ANNUAL OVERSEAS JAUNT SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED.
Yes, another annual jaunt has been successfully completed. My Leader and I and granddaughter Jess went abroad again.
Same exotic location as last year: Cornwall। Visited daughter-in-law Pauline and son Neil। Basked in their warm welcome, in the sublime scenery of The Lizard and in the joy of once more meeting our friends, Anne and Peter, who have almost reached the completion of their stunning new home at Mylor, Falmouth (above).
Yes, another annual jaunt has been successfully completed. My Leader and I and granddaughter Jess went abroad again.
Same exotic location as last year: Cornwall। Visited daughter-in-law Pauline and son Neil। Basked in their warm welcome, in the sublime scenery of The Lizard and in the joy of once more meeting our friends, Anne and Peter, who have almost reached the completion of their stunning new home at Mylor, Falmouth (above).
Pauline and Neil have not been idle, either. The building of their art studio is practically finished and will provide the perfect facility for Pauline to resume her pottery business and for Neil to continue with the painting and allied art work which has been his gift since early school days.
Our journeys to and fro were uneventful: the modified A30 is a joy.
We stopped at a Little Chef in Winterbourne Abbas, Dorchester, on the way down for a couple of all day breakfasts - masquerading as Early Starters - and a baked potato with cheese for Jess (her choice).
The staff were young and friendly and efficient. They provided a takeaway container for Jess's unfinished Fanta drink and we departed full of goodwill and unaccustomed fried bread.
On the way back the following week we stopped off at the Little Chef, Shute, Axminster, for drinks and were impressed not only by the concern to please of the young staff but by the impeccable cleanliness of the place. Current owners of Little Chef please note that a fresh coat of paint on the outside of the building and attention to doors in the Ladies from which the old locks have been removed to be replaced by bolts (my wife commented) is all that needs to be done to make this spotless establishment absolutely top grade.
We enjoyed the break and returned refreshed. The roads in and from Cornwall were pristine. Wightlink gently ferried us across to the Island where we ruefully reflected that had we been kidnapped and blindfolded we would instantly have known to where we had been taken: the roads here are a disgrace.
HOME AGAIN.
When we came across the courtyard from the garage we were amused to find the cat Shadow and his pal Manners waiting in the kitchen like a reception party. Manners departed right away. He still knows me as that man who used to ask: "Wotter-youdoin'ere?" in an unfriendly voice. My subsequent blandishments have been rejected. Quite right too.
Shadow ate a hearty meal (leaving just enough for Manners to see off later) and took root on my lap for the evening. He can't be having with all that indignant at being left business.
I switched on the computer the following day to find a load of e-mails including pleasant comment about the last blog stuff from John (Anonymous) A.
Thanks again, John, you're such a nice change from all the invitations to buy stuff!
MATCH OF THE DAY LIVE - ENGLAND v GERMANY (BBC1)
Twenty minutes before the end, with England trailing 1 - 2, the cat Shadow stood pointedly by the front door.
It was an unnecessary question but I had to ask it: "You want to go out...now?"
"Why not?" he said. "There'll be nothing more to see here."
"But England could still manage a draw," I ventured, unconvincingly.
"Not them. They couldn't score if all the Germans were sent off."
"It's a friendly, though. Steve McClaren's still trying people out."
"It's never a friendly against Germany," he said. "They come here for an unfriendly. And as for trying people out, there are probably less than half a dozen worthwhile English strikers in the entire Premiership. Two of them, Owen and Rooney, spend more time on the physio's table than they do on the field. Be real, man, the current England team is relying on midfielders to score goals. It prays that Becks will do something special. If he doesn't, it doesn't. Tonight he didn't."
"Well that all sounds positively negative," I said.
"Sad but true. We're very good losers. We'll get nowhere until we became very bad losers."
"You really are a rotten sport," I growled.
"That's right," he said. "But I usually win. Now kindly open the bloody door."
ROBBIE COLTRANE: B-ROAD BRITAIN (ITV1)
This is another of those "extract the urine from a celebrity" documentary series in which the powers behind a television programme put a well-known and probably unsuspecting public figure through a series of mostly pointless, frequently undignified and often personally frightening experiences. For what? Because they imagine it to be good television?
Robbie Coltrane (the giant Hagrid in the Harry Potter films if you are an immigrant from outer space) drives around the B-roads in a fifties open-topped Jaguar. He is a big man who seems to have some difficulty getting about once he leaves the car. He remains affable and professional, however, whatever nonsense he is called upon to attempt.
I think he has suffered this particular nonsense for long enough now. He should take the Director and the Producer to one side and fall on them.
