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.
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