THAT'S IT.
Yes, that's it for another year.
Christmas Eve provided the customary intrigue of people struggling to supermarket checkouts pushing trolleys laden with bread.
I wonder about them. Are they guest-house keepers? Are they bread sauce manufacturers? Are they simply pessimists? It is only a two-day break and many of the shops are open on Boxing Day.
Your guess is as good as mine.
We went to Roz, our youngest, for dinner on Christmas Day.
She, husband Mark and children live a couple of miles up the road from us. When we arrived they were experiencing a power cut. The electricity had been off since half seven in the morning. It came back on at about three in the afternoon.
Fortunately, Roz cooks by gas. It must have been an infuriating time for the people who rely on electricity.
There's a nearby pub which remained open without coolers or fridges and with warm beer. England their England!
The local paper contained a piece about it.
Seems a senior councillor who lives a bit further out was affected by the problem, too.
He had no power from 7.20am until just after 9am.
The paper quoted him as saying: "All the candlelight gave the house a nice traditional feel."
What, for an hour and three quarters?
Who votes for these jokers?
NCIS. (Five)
Episode 4/24 of series four had Gibbs (Mark Harmon) running things again, his acting haircut backed up by a well-rehearsed grey moustache which suggested he may have read for the part of Lee Scoresby in The Golden Compass but narrowly lost out to Sam Elliott (a man born wearing a stetson).
Well, there's bound to be another rehash of the interminable Wyatt Earp saga in the pipeline. Perhaps ol' Mark could try for that. He would be very good and he certainly looks the part. He mustn't give up on NCIS though.
Cote de Pablo has settled in as the lethal Ziva David. I don't know whether her attempts to speak Hebrew are good, bad or indifferent and I don't care. She certainly can't sound any worse than dear old Dick Van Dyke did as an Englishman in Mary Poppins.
We shall continue to follow this lovely bunkum next year.
Never mind all the terrorist tosh; we like a good laugh.
NO RESOLUTIONS.
Shan't make any New Year resolutions. Never do.
If you do, I hope you'll manage to keep to them for more than a day.
The following are a few words from an e-mail received today from our friend Jan.
"Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that made you smile. I want to wish you all health, happiness and success in 2008. We all have our own idea as to what defines happiness and success - hope all yours are met."
Whether the words are Jan's or those of somebody who sent them to her to be forwarded, they fit the occasion very well indeed.
Happy New Year!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
93. Goodbye Rebus, Hallo Gibbs, Merry Xmas All
I HAD A MAN'S COLD.
November departed and December started and there was I, completely out of it all.
I had a man's cold again.
It started with razor blades in the throat and rapidly became the runny, shivery, decidedly life-threatening, probably-flu-despite-the-flu-jab, could-even-be-pneumonia, multi-handkerchief-filler that only a man suffers.
It could not in any way be likened to the get-on-with-it-it's-nothing-compared-to-having-a-baby sort of one-hanky-snuffle instantly dismissed by a woman.
I was stoical of course.
Well, experience counts in these near-death situations.
And my Leader, bless 'er, refrained from any but sympathetic noises.
Not a single birth giving comparison was heard.
I do love that woman.
CRANFORD IS THE VERY BEST. (BBC1 - Sundays)
Just knew it would be.
Brilliant actors have arrived, done their acting bit and gone. There has not been a flaw.
We just sit back and let it wash over us..
So much costume drama produced for television in this country is without equal. We may not do much in the sporting world but nowhere else in the universe can compete with our richness of acting talent, technical know-how and inspired television direction.
Nor has any other country such a wonderful list of long-departed writers whose work could have been written for the medium.
Eschew false modesty.
Cranford is costume drama at its very best.
NCIS. (Five - Fridays)
Well, it's back. Same frightening Middle Eastern villains, same daft sort of plot (only Spooks can compete in that department), same Leroy Jethro Gibbs (Mark Harmon) who has acquired a badly rehearsed acting haircut and a general appearance of one auditioning for Ben Gunn in the pantomime version of Treasure Island.
Great stuff.
Watch this space.
