WHY KEEP A DIARY?
The cat Shadow has found an unchallenged armchair in the dining room where, free from the inconvenience of casual visitors and slightly suspect small admirers, he can sleep the day away. As a consequence our recent conversations have been limited.
Today, however, he did open one eye as I headed for the stairs.
"I'm going to do some blogging and I know I'm late again," I said defensively.
"You should do it daily instead of your computer diary, mate," he muttered, and sensibly went back to sleep.
Perhaps he's right.
I have thought about it.
Of course I have.
But mine is not a celebrity diary.
Mine could never boast throwaway lines like: Met Maggie Smith in Tesco today and we talked about... or...I thought Albert Schweitzer would be impressive and when I came across him in 1953 I was not disappointed...
No, my diary is more your: Went down to Somerfield in a drizzle...shouted a hallo to that nice little bloke Oz in the chip shop as I went by...and...One of those lovely women from the card shop asked Ellis: "Is Granddad looking after you well today, then?" and was haughtily put right with: "He's not Granddad, he's Boo."
Which reminds one that, even in the kindest way, a three year old should never be patronised...
Anyway, nobody would want too much of that.
I seldom look back in my diary and nobody else is encouraged to read it.
So why do I bother?
Dunno.
But sitting on a park bench doing nothing would bore me daft.
Even on a beautiful day like today.
Today the sun is shining, the temperature is mild, pretty girls wearing short-sleeved tops and skimpy shorts are strolling past the house.
It's marvellous.
So bugger worrying about global warming.
That's a diary entry worth making on Sunday 12th October, 2008.
I may read it again and again.
BOOKS.
Clarissa Dickson Wright's autobiography Spilling The Beans was a jolly good read.
There was quite a lot with which I did not agree and plenty that did not agree with me: but equally there was much to admire.
There is certainly more to her than an English upper crust tendency to pronounce out and about as eight and abate.
She comes across as a good friend.
My late father would have described her as a big party with a big heart.
I have read again Lee Harper's American classic To Kill A Mocking Bird.
For an English child of the nineteen thirties, this wonderful depiction of life in the Deep South at that time - sensitively portrayed through the eyes of the little girl Scout Finch - is a fascinating, moving and at times hilarious insight into life in another world.
Loved it first time out. Still do.
I finally came to the end of The Silent World Of Nicholas Quinn by Colin Dexter.
Saw the television adaptation again, too. Very good.
All the Morse stories converted well to film, though.
It is my problem that I preferred the films to the books.
Anyway, all I have left to finish now is Untold Stories by Alan Bennett.
My Leader will kill me if I don't finish it soon.
Turns out she has been patiently waiting to read it. No of course I didn't know.
She's the mind reading one in our marriage: I'm the one who is surprised by nothing.
TELE.
ITV1 recently screened The Island, a 2005 film starring Ewan McGregor, Scarlett Johanssen and Sean Bean, a futuristic fantasy.
It was somewhat Soylent Green in concept, with the added attraction of wonderful action scenes. We enjoyed every minute of it.
Have been watching The Lord of the Rings on C4. Glorious locations in New Zealand, excellent casting which included Elijah Wood, Sean Astin, Ian McKellen, and a splendid array of fellow stars.
Immaculately directed by Peter Jackson, this is a trilogy to be savoured over and over again.
I shall do just that.
I have the DVDs.
What? No, you can't borrow them. Buy your own.
My leader and I enjoyed Lost in Austen, a brand new slant on the classic Pride and Prejudice. Amanda Price (Jemima Rooper) was transported (via a magical door in her bathroom) into the novel to transform it in a way that really must have had Jane Austen spinning in her grave.
It was beaurifully acted tosh and great fun.
When it comes to tosh, we are also enjoying the new series Merlin on BBC1.
This Saturday night warm up for Strictly Come Dancing so rewrites Arthurian legend as to make Merlin roughly the same teen age as Arthur.
Never mind, it has Richard Wilson, Anthony Head, the Voice of the Dragon provided byJohn Hurt and a pleasant couple of youngsters in the leading roles.
Everybody seems to be having a good time and all it lacks is Sgt. Joe Friday coming in at the end to say: "The story you have just been told is a rewritten legend - only the names have not been changed..."
Another short series of Agatha Christie's Poirot has been running on ITV1.
All right I suppose, but I think he should by now be doing something about the mysterious disappearance of Captain Hastings, Miss Lemon and dear old Inspector Japp.
When all's said and done, these people were his closest television companions.
If he has not yet missed them what sort of a bloody sleuth is he?
By contrast, Patrick Harbinson's adaptation of Val McDermid's Place of Execution cleared up a few questions.
For example, what really did happen to Stan Shunpike (Lee Ingleby) after he was pulled off his bus conductor job in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and unfairly imprisoned?
Well, it seems that, at Harry's insistence, he was released to re-invent himself as DS John Bacchus, assistant to George Gently.
That worthy kindly saved him from further ignominy and he moved up the police ladder to reappear in Place of Execution as DI George Bennett whose older self, ex Chief Constable Old George Bennett, is also (wake up, Poirot!) former Chief Inspector James Japp (Philip Jackson).
Don't you just love the complexities of cop show casting?
Whatever, this was a darned good mystery yarn perfectly acted and directed.
Last Thursday that amiable and commendably outspoken little chap Ian Hislop presented a documentary on BBC4 about the demise of British railways.
Ian Hislop Goes Off The Rails told how, in the early sixties, the benighted Richard Beeching, installed by the manipulative Ernest Marples, closed so many so-called 'unprofitable' branch railway lines that the rail network was virtually halved.
Motorways were then constructed to be quickly transformed into clogged up miles of unattended cones.
Gawd bless far-sighted government.
WRITERS.
ITV3 had a corker of an idea for rehashing old programmes with its Crime Thriller 2008 competition.
The awards ceremony was shown on Monday 6th October.
The writers who somehow came to be in contention were Colin Dexter, P.D.James, Lynda LaPlante, Val McDermid, Ian Rankin and Ruth Rendell.
Nothing wrong with that.
The eventual winner was Colin Dexter, however, and I felt there was something vaguely wrong with that.
In my computer diary I wondered why none of the (decidedly more compelling) top women writers had been chosen and added:- When the result was announced, Ruth Rendell and Val McDermid exchanged "would you fucking credit it?" looks that said it all. I think dear old P.D.James probably felt it less, but she had been suitably compensated with one of those "all time great" sops that showbiz dishes out to anybody old enough to be considered suitable for sainthood.
Oh, the programme was presented by Alan Davies and he did an excellent job.
N.B. More Jonathan Creek, please, David Renwick.
AND LASTLY, POLITICS.
Well. as my friends will appreciate, nothing comes more lastly to me than politics.
Together with all the other aliens, however, I am finding it quite impossible to ignore the final lap of the race to become President of America.
Why, I find myself asking, despite constant exhortation, should I barrack Obama? I don't even know the man.
As for this fellow McCain; the oven chips, if they are his, are OK, but they are no more impressive than those of Aunt Bessie.
(Sorry America, I think that's a British Joke.)
Frankly, I don't think the appointment of either gentleman is going to benefit the rest of the world.
And I happen to live in the rest of the world.
(Sorry again, America, but until one of your leaders has it completely wiped out, it does exist.)
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