THE COUGH.
I am bravely fighting my way through a man's cough.
This is not your female go-to-work-coughing-into-paper-tissues-and-get-on-with-it-until-the-boss-sends-you-home-for-fear-that-he-may-catch-it sort of cough.
This is your near-pneumonia=possibly-double-pneumonia-probably-with-complications=ought-to-stay-in-bed-(but y'dies-in-bed-y'know)-shan't-go-to-work-for-fear-of-giving-it-to-the-boss sort of cough.
Yeah, this is definitely a man's cough. And I am bravely fighting my way through it.
Somebody really should tell H.M. Queen Elizabeth 2 (an elderly lady who knows nothing of my heroism and will certainly never hear of it from me) so that she may honour me in her next Honours List.
I will accept a posthumous award if needs be.
What's that?
You heard what?
No, it couldn't have been her.
It'll be The Duke who said: "Silly bugger!"
EUROVISION SONG CONTEST. (BBC1)
What song?
What contest?
This year it was Creep to the Kremlin Night.
There was no song.
There was no contest.
There was the same old tuneless garbage conducted in an atmosphere not unlike that experienced by H. G. Wells's Mr. Polly when first he encountered his frantically-eager-to-please cousins in The History of Mr. Polly.
The BBC should ditch it.
Give old Wogan a holiday instead.
Sure, the poor man gets few enough of those.
And don't ever again cancel Dr Who for such tripe.
MATCH OF THE DAY LIVE 28th May, 2008. (BBC1)
England 2 - USA 0
A sparse crowd watched an unremarkable friendly played at leisurely pace.
John Terry scored the much needed - not least for him - opening goal and Steven Gerrard got the other.
Gerrard was named 'man of the match' and the Greek referee, blowing his whistle until he was blue in the face, caused one of the commentators to remark "Beware of Greeks bearing whistles."
Indeed.
THE INSPECTOR LYNLEY MYSTERIES. (BBC1)
Well, they're back. Tommy, the sad aristocratic Detective Inspector (Nathaniel Parker) and Havers, the smart working class Detective Sergeant (Sharon Small).
This was the first of two episodes: after which, it is reported, there will be no more.
Sorry to have to say it, but I think that is the right decision.
Every modern tv cops cliche has now been thrown at us in this, including the high-flying female boss who detests our hero for his privileged background rather than for his glaringly inept performance in the job.
At the conclusion of the last episode they should marry Lynley to Havers, retire them and send them to live blissfully in the stately pile.
It would be a relief to them and one helluva relief to us.
KISS OF DEATH (BBC1)
This twaddle - using the title of a 1947 film noir movie which, from the outset, it was never going to equal - was an all too obvious attempt to produce a British CSI.
It failed.
FILTH: THE MARY WHITEHOUSE STORY. (BBC2)
I like Julie Walters very much and look forward to seeing her in the remaining Harry Potter films.
But I didn't watch this.
Could never be bothered with Mrs.Whitehouse when she was alive.
She bullied.
I have always detested bullies.
EVERY BLOGGER NEEDS A READER.
Anonymous John has been in touch with me regarding the Sadness...Madness...Gladness post. He concluded with the words: However, I am confused - quite often these days actually - but I am sure that I have seen the part about the funeral on its own, or have I really blown it?
Just in case there is more than one kind reader like John out there, someone else who has noticed that the piece about young Nicola's funeral was originally published on its own, I did post the funeral piece separately at first but had dreadful trouble trying to post the rest afterwards and concluded that it might have something to do with trying to use two headings on the same day.
In retrospect, it probably wasn't that at all, but I simply panicked.
I deleted both posts, re-arranged them to form one extended item, and published again.
Presto! The new post was accepted. Doubtless I had simply messed up the presentation procedure somewhere along the line.
Trouble is, every time the Blog Eds come up with a new improved system of doing things I suffer morbid confusion and find myself crying plaintively: "It ain't broke! Why mend it?"
Mark you, I am aware that if everybody had that attitude we'd probably still be sending messages by stagecoach.
So keep ringing the changes, Blog Eds.
I'll keep taking the tablets.
FOOTNOTE.
"D'you think those Blog Eds actually see your stuff then?" asked the second cousin of a distant relative whose name eludes me.