REBUS. (ITV1)
Series 5 ended with the typical "let's finish Rebus" characters failing to finish Rebus. Ken Stott (despite the jaundiced views of the TV editor in my ultimate digital TV and radio guide) is still excellent as Rebus. So is Claire Price as DS Siobhan Clarke and Jennifer Black as DCS Gill Templar.
I think it would be a pity if it just faded away now.
Edinburgh's such a pretty place, too.
WHAM! IT'S CHRISTMAS AGAIN.
Well it is, isn't it?
Heck, shops and garden centres have been flogging Santa stuff around here since September. You get so used to it you lose sight of what it's all about until - wham! - it's under a fortnight away and barely a card written or a gift wrapped.
We'll probably do a lot of Compliments of the Season malarkey this year to avoid upsetting atheists, agnostics, skeptics, infidels, heretics, Pyrrhonists, or the sort of religious fundamentalist who takes offence at the naming of a Teddy bear.
I refuse to be disheartened.
The half tree will go up and the Santas will come out and the Happy Christmas sign will face the front door and friends of all religions or no religion will be equally welcome.
So if you're in the neighbourhood, drop by for a drink and a mince pie.
Oh, and in case I forget, or somehow don't get around to it again,
A Merry Christmas to You!
P.S. Grandson Ellis, two years old, has discovered Christmas.
He says it is: "Baby Jesus in 'is 'ouse."
Now that's what I call a description.
November departed and December started and there was I, completely out of it all.
I had a man's cold again.
It started with razor blades in the throat and rapidly became the runny, shivery, decidedly life-threatening, probably-flu-despite-the-flu-jab, could-even-be-pneumonia, multi-handkerchief-filler that only a man suffers.
It could not in any way be likened to the get-on-with-it-it's-nothing-compared-to-having-a-baby sort of one-hanky-snuffle instantly dismissed by a woman.
I was stoical of course.
Well, experience counts in these near-death situations.
And my Leader, bless 'er, refrained from any but sympathetic noises.
Not a single birth giving comparison was heard.
I do love that woman.
CRANFORD IS THE VERY BEST. (BBC1 - Sundays)
Just knew it would be.
Brilliant actors have arrived, done their acting bit and gone. There has not been a flaw.
We just sit back and let it wash over us..
So much costume drama produced for television in this country is without equal. We may not do much in the sporting world but nowhere else in the universe can compete with our richness of acting talent, technical know-how and inspired television direction.
Nor has any other country such a wonderful list of long-departed writers whose work could have been written for the medium.
Eschew false modesty.
Cranford is costume drama at its very best.
NCIS. (Five - Fridays)
Well, it's back. Same frightening Middle Eastern villains, same daft sort of plot (only Spooks can compete in that department), same Leroy Jethro Gibbs (Mark Harmon) who has acquired a badly rehearsed acting haircut and a general appearance of one auditioning for Ben Gunn in the pantomime version of Treasure Island.
Great stuff.
Watch this space.
REBUS. (ITV1)
Series 5 ended with the typical "let's finish Rebus" characters failing to finish Rebus. Ken Stott (despite the jaundiced views of the TV editor in my ultimate digital TV and radio guide) is still excellent as Rebus. So is Claire Price as DS Siobhan Clarke and Jennifer Black as DCS Gill Templar.
I think it would be a pity if it just faded away now.
Edinburgh's such a pretty place, too.
WHAM! IT'S CHRISTMAS AGAIN.
Well it is, isn't it?
Heck, shops and garden centres have been flogging Santa stuff around here since September. You get so used to it you lose sight of what it's all about until - wham! - it's under a fortnight away and barely a card written or a gift wrapped.
We'll probably do a lot of Compliments of the Season malarkey this year to avoid upsetting atheists, agnostics, skeptics, infidels, heretics, Pyrrhonists, or the sort of religious fundamentalist who takes offence at the naming of a Teddy bear.
I refuse to be disheartened.
The half tree will go up and the Santas will come out and the Happy Christmas sign will face the front door and friends of all religions or no religion will be equally welcome.
So if you're in the neighbourhood, drop by for a drink and a mince pie.
Oh, and in case I forget, or somehow don't get around to it again,
A Merry Christmas to You!
P.S. Grandson Ellis, two years old, has discovered Christmas.
He says it is: "Baby Jesus in 'is 'ouse."
Now that's what I call a description.
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