIS he plays a character with the unlikely name of Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard and the best line of an episode called The Meat Puzzle was given to team boss Gibbs (Mark Harmon).
When team member Caitlin (Sasha Alexander)asked him: 'What do you think Ducky would have looked like when he was young, Gibbs?'
Gibbs replied: 'Ilya Kuryakin.'
I was transported back forty years.
Nice one, script writers.
WHAT WE DID ON OUR HOLIDAYS.
The acting was outstanding in this morose drama and I speak as one who has always regarded Shane Richie as something of an unfrocked redcoat.
He and his co-stars worked their (probably rather sweaty) socks off in the Malta sun.
They won.
The end was a shocker.
Roger Lloyd Pack had the pivotal part and made the most of it.
At about twenty past six in the evening the cat Shadow demanded his dinner.
I went to the kitchen and fed him. I couldn't see any likelehood of a goal being scored in my absence.
By half past six he was pushing his way out through the catflap.
'You're going then,' I shouted, needlessly. 'I thought the Macedonians were quite good.'
'No they weren't,' he shouted back. 'The English team was rubbish.'
Oh dear...
NCIS.
Also on Saturday, Channel 5 screened another couple of episodes of this well scripted series.
A regular member of the excellent cast is English actor David McCallum.
Those old enough to remember the sixties will remember him in a series called The Man From Uncle.
In NCIS he plays a character with the unlikely name of Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard and the best line of an episode called The Meat Puzzle was given to team boss Gibbs (Mark Harmon).
When team member Caitlin (Sasha Alexander)asked him: 'What do you think Ducky would have looked like when he was young, Gibbs?'
Gibbs replied: 'Ilya Kuryakin.'
I was transported back forty years.
Nice one, script writers.
WHAT WE DID ON OUR HOLIDAYS.
The acting was outstanding in this morose drama and I speak as one who has always regarded Shane Richie as something of an unfrocked redcoat.
He and his co-stars worked their (probably rather sweaty) socks off in the Malta sun.
They won.
The end was a shocker.
Roger Lloyd Pack had the pivotal part and made the most of it.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
34. Blessed is the man...
HORSES FOR COURSES ETC.
Way back around 1974 I was on a Management Training Course at Willie Rathbone Staff College in Liverpool.
Suffice it to say I was not really the right horse for that particular course.
My fellow course members were all hospital management and I was employed by a committee which dealt solely with general practitioners, dentists, chemists and opticians.
In other words, I was the lone outsider.
Eventually, at a 'brainstorming' session where these bright hospital managers sat around in a circle (which included me and - praise be - an Irish nun from a nursing order), a weighty matter pertaining to hospital procedure was discussed.
Everybody put a sensible contribution into the collective think tank until it came to me.
I had to admit that I had nothing to contribute.
My fellow team members seemed to have said just about everything and my zero experience of hospital administration left me with nothing to add.
The Irish nursing nun sat on the other side of the circle directly opposite me and her eyes twinkled:
'Ah Dennis,' she said gently, 'blessed is the man who has nothing to say - and doesn't say it!'
I do wish I could remember that lovely Sister's name. People like her deserve to be cherished by their God.
A CAT FOR FOOTBALL.
I am going to finish twittering on now.
Match of the Day Live, England v Macedonia is coming later.
I must prepare for the cat Shadow (named after the Cliff Richard backing group - don't ask) and I to watch it.
My Leader is at work but will be home before the match starts and will expect lunch. I'm buying fish and chips. I don't need to cook it and the cat will enjoy a share.
Oh, he'll sleep through the football but he'll be full of opinion when it's over.
Not if it's rubbish, though.
If it's rubbish he'll stalk out through the catflap and not come back until tomorrow morning.
Way back around 1974 I was on a Management Training Course at Willie Rathbone Staff College in Liverpool.
Suffice it to say I was not really the right horse for that particular course.
My fellow course members were all hospital management and I was employed by a committee which dealt solely with general practitioners, dentists, chemists and opticians.
In other words, I was the lone outsider.
Eventually, at a 'brainstorming' session where these bright hospital managers sat around in a circle (which included me and - praise be - an Irish nun from a nursing order), a weighty matter pertaining to hospital procedure was discussed.
Everybody put a sensible contribution into the collective think tank until it came to me.
I had to admit that I had nothing to contribute.
My fellow team members seemed to have said just about everything and my zero experience of hospital administration left me with nothing to add.
The Irish nursing nun sat on the other side of the circle directly opposite me and her eyes twinkled:
'Ah Dennis,' she said gently, 'blessed is the man who has nothing to say - and doesn't say it!'
I do wish I could remember that lovely Sister's name. People like her deserve to be cherished by their God.
A CAT FOR FOOTBALL.
I am going to finish twittering on now.
Match of the Day Live, England v Macedonia is coming later.
I must prepare for the cat Shadow (named after the Cliff Richard backing group - don't ask) and I to watch it.
My Leader is at work but will be home before the match starts and will expect lunch. I'm buying fish and chips. I don't need to cook it and the cat will enjoy a share.
