100. From 100 Not Out to No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency.

ONE HUNDRED NOT OUT.

My mother, Lilian, was 100 on the last day of last year. A decent age to reach.
She received a congratulatory card from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 2 (which nowadays the forthcoming centenarian's relatives have to apply for via the Ministry of Pensions) and, there no longer being a telegram service, she received an imitation telegram from the Pensions Minister.
Well, the Prime Minister was probably abroad: Scotland, perhaps.
Most of the family were able to attend the celebratory get-together and we have finally managed to transfer the digital camera pictures onto the computer: these include one of mother with granddaughter (holding great grandson), son, grandson and great granddaughter (holding cat) which I publish just in case any old friend or distant relative should chance upon it.
Although physically frail, Lilian is mentally as sharp as a razor and, despite poor eyesight, still keeps up with the snooker on television.
She had a good birthday and thoroughly enjoyed all the attention

GETTING ON A BIT.

The process of ageing, or getting on a bit, can be a bugger. The words creaky, cranky and invisible may well spring to the mind of any getting on a bit reader who still has a mind, or any spring. So maybe it is because I am getting on a bit - though I don't feel especially old - that I find myself increasingly irked by much of the twaddle currently purporting to be entertainment on television. There's way too much reality bunkum; too many copycat competition shows featuring publicity seeking celebs; too many repeats (including those cheekily describing an old show as revisited); far too many cooking programmes, antiques programmes, auctioneering programmes, and property rubbish where, when they are not tarting up tat for profit, people are swanning all over the place looking at properties they have not the slightest intention of buying.
"Mabel and Maurice eventually decided not to purchase the twenty-seven-roomed mansion in Ascot and unfortunately were outbid for the two-up-two-down pied-a-terre in France. They are remaining in their mobile home (think caravan) while they review their options."
Know what? I really dont give a toss. Do you? Does anybody?
So I have become more discriminating in my television viewing habits of late. I am no longer bothered when Mark Harmon's acting haircut fails to register in a couple of episodes of NCIS, or David Caruso's sunglasses upstage everybody by being donned as he enters, rather than when he leaves, through the French windows in CSI Miami.
I don't care when Mac, of CSI New York, is stalked and endangered throughout several episodes by a 333 lunatic straight out of Sax Rohmer.
(What? Sax who? Oh, an old thriller writer...Dr.Fu Manchu...see Wikipedia...)
Furthermore, I do not believe that there is a Middle Eastern terrorist under every American bed just waiting to creep out and join the vast Muslim alliance that will huff and puff until it blows all their skyscrapers down. Hell, there were never any Reds under the beds, either, so stop being so bloody melodramatic.
Besides, there's still quite a lot to be cheerful about.
Well, there is on our tele.
On our tele we still have Harry Hill's TV Burp and Justin Fletcher on CCTV and darned good plays like Brian Fillis's The Curse of Steptoe, featuring darned good actors like Phil Davis and Jason Isaacs as Wilfrid Brambell and Harry H. Corbett. We still have Russell T. Davies's Torchwood and we still have splendid soaps and excellent costume dramas.
University Challenge, Mastermind and Fry's QI remain constant pleasures if you like that sort of thing: we do.
There are even some pretty good, albeit foul-mouthed, comedians still to be seen.
And, without doubt, getting on a bit is still preferable to the alternative.

HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE.

Yippee! Here we go again!
The film Harry Potter and the Half Cut Prince (Does ask for it, doesn't it, J.K.) is due for release on the 21st of November. It is being directed by David Yates. .
Additional characters will include Jim Broadbent as Horace Slughorn: I had Ian McNeice in mind but Jim Broadbent is very good. There is also some talk (if the part is not inexplicably scrapped) of Bill Nighy being cast as the new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour: I would have chosen Jim Carter but Bill Nighy is very good.
Well it's Easter now.
There will be Christmas stuff on the shop shelves next week.
It'll be September before you can blink.

LARK RISE TO CANDLEFORD. (BBC1)

This fine series came to an end on Easter Day. Faultless sets, direction and acting. I even came to tolerate Laura referring to her parents as Mar and Par.
By the time it was over there was scarcely a dry eye in the house.

THE No.1 LADIES' DETECTIVE AGENCY. (BBC1)

I thoroughly enjoyed Alexander McCall Smith's novel about Precious Ramotswe setting up the first, the only and therefore the No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency in Botswana and was eager to see the television version of it.
Well, nobody ever adapted difficult books more skilfully and sensitively for the screen than the gifted writer/director Anthony Minghella, so of course it was a delight.
More than that I have little to say except that Anthony's death at the age of 54 has stunned the Isle of Wight He was born and bred here and unfailingly made public mention of it when collecting numerous awards.
Our kindest thoughts go out to the family of this much respected, gentle man.
He will be sadly missed.

99. Not for those of a nervous disposition.

ANONYMOUS VAGRANT.