MIDSOMER MURDERS (ITV1)
Yesterday I was reminded again of daughter Roz's assertion that she would not set up home within fifty miles of Cabot Cove or Midsomer.
Midsomer Murders was back with a repeat of a programme entitled The Straw Woman. It contained the usual helping of far-fetched killings, religious weirdos, village bigots, the slightly breathless Tom Barnaby, a slightly lovesick DS Scott, and Doc Bullard played by Barry Jackson. For good measure, Keith Barron was in it, too.
Daft but still watchable.
Our journeys to and fro were uneventful: the modified A30 is a joy.
We stopped at a Little Chef in Winterbourne Abbas, Dorchester, on the way down for a couple of all day breakfasts - masquerading as Early Starters - and a baked potato with cheese for Jess (her choice).
The staff were young and friendly and efficient. They provided a takeaway container for Jess's unfinished Fanta drink and we departed full of goodwill and unaccustomed fried bread.
On the way back the following week we stopped off at the Little Chef, Shute, Axminster, for drinks and were impressed not only by the concern to please of the young staff but by the impeccable cleanliness of the place. Current owners of Little Chef please note that a fresh coat of paint on the outside of the building and attention to doors in the Ladies from which the old locks have been removed to be replaced by bolts (my wife commented) is all that needs to be done to make this spotless establishment absolutely top grade.
We enjoyed the break and returned refreshed. The roads in and from Cornwall were pristine. Wightlink gently ferried us across to the Island where we ruefully reflected that had we been kidnapped and blindfolded we would instantly have known to where we had been taken: the roads here are a disgrace.
HOME AGAIN.
When we came across the courtyard from the garage we were amused to find the cat Shadow and his pal Manners waiting in the kitchen like a reception party. Manners departed right away. He still knows me as that man who used to ask: "Wotter-youdoin'ere?" in an unfriendly voice. My subsequent blandishments have been rejected. Quite right too.
Shadow ate a hearty meal (leaving just enough for Manners to see off later) and took root on my lap for the evening. He can't be having with all that indignant at being left business.
I switched on the computer the following day to find a load of e-mails including pleasant comment about the last blog stuff from John (Anonymous) A.
Thanks again, John, you're such a nice change from all the invitations to buy stuff!
MATCH OF THE DAY LIVE - ENGLAND v GERMANY (BBC1)
Twenty minutes before the end, with England trailing 1 - 2, the cat Shadow stood pointedly by the front door.
It was an unnecessary question but I had to ask it: "You want to go out...now?"
"Why not?" he said. "There'll be nothing more to see here."
"But England could still manage a draw," I ventured, unconvincingly.
"Not them. They couldn't score if all the Germans were sent off."
"It's a friendly, though. Steve McClaren's still trying people out."
"It's never a friendly against Germany," he said. "They come here for an unfriendly. And as for trying people out, there are probably less than half a dozen worthwhile English strikers in the entire Premiership. Two of them, Owen and Rooney, spend more time on the physio's table than they do on the field. Be real, man, the current England team is relying on midfielders to score goals. It prays that Becks will do something special. If he doesn't, it doesn't. Tonight he didn't."
"Well that all sounds positively negative," I said.
"Sad but true. We're very good losers. We'll get nowhere until we became very bad losers."
"You really are a rotten sport," I growled.
"That's right," he said. "But I usually win. Now kindly open the bloody door."
ROBBIE COLTRANE: B-ROAD BRITAIN (ITV1)
This is another of those "extract the urine from a celebrity" documentary series in which the powers behind a television programme put a well-known and probably unsuspecting public figure through a series of mostly pointless, frequently undignified and often personally frightening experiences. For what? Because they imagine it to be good television?
Robbie Coltrane (the giant Hagrid in the Harry Potter films if you are an immigrant from outer space) drives around the B-roads in a fifties open-topped Jaguar. He is a big man who seems to have some difficulty getting about once he leaves the car. He remains affable and professional, however, whatever nonsense he is called upon to attempt.
I think he has suffered this particular nonsense for long enough now. He should take the Director and the Producer to one side and fall on them.
MIDSOMER MURDERS (ITV1)
Yesterday I was reminded again of daughter Roz's assertion that she would not set up home within fifty miles of Cabot Cove or Midsomer.
Midsomer Murders was back with a repeat of a programme entitled The Straw Woman. It contained the usual helping of far-fetched killings, religious weirdos, village bigots, the slightly breathless Tom Barnaby, a slightly lovesick DS Scott, and Doc Bullard played by Barry Jackson. For good measure, Keith Barron was in it, too.
Daft but still watchable.
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