Oh, he'll sleep through the football but he'll be full of opinion when it's over.
Not if it's rubbish, though.
If it's rubbish he'll stalk out through the catflap and not come back until tomorrow morning.
Friday, October 06, 2006
33. Amidst the repeats
TIME FOR A READ.
There has been the customary ragbag of repeats on the box - especially on the digi stations - so I have taken the opportunity to do a little light reading and catching up on gossip.
Cannot be absolutely sure but did I glean the news that TrippingOnWords Claire and Lara are parting company, albeit temporarily, one for France and the other for Bali? [Avoid the intentions of most men in France, Claire. Avoid any unattended parcels in Bali, Lara.]
Did I gather, too, that they have been receiving rather more male mail than female mail and would welcome a bit of a reversal in that department?
[Sorry, can't help there. I'm sure they have long ago perfected a technique for sifting the genuine article - both sexes - from the avoid-at-any-costs crank. Or should I be so naive as to believe there will be none of the latter creeping around Blogland?]
Anyway, I wish them an elderly Englishman's very best wishes and look forward to reading more of their adventures when they reunite.
Over the past couple of days I have been reading 'Red Carpets and other banana skins,' by the actor Rupert Everett.
In a world where many celebrities rely on the services of a 'ghost writer' in order to feign a vestige of literacy it is good to find an actor who appears to have personally written his autobiography. He comes across as outspoken, mostly genial and unafraid of authority in any form. He writes well.
He is also a damned good actor.
THE OUTSIDERS.
The new detectives this week were The Outsiders. Trouble is, it did not come across as all that new. Blink and you could have been watching Callan or Harry Palmer or James Bond or almost any other anti-hero of recent years.
Considering I was warned of this, by Radio Times tele writer Jane Rackham no less, I probably should have avoided it. I didn't and of course I quite enjoyed it. Well, I am used to repeats after all.
WIRE IN THE BLOOD.
Good ol' Robson Green versus the scriptwriters again. The scriptwriters put up a pretty good showing in this 3rd of a 4 part series.
But I now make it 3 - 0 to Robson.
Oh, the 'other one' mentioned a couple of times recently was Jerome Flynn. He and Robson surfaced in the early nineteen nineties in a television series called 'Soldier, Soldier.' Last seen he was doing a one-man show playing the part of Tommy Cooper and doing it brilliantly.
What talent these young blokes have.
There has been the customary ragbag of repeats on the box - especially on the digi stations - so I have taken the opportunity to do a little light reading and catching up on gossip.
Cannot be absolutely sure but did I glean the news that TrippingOnWords Claire and Lara are parting company, albeit temporarily, one for France and the other for Bali? [Avoid the intentions of most men in France, Claire. Avoid any unattended parcels in Bali, Lara.]
Did I gather, too, that they have been receiving rather more male mail than female mail and would welcome a bit of a reversal in that department?
[Sorry, can't help there. I'm sure they have long ago perfected a technique for sifting the genuine article - both sexes - from the avoid-at-any-costs crank. Or should I be so naive as to believe there will be none of the latter creeping around Blogland?]
Anyway, I wish them an elderly Englishman's very best wishes and look forward to reading more of their adventures when they reunite.
Over the past couple of days I have been reading 'Red Carpets and other banana skins,' by the actor Rupert Everett.
In a world where many celebrities rely on the services of a 'ghost writer' in order to feign a vestige of literacy it is good to find an actor who appears to have personally written his autobiography. He comes across as outspoken, mostly genial and unafraid of authority in any form. He writes well.
He is also a damned good actor.
THE OUTSIDERS.
The new detectives this week were The Outsiders. Trouble is, it did not come across as all that new. Blink and you could have been watching Callan or Harry Palmer or James Bond or almost any other anti-hero of recent years.
Considering I was warned of this, by Radio Times tele writer Jane Rackham no less, I probably should have avoided it. I didn't and of course I quite enjoyed it. Well, I am used to repeats after all.
WIRE IN THE BLOOD.
Good ol' Robson Green versus the scriptwriters again. The scriptwriters put up a pretty good showing in this 3rd of a 4 part series.
But I now make it 3 - 0 to Robson.
Oh, the 'other one' mentioned a couple of times recently was Jerome Flynn. He and Robson surfaced in the early nineteen nineties in a television series called 'Soldier, Soldier.' Last seen he was doing a one-man show playing the part of Tommy Cooper and doing it brilliantly.
What talent these young blokes have.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
32. Totally unreal reality
CHEAP TELE.
If you by chance are the rumoured reader - and are also a fan/devotee/supporter of reality television shows - look away now.
I think they are crap.
Cheap tele.
An abomination.
I am convinced that some Shareholders' Darling at the top of the television ladder sought out the cheapest load of bilge conceivable and snapped it up for the delectation of the most cheaply pleased audience.
Totally unreal reality for the totally uncritical viewer.
I never could warm to the television cook ('chef' be buggered) 'teaching' squirming tyros - nobodies or self-styled celebrities - by bawling obscenities at them.