Anonymous John's wife and our good pal, Sheila, has sent us an email headed Vagrant. It seems this decidedly dicey character has been seen in the vicinity of Sheila and Anonymous John's mini manor, a pleasant abode where they have lived in modest luxury (with the occasional meal) ever since A.J. won a few quid on the viewers' lottery, masquerading as a competition, that occurs daily on the ITV1 programme Dickinson's Raw Deal (sic).
I think Anonymous John should beware.
An anonymous vagrant like this could have designs on his wife and his winnings.

IT'S ALL OR NOTHING.

I have been engaged in what our daughter-in-law, Pauline, jocularly refers to as playing dolls houses again. This time it has involved the dismantling of built-in bookcases and their departure, along with over a thousand books, from our first (American second) floor computer room to a variety of destinations.
My Leader empathises but cannot refrain from the gentle dig that I am overdoing it. She says it's all or nothing with me. I try to dismiss such calumny but truth to tell I'm knackered.
Never mind, the job is almost done, though I have not tackled a blog post since the 19th of February.
Doesn't time fly when you're having fun?

THE BRITISH WEATHER.

Never ceases to surprise that in an area of land stretching at most 874 miles (Land's End to John O'Groats) there can be blizzards in Scotland and Northern England, flood warnings in The Midlands and balmy weather from London to the South Coast. All at the same time.
We have just experienced hurricane conditions throughout much of England.
Not in Scotland. The sun shone and birds sang in Inverness.
Oh yes, we Brits do have a reason for our obsession with the weather. Which leads me, somewhat tortuously, to...

DANCING ON ICE (ITV1).

This is one of those winter television programmes that has celebrities (many of whom have allegedly never skated before) partnered with professional ice skaters in a bid to become the best duo in yet another reality competition.
Viewers are invited to vote. The money made from their telephone calls probably pays the participants' fees and may even cover the cost of Phillip Schofield's eyebrow pencil.
During the last series I saw that definitive little battler Bonny Langford get her head cracked, so this time I was inclined to give it a miss. I like Bonny.
But my Leader is a fan of the programme and, in the way of a woman who could have taught Margaret Thatcher the art of manipulation, inveigled my interest with the words: "Linda Lusardi's in it."
Now lovely Linda, in the nicest possible way, is a standing joke in our house.
When we first moved here I found myself listening, amused and slightly alarmed, as little Jess discussed with her mother which startling pink she should have on the main wall of the bedroom we had set aside for her. She would only be in the room for one night a week, but she knew what she wanted. I knew what I didn't want. I didn't want startling pink.
In those days paint manufacturers were giving weird names to their colours. Names like Mortimer Mauve, Belinda Blue and Winsome White were not unusual.
I ambled back to the kitchen and my Leader, busy cooking, enquired: "How are they doing?"
"She wants Penelope Pink in her bedroom," I said. "Well, I want Linda Lusardi in my bedroom but it ain't going to happen."
I came to like that pink wall eventually. I was a little disappointed when Jess changed rooms and it was re-decorated.
Oh, Linda Lusardi was all too soon voted off Dancing On Ice. But she tried bravely and came across as a thoroughly nice person.

ICE ROAD TRUCKERS (Five).

This documentary series followed the fortunes of a bunch of cussedly reckless individuals.
It seems that every winter ice roads are constructed across the expanse of frozen lakes in Canada's Northwest Territories.
Along these roads tons of essential supplies are delivered by truck to the diamond mines. Top money is paid to those prepared to put their skill and nerve to the test in making such deliveries.
The trucks are huge, the loads enormous and the ice road often barely three feet thick atop water which can and will swallow up vehicle, driver and cargo in a careless or just unlucky instant.
As the season draws out the ice gradually thaws until, eventually, there is no road. Well, not until next year.
For whatever reason they do it, money, pride, daring, the ice road truckers are a breed apart.
They are gamblers. They are heroes. They are bloody mad!
My Leader and I think they are great.

THE FIXER (ITV1).

John Mercer (Andrew Buchan) is an ex soldier, a killer with a conscience, a man required against his will to perform acts of murder. He has a lame duck assistant, Calum (Jody Latham), a colleague, Rose, who the management has planted on him (Tamzin Outhwaite) and a ruthless boss called Lenny (Peter Mullan).
I quite enjoyed the first episode. Well I knew I would because I liked it forty years ago. It ran from 1967 to 1972 and it was called Callan.
David Callan (Edward Woodward) was an ex soldier, a killer with a conscience etc. He had a lame duck assistant, Lonely (Russell Hunter), colleagues Meres (Anthony Valentine) and later Cross (Patrick Mower) placed by the management to keep an eye on him and a ruthless boss called Hunter (firstly Ronald Radd and finally William Squire).
Yep, The Fixer is simply 21st century Callan.
I don't know whether Callan writer James Mitchell has grounds for legal action against Fixer writer Ben Richards, but if I was Ben I'd be careful in future not to be standing too near the edge of an underground railway platform when the train is coming in.