"They've got plenty to see in America alone," I said. "At the last count they had Kimbalina, skipping off Google, whose contribution came complete with cute little pictures; they had incredibly smart lady scientists banging on about big bangs and things...and I don't mean Sex and the City; they had spaced out Galatica people; they had people who travel all over the world to photograph a face, a dress, or (especially) a meal; they had an expert in regional booze who supplied fabulous, quirky pictures to back up his Italian wine travels; they had brilliantly drawn comic book characters from brilliantly drawn - and sometimes sadly short-lived - craftsmen; they had more travel pictures taking in more exotic views of baubles, bangles, beads and thumping great mountains; they had graphs and expertise in real estate; a young girl film buff presented horror films with startlngly appropriate matching pictures; and then, to round it all off, they had yet more pictures of the world as seen through American eyes, i.e. anywhere between New York, Boston and Philadelphia on one side and Los Angeles and San Francisco on the other.
"So do I think they see my stuff?
"Bloody hell no."
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
105. Some Sadness, Some Gladness and Some Madness.
NICOLA.
On Tuesday 6th May. 2008 we attended the funeral of Nicola (Royston-Parry) Graham, daughter of my wife's niece, Barbara.
Nicola had spina bifida and was not expected to live beyond eighteen years. That she made it to thirty three was a tribute to the care she received from medical professionals, the love of her immediate family, the support from friends and sympathetic organizations and her own immense courage.
The funeral service was lovely. Conducted by a young woman, Amy Brading, there was not a religious moment in it. Nicky's favourite music (e.g. Eva Cassidy singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow) was played and I cannot remember being more moved or impressed by a service, ever.
Way to go, kid, way to go.
NICE ONE POMPEY!
Yes! Portsmouth has something to celebrate at last.
Harry Redknapp's Pompey football team won the FA Cup last Saturday in a fascinating, if somewhat scrappy, 1 - 0 tussle with Cardiff City.
My Leader and I are Portmuthians so the win gave us particular pleasure. I was only eight years old when last they won it and that was five years before she was born.
"Can we expect a little more from you now that Pompey has won the Cup?" inquired the cat Shadow.
"There's been a lot on." I said defensively.
"You haven't put finger to keyboard for three weeks," he said. "That's not so much a lot on as downright bloody laziness."
"Don't you be mealy-mouthed now, mate," I said. "You speak your mind."
Well I wouldn't have bothered but the little perisher slept right through the match.
Actually, Maureen didn't watch it, either. She had important needlework to do.
Pays to get your priorities right.
BACK TO THE BOX.
Dexter. (ITV1)
Saw the last couple of episodes of this well acted nonsense and am still not sure whether it better deserves commendation or castigation. In truth, I find it an amoral conception which leads to occasionally uncomfortable viewing. It will be a questionable choice next time around.
My son, a gentle chap, thoroughly enjoys it.
Guess it's an age thing.
Dr.Who. (BBC1)
This time the doctor was in Agatha Christie country.
Fenella Woolgar was Agatha, poised to make the dramatic disappearance that probably sold more books in a fortnight than her publisher's mediocre publicity would in a decade.
Felicity Kendal was there, sadly without Pam Ferris, so the crime solving fell to the Doctor and Donna.
Donna's contribution was littered with helpful Christie book titles and plot ideas for Agatha to ponder upon when she got to Harrogate.
I think the vicar was a bee (a lot of them are) and for the life of me I cannot remember the whys and wherefores of it all.
But then I seldom ever did with Mrs.Christie's stuff, so that was nothing new.
CSI: NY. (Five)
Are they ever going to catch that bloody taxicab killer?
Class of 62 - from 15 to 60. (BBC2)
This followed the lives of Marion Gaunt and her friends after they left Sandford Secondary Modern School. Leeds.
What a doughty bunch. My Leader and I sat fascinated as each told of her hopes, her disappointments, her search for fulfillment, her successes and her failures.
Don't usually watch what I regard as voyeuristic programmes.
Don't even watch the soaps.
But this was different.
This was the real world inhabited by real northern women and it was worth every minute of the watching.
So good luck to you all, Class of 62.
And now, for a bit of fun, the ultimate CSI spin-off -
CSI: IW
Executive Producer: Dennis Barnden
Director; Jessica White.
Series 1. Episode 1/1: - Crushem Gets The Needle.
Will Crushem and his Isle of Wight CSI team are investigating a messy murder in a seaside apartment which contains a corpse, ample lighting and an in-credit electricity account.
They are searching for clues by torchlight.
The victim is a young woman. Her clothing is in disarray and from the lapel of her dishevelled jacket Crushem recovers the pointed half of a needle which he drops into a plastic bag.
