TELEVISION.Billy Connolly: Journey to the Edge of the World. (ITV1)
We have thoroughly enjoyed Billy Connolly's journey from the Atlantic to the Pacific via the Northwest Passage. Wonderful scenery, fascinating people along the way and a lively, sympathetic commentary from ol' Bill.
You either like him or you don't. We do.
Those who don't should shelve their prejudice: this is too good to miss.
US Cop Shows.
The more I see of Dexter, and many another US cop show, the more convinced I become that we should not, under any circumstances, introduce the equivalent of the FBI into this country.
It alarms me slightly that we are now producing a British television version of Law and Order. I do hope it is not the thin end of the wedge.
Thames Valley tossers and public school wallies in wigs are bad enough, but at least they are our tossers and wallies.
BOOKS.
Julie Walters.
I finished That's Another Story, the autobiography with a faint feeling of déjà vu.
Fine actress, many acclaimed performances in the theatre: Mrs. Overall of Acorn Antiques on television and that marvellous old waitress serving - and corpsing - Celia Imrie and Duncan Preston in Victoria Woods' Two Soups sketch: Rita in the film Educating Rita, dance teacher to Billy Elliot, Molly Weasley in the Harry Potter films: awards galore.
But the more successful the acting becomes the less time there is for anything else. This, along with a desire to maintain a private life, must be a common problem for popular actors seeking to avoid unwelcome attention and prying eyes.
Trouble is, the desire for privacy, no matter how understandable, does not make for a gripping read and at times I had the feeling, just as I did when reading Angela Lansbury's biography, that I might as well be reading the Wiki entry.
Never mind, she says she enjoyed writing it so who am I to carp?
What? Criticise Mrs. Weasley? Never!
FILMS.
Mission Impossible Three.
I like Tom Cruise but I didn't much like this film.
Well, even an all action thriller has to be a bit sensible: Ethan Hunt (Tom) would have killed off Philip Seymour Hoffman's Owen Davian as soon as it became obvious that nothing was to be gained from him but personal threats.
Everybody (not least ol' Tom) would then have been spared the tedium of Ethan sprinting everywhere like a leftover character from Chariots of Fire.
Snow Cake.
Starring Alan Rickman and Sigourney Weaver, this gentle film, shown on BBC2 earlier this year, was described in my copy of The best TV and radio listings you can get! as a tragicomedy.
An unpromising story line dealt with the death of a bright, quirky girl, reluctantly given a lift by Alex (Alan Rickman), who is killed when his stationary car is hit by a lorry. The guilt he feels for his guiltless involvement in the matter is lost on her mother (Sigourney Weaver), a fully functioning autistic woman who sees no point in pointless apology.
For me, the two leading players were enough to sell it and from the outset it was clear that they were were made for their roles.
If you missed it make a note to watch it next time around. Lovely acting from all concerned and a unique take on a small town in Canada.
MUSIC.
At Home.
The cat Shadow is settled in his chair behind me at the other end of the little computer room which my Leader still declines to think of as the study because, at five foot wide by ten foot long, it falls short of study status.
Nigel Kennedy is playing Bruch's Violin Concerto No.1 (a tape on the ancient aiwa) with the English Chamber Orchestra conducted by Jeffrey Tate.
We are at peace with the world.
I don't know what it is with cats and violins, but our first ever cat would come running from anywhere to join me in listening to the Tchaikovsky.
Shadow is the same.
Try telling them that catgut comes from the intestines of goat, sheep, horse, pig or suchlike creature, but never from a cat.
When they believe they're listening to the innards of an ancestor?
Do come on.
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