I was equally appalled as people who should have been repaid with a very hard slap made sneering remarks about the lack of dancing/singing/skating/love-making-ability or whatever of other human beings. And all in the name of 'good television?'
Among the most useless tools are reality television judges.
Latest to grace our screens have been a previously unheard of 'chef' and a greengrocer who, after an apparently successful first series of yet another MasterChef show, miraculously transformed into a 'nutrition and dietary expert.'
No, sorry, cannot stand it.
Cannot stand waiting the long, long, interminably long seconds ('It's good television.' Bollocks!)to find out who has been knocked out, kicked off, or even won, either.
I'll just stick to the stuff done by professionals, thank you.
SPOOKS.
Now this is a very professional job. Frighteningly so at times. All the intelligence types are at each others' throats and all the politicians are murderous bastards.
Total reality really.
I believe it.
If you by chance are the rumoured reader - and are also a fan/devotee/supporter of reality television shows - look away now.
I think they are crap.
Cheap tele.
An abomination.
I am convinced that some Shareholders' Darling at the top of the television ladder sought out the cheapest load of bilge conceivable and snapped it up for the delectation of the most cheaply pleased audience.
Totally unreal reality for the totally uncritical viewer.
I never could warm to the television cook ('chef' be buggered) 'teaching' squirming tyros - nobodies or self-styled celebrities - by bawling obscenities at them.
I was equally appalled as people who should have been repaid with a very hard slap made sneering remarks about the lack of dancing/singing/skating/love-making-ability or whatever of other human beings. And all in the name of 'good television?'
Among the most useless tools are reality television judges.
Latest to grace our screens have been a previously unheard of 'chef' and a greengrocer who, after an apparently successful first series of yet another MasterChef show, miraculously transformed into a 'nutrition and dietary expert.'
No, sorry, cannot stand it.
Cannot stand waiting the long, long, interminably long seconds ('It's good television.' Bollocks!)to find out who has been knocked out, kicked off, or even won, either.
I'll just stick to the stuff done by professionals, thank you.
SPOOKS.
Now this is a very professional job. Frighteningly so at times. All the intelligence types are at each others' throats and all the politicians are murderous bastards.
Total reality really.
I believe it.
Monday, October 02, 2006
31. Where seldon is sought an original thought...
NCIS AGAIN - AND AGAIN.
Yes, on Saturday NCIS was back again and again. I suppose putting on two episodes consecutively saves the programme planners the need to think too hard and speeds along the process of screening all 23 episodes in the series before public interest collapses.
However, despite varied plots and a mostly likeable cast - even Mark Harmon's haircut acts better with each episode - this does come across as shoddy planning.
I once had a boss who should have been a television programme planner. He never aspired to an original thought in his entire life. He just took other people's ideas and peddled them as his own. To the sort of gullible prat who can be found on every committee he was mightily impressive. When he was finally rumbled there was no shortage of sackcloth and ashes.
It was all a long time ago. Had it happened recently I would have advised him to train as a television planner.
Now, where was I? Oh yes...
AFTERLIFE.
Lesley Sharp and Andrew Lincoln make this dark drama unmissable whether you believe in the paranormal or not. I'm hooked and I was brought up to believe that if you can't see it, it isn't there.
CRACKER.
Last night it was the highly publicised one-off return of Robbie Coltrane as Jimmy McGovern's Fitz.
I believe in fictional criminal psychologists, profilers etc. about as much as I believe in fictional amateur detectives like Sherlock Holmes, Lord Peter Wimsey and Hercule Poirot.
But when the writer is a master craftsman and the leading actor is so talented you just have to shelve your disbelief. This was an absolute Cracker.
Yes, on Saturday NCIS was back again and again. I suppose putting on two episodes consecutively saves the programme planners the need to think too hard and speeds along the process of screening all 23 episodes in the series before public interest collapses.
However, despite varied plots and a mostly likeable cast - even Mark Harmon's haircut acts better with each episode - this does come across as shoddy planning.
I once had a boss who should have been a television programme planner. He never aspired to an original thought in his entire life. He just took other people's ideas and peddled them as his own. To the sort of gullible prat who can be found on every committee he was mightily impressive. When he was finally rumbled there was no shortage of sackcloth and ashes.
It was all a long time ago. Had it happened recently I would have advised him to train as a television planner.
Now, where was I? Oh yes...
AFTERLIFE.
Lesley Sharp and Andrew Lincoln make this dark drama unmissable whether you believe in the paranormal or not. I'm hooked and I was brought up to believe that if you can't see it, it isn't there.
CRACKER.
Last night it was the highly publicised one-off return of Robbie Coltrane as Jimmy McGovern's Fitz.
I believe in fictional criminal psychologists, profilers etc. about as much as I believe in fictional amateur detectives like Sherlock Holmes, Lord Peter Wimsey and Hercule Poirot.
But when the writer is a master craftsman and the leading actor is so talented you just have to shelve your disbelief. This was an absolute Cracker.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
30. A bright star almost missed.
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)