Crushem's GFA (Glamorous Female Assistant) spots a pink crumb on the four hundred square feet of bloodstained carpet: she recovers the crumb with tweezers and it, too, goes into a plastic bag.
Crushem's GMA (Glamorous Male Assistant) watches her admiringly. He is in love with her, but wisely refrains from telling her so on the grounds that same-job relationships are a mistake. Besides, if he tells her she will certainly be dead before the series ends.
"What is it?" he asks.
"Looks like pink shortbread," she replies.
"Crumbs!" he exclaims.
"Well...one, anyway," says Crushem.
(Cue theme song - The Who's newly adapted: Blimey O'Reilly, Who Are You Foolin' Again?)
In her laboratory, Crushem's KFG (Kookie Forensic Genius) quickly reaches a startling conclusion: this is not blood soaked ordinary shortbread, this really is pink shortbread. It was only marketed a fortnight ago and is sold in just one shop. To date a mere two people have bought it (we are told by the KFG's male colleague who is in love with her) and one of them was sent to prison last week. So the other is either the victim or the perpetrator...
What fun.
In the path lab Crushem's EDC&F (Eccentric Doctor Colleague and Friend) finds no trace of shortbread in or on the vic. What he does find is a strand of hay in the vic's shoe and the hay (according to the KFG) is particular to one farm in the West Wight.
So now we know. The perp, not the vic, bought the shortbread.
Furthermore, the KFG's besotted colleague tells us, the perp is known to the shopkeeper who sold said shortbread.
The perp is (surprise, surprise) a farmer in the West Wight.
The Team moves in.
They corner the farmer in his hay barn in broad daylight. They are wearing body armour and helmets with lighted torches affixed to them, They have pistols at the ready.
"She shouldn't 'ave turned me and me shortbread down," he shouts, brandishing a shotgun in their direction. "Cost me a ...king fortune that shortbread did. An' then, when I ate the lot in front of 'er, she called me a greedy pig! Shouldn'ta said that, not when I was carryin' me brand new riphook...I mean, ain't that askin' for trouble?" So saying he aims his shotgun at the GMA, fires and (despite the fact that he unfailingly kills game on the run and bird on the wing with a single shot) misses.
There is a hail of return gunfire and he lands lifeless in the hay.
(C.U. bullets tearing through specially prepared carcass from local butcher's shop.)
Crushem reaches him first and plucks the other half of the needle found in the vic's lapel from the sleeve of his tweed jacket.
"Looks like you just found a needle in a haystack, C," says the GFA.
"Half of one, anyway," says Crushem.
(Show disclaimer regarding events, characters and any degree of realism. Give notice that any likeness to any living person should result in that person seeking immediate psychiatric help.)
On Tuesday 6th May. 2008 we attended the funeral of Nicola (Royston-Parry) Graham, daughter of my wife's niece, Barbara.
Nicola had spina bifida and was not expected to live beyond eighteen years. That she made it to thirty three was a tribute to the care she received from medical professionals, the love of her immediate family, the support from friends and sympathetic organizations and her own immense courage.
The funeral service was lovely. Conducted by a young woman, Amy Brading, there was not a religious moment in it. Nicky's favourite music (e.g. Eva Cassidy singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow) was played and I cannot remember being more moved or impressed by a service, ever.
Way to go, kid, way to go.
NICE ONE POMPEY!
Yes! Portsmouth has something to celebrate at last.
Harry Redknapp's Pompey football team won the FA Cup last Saturday in a fascinating, if somewhat scrappy, 1 - 0 tussle with Cardiff City.
My Leader and I are Portmuthians so the win gave us particular pleasure. I was only eight years old when last they won it and that was five years before she was born.
"Can we expect a little more from you now that Pompey has won the Cup?" inquired the cat Shadow.
"There's been a lot on." I said defensively.
"You haven't put finger to keyboard for three weeks," he said. "That's not so much a lot on as downright bloody laziness."
"Don't you be mealy-mouthed now, mate," I said. "You speak your mind."
Well I wouldn't have bothered but the little perisher slept right through the match.
Actually, Maureen didn't watch it, either. She had important needlework to do.
Pays to get your priorities right.
BACK TO THE BOX.
Dexter. (ITV1)
Saw the last couple of episodes of this well acted nonsense and am still not sure whether it better deserves commendation or castigation. In truth, I find it an amoral conception which leads to occasionally uncomfortable viewing. It will be a questionable choice next time around.
My son, a gentle chap, thoroughly enjoys it.
Guess it's an age thing.
