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."
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