Dr.Who. (BBC1)
This time the doctor was in Agatha Christie country.
Fenella Woolgar was Agatha, poised to make the dramatic disappearance that probably sold more books in a fortnight than her publisher's mediocre publicity would in a decade.
Felicity Kendal was there, sadly without Pam Ferris, so the crime solving fell to the Doctor and Donna.
Donna's contribution was littered with helpful Christie book titles and plot ideas for Agatha to ponder upon when she got to Harrogate.
I think the vicar was a bee (a lot of them are) and for the life of me I cannot remember the whys and wherefores of it all.
But then I seldom ever did with Mrs.Christie's stuff, so that was nothing new.
CSI: NY. (Five)
Are they ever going to catch that bloody taxicab killer?
Class of 62 - from 15 to 60. (BBC2)
This followed the lives of Marion Gaunt and her friends after they left Sandford Secondary Modern School. Leeds.
What a doughty bunch. My Leader and I sat fascinated as each told of her hopes, her disappointments, her search for fulfillment, her successes and her failures.
Don't usually watch what I regard as voyeuristic programmes.
Don't even watch the soaps.
But this was different.
This was the real world inhabited by real northern women and it was worth every minute of the watching.
So good luck to you all, Class of 62.
And now, for a bit of fun, the ultimate CSI spin-off -
CSI: IW
Executive Producer: Dennis Barnden
Director; Jessica White.
Series 1. Episode 1/1: - Crushem Gets The Needle.
Will Crushem and his Isle of Wight CSI team are investigating a messy murder in a seaside apartment which contains a corpse, ample lighting and an in-credit electricity account.
They are searching for clues by torchlight.
The victim is a young woman. Her clothing is in disarray and from the lapel of her dishevelled jacket Crushem recovers the pointed half of a needle which he drops into a plastic bag.
Crushem's GFA (Glamorous Female Assistant) spots a pink crumb on the four hundred square feet of bloodstained carpet: she recovers the crumb with tweezers and it, too, goes into a plastic bag.
Crushem's GMA (Glamorous Male Assistant) watches her admiringly. He is in love with her, but wisely refrains from telling her so on the grounds that same-job relationships are a mistake. Besides, if he tells her she will certainly be dead before the series ends.
"What is it?" he asks.
"Looks like pink shortbread," she replies.
"Crumbs!" he exclaims.
"Well...one, anyway," says Crushem.
(Cue theme song - The Who's newly adapted: Blimey O'Reilly, Who Are You Foolin' Again?)
In her laboratory, Crushem's KFG (Kookie Forensic Genius) quickly reaches a startling conclusion: this is not blood soaked ordinary shortbread, this really is pink shortbread. It was only marketed a fortnight ago and is sold in just one shop. To date a mere two people have bought it (we are told by the KFG's male colleague who is in love with her) and one of them was sent to prison last week. So the other is either the victim or the perpetrator...
What fun.
In the path lab Crushem's EDC&F (Eccentric Doctor Colleague and Friend) finds no trace of shortbread in or on the vic. What he does find is a strand of hay in the vic's shoe and the hay (according to the KFG) is particular to one farm in the West Wight.
So now we know. The perp, not the vic, bought the shortbread.
Furthermore, the KFG's besotted colleague tells us, the perp is known to the shopkeeper who sold said shortbread.
The perp is (surprise, surprise) a farmer in the West Wight.
The Team moves in.
They corner the farmer in his hay barn in broad daylight. They are wearing body armour and helmets with lighted torches affixed to them, They have pistols at the ready.
"She shouldn't 'ave turned me and me shortbread down," he shouts, brandishing a shotgun in their direction. "Cost me a ...king fortune that shortbread did. An' then, when I ate the lot in front of 'er, she called me a greedy pig! Shouldn'ta said that, not when I was carryin' me brand new riphook...I mean, ain't that askin' for trouble?" So saying he aims his shotgun at the GMA, fires and (despite the fact that he unfailingly kills game on the run and bird on the wing with a single shot) misses.
There is a hail of return gunfire and he lands lifeless in the hay.
(C.U. bullets tearing through specially prepared carcass from local butcher's shop.)
Crushem reaches him first and plucks the other half of the needle found in the vic's lapel from the sleeve of his tweed jacket.
"Looks like you just found a needle in a haystack, C," says the GFA.
"Half of one, anyway," says Crushem.
(Show disclaimer regarding events, characters and any degree of realism. Give notice that any likeness to any living person should result in that person seeking immediate psychiatric help.)
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